The Warning Voice (63 page)

‘And very right that they should!' said the literary gentlemen smilingly. ‘But what is most admirable of all about this story is the tireless benevolence of the present Court which led to the unearthing of this forgotten heroism. Surely this is a thing unparalleled in any former age? The Tang poet's line

‘Indeed!' Jia Zheng nodded gravely.

By this time Jia Huan and Jia Lan had also arrived. Jia Zheng allowed the three boys to look at the preface and then told them that he wanted a poem from each one of them. He would award a prize to whoever completed one first and another prize for the best poem.

Jia Huan and Jia Lan had several times recently been called upon to compose in company and so were not unduly nervous on this occasion. After reading the preface, all three boys went off into separate corners to think. Jia Lan was the first to finish a poem and Jia Huan, fearful of being outstripped by his young nephew, made haste to follow. The two of them had already written their poems out while Bao-yu was still thinking. Jia Zheng and the literary gentlemen decided to look first at what the two younger boys had written. Jia Lan's contribution was in the form of a quatrain.

The literary gentlemen praised the little poem enthusiastically.

‘For a young boy of his years to produce such a poem is proof of a highly cultured upbringing,' they said.

‘Childish prattle! Childish prattle!' Jia Zheng laughed deprecatingly. ‘Still, for one of his tender years it is quite a creditable effort.'

Next they read Jia Huan's contribution. It was a Regulated Verse poem in pentameters.

‘Ah yes!' said the literary gentlemen. ‘What a difference those few years between them make! This is quite a different approach.'

‘I suppose it's not too bad,' said Jia Zheng, ‘but it doesn't really do justice to the subject.'

‘Oh well, as to
that
–!' said the literary gentlemen. ‘After all, our young friend is not so
very
much older than his nephew. Old heads are not to be expected on young shoulders! Give them a few more years and I don't doubt we shall have a pair of poets in our midst to rival Ruan Ji and his nephew Ruan Xian!

‘Come, come, they are not as good as that!' said Jia Zheng, smiling. ‘They don't study hard enough, that's their trouble.'

He asked Bao-yu how he was getting on.

‘After all this careful chiselling, Mr Bao's poem is sure to be something of quite a different order from these two we have just heard,' said the literary gentlemen‘– one, no doubt, in which the romantic and tragic aspects of the theme will both be fully exploited.'

Bao-yu smiled.

‘I don't think Regulated Verse is quite the right medium for this subject. It calls for something longer – a song or ballad in the Old Style – to do it justice.'

‘You see!' said the literary gentlemen, some jumping to their feet, some nodding or clapping in their enthusiasm. ‘We said that his contribution would be quite different! It is the sign of a good, experienced writer to be able to gauge immediately what form will be most appropriate to the subject. With a title like this
and
a preface, clearly what is called for is either a long narrative poem like Bo Ju-yi's “The Everlasting Remorse” or an Old Style ode like Wen Ting-yun's “On Hearing Guo Dao-yuan Play the Musical Glasses” or Li He's “Return from Gui-ji”, in which narrative and lyrical elements combine. Only the greater freedom of the Old Style allows for the smoother, more flowing development that this subject calls for.'

Jia Zheng was of the same opinion. He took brush and paper and prepared to write.

‘So be it, then. Recite your lines, my boy, and I shall take them down for you. They had better be good after this boastful preliminary, or I shall beat your bottom!'

Bao-yu recited his first line:

Jia Zheng copied the words down and then shook his head over what he had written.

‘Vulgar and pedestrian!'

‘No, no, it isn't vulgar,' said one of the literary gentlemen. ‘That is what the Ballad Style is like. Wait and see how it goes on.'

‘All right, we'll let it pass,' said Jia Zheng.

Bao-yu continued.

He waited while Jia Zheng finished writing down the lines. The literary gentlemen professed themselves particularly impressed by the' ravishing songs' line, claiming to see a quality of ‘rugged strength' in it which they deemed highly appropriate in a ballad. The fourth line, which they called ‘pure narrative', was also, they thought, exactly as it should be.

