Jia Zheng had recently received a favourable report on Bao-yu from his teacher Jia Dai-ru in which mention had been made of his skill in composing couplets. Although the boy showed no aptitude for serious study, Dai-ru had said, he nevertheless possessed a certain meretricious talent for versification not undeserving of commendation. Because of this report, Jia Zheng ordered Bao-yu to accompany him into the garden, intending to put his aptitude to the test. Bao-yu, who knew nothing either of Dai-ru’s report or of his father’s intentions, followed with trepidation.
As soon as they reached the gate they found Cousin Zhen at the head of a group of overseers waiting to learn Jia Zheng’s wishes.
‘I want you to close the gate,’ said Jia Zheng, ‘so that we can see what it looks like from outside before we go in.’
Cousin Zhen ordered the gate to be closed, and Jia Zheng stood back and studied it gravely.
It was a five-frame gate-building with a hump-backed roof of half-cylinder tiles. The wooden lattice-work of the doors and windows was finely carved and ingeniously patterned. The whole gatehouse was quite unadorned by colour or gilding, yet all was of the most exquisite workmanship. Its walls stood on a terrace of white marble carved with a pattern of passion-flowers in relief, and the garden’s whitewashed circumference wall to left and right of it had a footing made of black-and-white striped stone blocks arranged so that the stripes formed a simple pattern. Jia Zheng found the unostentatious simplicity of this entrance greatly to his liking, and after ordering the gates to be opened, passed on inside.
A cry of admiration escaped them as they entered, for there, immediately in front of them, screening everything else from their view, rose a steep, verdure-clad hill.
‘Without this hill,’ Jia Zheng somewhat otiosely observed, ‘the whole garden would be visible as one entered, and all its mystery would be lost.’
The literary gentlemen concurred. ‘Only a master of the art of landscape could have conceived so bold a stroke,’ said one of them.
As they gazed at this miniature mountain, they observed a great number of large white rocks in all kinds of grotesque and monstrous shapes, rising course above course up one of its sides, some recumbent, some upright or leaning at angles, their surfaces streaked and spotted with moss and lichen or half concealed by creepers, and with a narrow, zig-zag path only barely discernible to the eye winding up between them.
‘Let us begin our tour by following this path,’ said Jia Zheng. ‘If we work our way round towards the other side of the hill on our way back, we shall have made a complete circuit of the garden.’
He ordered Cousin Zhen to lead the way, and leaning on Bao-yu’s shoulder, began the winding ascent of the little mountain. Suddenly on the mountainside above his head, he noticed a white rock whose surface had been polished to mirror smoothness and realized that this must be one of the places which had been prepared for an inscription.
‘Aha, gentlemen!’ said Jia Zheng turning back to address the others who were climbing up behind him. ‘What name are we going to choose for this mountain?’
‘Emerald Heights,’ said one.
‘Embroidery Hill,’ said another.
Another proposed that they should call it ‘Little Censer’ after the famous Censer Peak in Kiangsi. Another proposed ‘Little Zhong-nan’. Altogether some twenty or thirty names were suggested – none of them very seriously, since the literary gentlemen were aware that Jia Zheng intended to test Bao-yu and were anxious not to make the boy’s task too difficult. Bao-yu understood and was duly grateful.
When no more names were forthcoming Jia Zheng turned to Bao-yu and asked him to propose something himself.
‘I remember reading in some old book,’ said Bao-yu, ‘that “to recall old things is better than to invent new ones; and to recut an ancient text is better than to engrave a modern”. We ought, then, to choose something old. But as this is not the garden’s principal “mountain ” or its chief vista, strictly speaking there is no justification for having an inscription here at all – unless it is to be something which implies that this is merely a first step towards more important things ahead. I suggest we should call it “Pathway to Mysteries” after the line in Chang Jian’s poem about the mountain temple:
A path winds upwards to mysterious places.
A name like that would be more distinguished.’
There was a chorus of praise from the literary gentlemen:
‘Exactly right! Wonderful! Our young friend with his natural talent and youthful imagination succeeds immediately where we old pedants fail!’
Jia Zheng gave a deprecatory laugh: ‘You mustn’t flatter the boy! People of his age are adept at making a little knowledge go a long way. I only asked him as a joke, to see what he would say. We shall have to think of a better name later on.’
As he spoke, they passed through a tunnel of rock in the mountain’s shoulder into an artificial ravine ablaze with the vari-coloured flowers and foliage of many varieties of tree and shrub which grew there in great profusion. Down below, where the trees were thickest, a clear stream gushed between the rocks. After they had advanced a few paces in a somewhat northerly direction, the ravine broadened into a little flat-bottomed valley and the stream widened out to form a pool. Gaily painted and carved pavilions rose from the slopes on either side, their lower halves concealed amidst the trees, their tops reaching into the blue. In the midst of the prospect below them was a handsome bridge:
In a green ravine
A jade stream sped.
A stair of stone
Plunged to the brink.
Where the water widened
To a placid pool,
A marble baluster
Ran round about.
A marble bridge crossed it
With triple span,
And a marble lion’s maw
Crowned each of the arches.
Over the centre of the bridge there was a little pavilion, which Jia Zheng and the others entered and sat down in.
‘Well, gentlemen!’ said Jia Zheng. ‘What are we going to call it?’
‘Ou-yang Xiu in his Pavilion of the Old Drunkard speaks of “a pavilion poised above the water”,’ said one of them. ‘What about “Poised Pavilion”?’
‘“Poised Pavilion” is good,’ said Jia Zheng, ‘but this pavilion was put here in order to dominate the water it stands over, and I think there ought to be some reference to water in its name. I seem to recollect that in that same essay you mention Ou-yang Xiu speaks of the water “gushing between twin peaks ”. Could we not use the word “gushing” in some way ?’ ‘Yes, yes!’ said one of the literary gentlemen. ‘“Gushing Jade” would do splendidly.’
Jia Zheng fondled his beard meditatively, then turned to Bao-yu and asked him for his suggestion.
‘I agreed with what you said just now, Father,’ said Bao-yu, ‘but on second thoughts it seems to me that though it may have been all right for Ou-yang Xiu to use the word “gushing” in describing the source of the river Rang, it doesn’t really suit the water round this pavilion. Then again, as this is a Separate Residence specially designed for the reception of a royal personage, it seems to me that something rather formal is called for, and that an expression taken from the Drunkard’s Pavilion might seem a bit improper. I think we should try to find a rather more imaginative, less obvious sort of name.’
‘I hope you gentlemen are all taking this in!’ said Jia Zheng sarcastically, ‘You will observe that when we suggest something original we are recommended to prefer the old to the new, but that when we do make use of an old text we are “improper” and “unimaginative” ! – Well, carry on then! Let’s have your suggestion!’
‘I think “Drenched Blossoms” would be more original and more tasteful than “Gushing Jade”.’
Jia Zheng stroked his beard and nodded silently. The literary gentlemen could see that he was pleased and hastened to commend Bao-yu’s remarkable ability.
‘That’s the two words for the framed board
on top,’ said Jia Zheng. ‘Not a very difficult task. But what about the seven-word lines for the sides?’
Bao-yu glanced quickly round, seeking inspiration from the scene, and presently came up with the following couplet:
‘Three pole-thrust lengths of bankside willows green,
One fragrant breath of bankside flowers sweet.’
Jia Zheng nodded and a barely perceptible smile played over his features. The literary gentlemen redoubled their praises.
They now left the pavilion and crossed to the other side of the pool. For a while they walked on, stopping from time to time to admire the various rocks and flowers and trees which they passed on their way, until suddenly they found themselves at the foot of a range of whitewashed walls enclosing a small retreat almost hidden among the hundreds and hundreds of green bamboos which grew in a dense thicket behind them. With cries of admiration they went inside. A cloister-like covered walk ran round the walls from the entrance to the back of the forecourt and a cobbled pathway led up to the steps of the terrace. The house was a tiny three-frame one, two parts latticed, the third part windowless. The tables, chairs and couches which furnished it seemed to have been specially made to fit the interior. A door in the rear wall opened onto a garden of broad-leaved plantains dominated by a large flowering pear-tree and overlooked on either side by two diminutive lodges built at right angles to the back of the house. A stream gushed through an opening at the foot of the garden wall into a channel barely a foot wide which ran to the foot of the rear terrace and thence round the side of the house to the front, where it meandered through the bamboos of the forecourt before finally disappearing through another opening in the surrounding wall.
‘This must be a pleasant enough place at any time,’ said Jia Zheng with a smile.’ But just imagine what it would be like to sit studying beside the window here on a moonlight night! It is pleasures like that which make a man feel he has not lived in vain!’
As he spoke, his glance happened to fall on Bao-yu, who instantly became so embarrassed that he hung his head in shame. He was rescued by the timely intervention of the literary gentlemen who changed the subject from that of study to a less dangerous topic. Two of them suggested that the name given to this retreat should be a four-word one. Jia Zheng asked them what four words they proposed.
‘“Where Bends the Qi” ‘said one of them, no doubt having in mind the song in the Poetry Classic which begins with the words
See in that nook where bends the Qi,
The green bamboos, how graceful grown!
‘No,’ said Jia Zheng. ‘Too obvious!’
‘“North of the Sui”,’ said the other, evidently thinking of the ancient Rabbit Garden of the Prince of Liang in Suiyang -also famous for its bamboos and running water.
‘No,’ said Jia Zheng. ‘Still too obvious!’
‘You’d better ask Cousin Bao again,’ said Cousin Zhen, who stood by listening.
‘He always insists on criticizing everyone else’s suggestions Sefore he will deign to make one of his own,’ said Jia Zheng. ‘He is a worthless creature.’
‘That’s all right,’ said the others. ‘His criticisms are very good ones. He is in no way to blame for making them.’
‘You shouldn’t let him get away with it!’ said Jia Zheng. ‘All right!’ he went on, turning to Bao-yu. ‘Today we will indulge you up to the hilt. Let’s have your criticisms, and after that we’ll hear your own proposal. What about the two suggestions that have just been made ? Do you think either of them could be used ?’
‘Neither of them seems quite right to me,’ said Bao-yu in answer to the question.
‘In what way “not quite right”?’ said Jia Zheng with a scornful smile.
‘Well,’ said Bao-yu, ‘This is the first building our visitor will enter when she looks over the garden, so there ought to be some word of praise for the Emperor at this point. If we want a classical reference with imperial symbolism, I suggest “The Phoenix Dance”, alluding to that passage in the History Classic about the male and female phoenixes alighting “with measured gambollings” in the Emperor’s courtyard.’
‘What about “Bend of the Qi” and “North of the Sui”?’ said Jia Zheng. ‘Aren’t they classical allusions ? If not, I should like to know what they are!’
‘Yes,’ said Bao-yu, ‘but they are too contrived. “The Phoenix Dance” is more fitting.’
There was a loud murmur of assent from the literary gentlemen. Jia Zhong nodded and tried not to look pleased.
‘Young idiot! – A “small capacity but a great self-conceit”, gentlemen – All right!’ he ordered: ‘now the couplet!’
So Bao-yu recited the following couplet:
‘From the empty cauldron the steam still rises after the brewing of tea.
By the darkening window the fingers are still cold after the game of Go.’
Jia Zheng shook his head:
‘Nothing very remarkable about that!’
With this remark he began to move on, but thought of something just as they were leaving, and stopped to ask Cousin Zhen:
‘I see that the buildings in this garden have their proper complement of chairs and tables and so forth. What about blinds and curtains and flower-vases and all that sort of thing ? Have they been selected to suit the individual rooms ?’
‘As regards ornaments,’ Cousin Zhen replied, ‘we have already got in quite a large stock, and when the time comes we shall naturally select from it what is suitable for each individual room. As regards drapes and hangings, Cousin Lian told me yesterday that there are quite a lot yet to come. What we did was to take the measurements from the plans drawn up for the carpenters and put the work in hand straight away, even before the buildings were finished. As far as I know, up to yesterday we had received about half of what was ordered.’
From the way Cousin Zhen spoke, Jia Zheng gathered that this was not his responsibility and sent someone to summon Jia Lian. He arrived within moments, and-Jia Zheng questioned him about the types and quantities ordered and the figures for what had already been received and what was still to come.
In response to his inquiry Jia Lian extracted a wallet from the leg of his boot, and glancing at a folded schedule inside it, summarized its contents as follows:
‘Curtains, large and small, in various silks and satins -flowered, dragon-spot, sprigged, tapestry, panelled, ink-splash: one hundred and twenty. – Eighty of those were delivered yesterday. That leaves forty to come. – Blinds: two hundred. – Yes. They all arrived yesterday. But then there are the special ones. – Blinds, scarlet felt: two hundred. Speckled bamboo: one hundred. Red lacquered bamboo with gold fleck: one hundred. Black lacquered bamboo: one hundred. Coloured net: two hundred. – We now have half of each of those four kinds. The other half is promised by the end of autumn. – Chair-covers, table-drapes, valances, tablecloths: one thousand two hundred of each. – Those we already have.’
They had been moving on as he spoke, but were presently brought to a halt by a steeply sloping hill which rose up in front of them. Having negotiated its foot, they could see, almost concealed in a fold half-way up the other side of it, a dun-coloured adobe wall crowned with a coping of rice-straw thatch. Inside it were several hundred apricot trees, whose flowering tops resembled the billowing rosy clouds of some vegetable volcano. In their midst stood a little group of reed-thatched cottages. Beyond the wall, with a barred gate dividing it in the middle, a loose hedge of irregular shape had been made by weaving together the pliant young shoots of the mulberry, elm, hibiscus, and silkworm thorn trees which grew outside it. Between this hedge of trees and the lower slope of the hill was a rustic well, furnished with both well-sweep and windlass. Below the well, row upon row of miniature fields full of healthy-looking vegetables and flowers ran down in variegated strips to the bottom.
‘Ah, now here is a place with a purpose!’ said Jia Zheng with a pleased smile. ‘It may have been made by human artifice, but the sight of it is none the less moving.
In me it awakens the desire to get back to the land, to a life of rural simplicity. Let us go in and rest a while!’
They were just on the point of entering the gate in the hedge when they observed a stone at the side of the pathway leading up to it which had evidently been put there in order that the name of the place might be inscribed upon it.
‘What a brilliant idea!’ the literary gentlemen exclaimed. ‘If they had put a board up over the gate, the rustic atmosphere would have been completely destroyed, whereas this stone actually enhances it. This is a place which calls for the bucolic talent of a Fan Cheng-da to do it justice!’
‘What shall we call it, then?’ asked Jia Zheng.
‘Just now our young friend was saying that to “recall an old thing is better than to invent a new one”,’ said one of the literary gentlemen. ‘In this case the ancients have already provided the perfect name: “Apricot Village”.’
Jia Zheng knew that he was referring to the words of the fainting traveller in Du Mu’s poem:
‘Where’s the tavern?’ I cry, and a lad points the way
To a village far off in the apricot trees.
He turned to Cousin Zhen with a smile:
‘Yes. That reminds me. There’s just one thing missing here: an inn-sign. Tomorrow you must have one made. Nothing fancy. Just an ordinary inn-sign like the ones you see in country villages outside. And it should hang from a bamboo pole above the tree-tops.’
Cousin Zhen promised to see this done and added a suggestion of his own:
‘The birds here, too, ought to be ordinary farmyard ones -hens, ducks, geese, and so on – to be in keeping with the surroundings.’
Jia Zheng and the rest agreed enthusiastically.
‘The only trouble with “Apricot Village”,’ said Jia Zheng, ‘- though it would suit the place very well – is that it is the name of a real village; so we should have to get official permission first before we could use it.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said the others. ‘That means we still have to think of something for a temporary name. Now what shall it be?’