‘You shouldn't praise the boy so,' said Jia Zheng. ‘You will turn his head. Let's see how he manages to develop this in his second stanza.'

Bao-yu recited:

‘Bravo!' shouted the literary gentlemen. ‘“He scarcely saw the clouds of dust” leads us on to the “lamplit face” of the heroine. A most ingenious development! The way every word is used in these two lines is quite masterful!'

Bao-yu continued:

The literary gentlemen laughed and clapped their hands.

‘What a wonderful picture! I think friend Bao must have been among those present at the time. He saw the white hand shake and smelt the perfume. How else could he describe it all so vividly?'

Bao-yu laughed.

‘Women drilling, however bold and fierce they might be, could never look quite the same as men. One can assume the occasional softness creeping in without having had any special experience.'

‘Oh, get on!' said Jia Zheng. ‘We can do without the comment.'

Bao-yu thought a little before beginning the next stanza.

‘The change of rhyme from “eyes” to “eyed” is one example of that smooth, flowing development we were just now talking about,' said the literary gentlemen. ‘Also, this line has just that touch of charm and prettiness that the subject calls for.'

‘I don't agree,' said Jia Zheng. ‘I don't like this line at all. We have already heard about her “mouth's sweet breath” and her “fair white hand” in the last stanza. Why does he need to go on in this strain? I think it is mere weakness of invention that leads to this piling up of descriptive bric-à-brac.'

‘A long ballad
needs
a few ornamental, descriptive passages,' said Bao-yu, ‘otherwise it would seem too bare.'

‘You are continuing the same kind of description into a new stanza,' said Jia Zheng. ‘When are you going to get on to her warlike side? If you have another two or three lines of this kind of stuff, it's going to seem like drawing legs on a snake!'

‘All right,' said Bao-yu. ‘I'll try to make a quick change to the warlike side and then finish the whole description off in this one stanza.'

‘What a genius!' said Jia Zheng sarcastically. ‘You begin with a line that looks like the first item in a long catalogue, and now you are talking about instant changes and abrupt conclusions. I think you may find that you have bitten off rather more than you can chew!'

Bao-yu hung his head and pondered a while before finally coming out with this line:

‘Will that do?' he asked anxiously.

The literary gentlemen banged on the table and cheered.

‘We'll leave it,' said Jia Zheng. ‘Carry on.'

‘If it will do, I'll continue as I've planned,' said Bao-yu. ‘If not, it would be better to cross it out and I'll try to think of something completely different and develop in another direction.'

Jia Zheng shouted at him angrily.

‘Hold your tongue, sir! Do it again if it's not good enough, indeed! How many times do you propose to go on trying? Ten times? A hundred? Save your energy and get on!'

Bao-yu resigned himself to developing from the line he had just recited. He thought for some moments before continuing.

‘That's the end of another stanza,' said Jia Zheng. ‘Now how are you going on?'

Bao-yu continued:

‘“A-run” is good,' said the literary gentlemen. ‘It is little touches like that that show the master-hand at work. The narrative style in this stanza is good, too. Lively.'

Bao-yu continued:

‘Brilliant!' cried the literary gentlemen. ‘The narrative style, the imagery, the choice of words are all quite perfect. But now what about Fourth Sister Lin? What ingenious new development will bring her back upon the scene?'

Bao-yu recited:

‘Neatly turned!' said the literary gentlemen.

‘It took four lines to do it, though,' said Jia Zheng. ‘Too much! And I expect there is more useless verbiage to follow.'

Bao-yu continued:

The literary gentlemen broke into loud acclaim as Bao-yu finished. It seemed at first as if they might go on indefinitely. Subsiding at last, they read the whole poem through again from the beginning.

‘It is certainly a very
long
poem,' said Jia Zheng, smiling, ‘but for all that, I don't think it really does justice to the subject.'

He turned to the three boys:

‘All right, off you go!'

The three of them went off, feeling like condemned prisoners who have suddenly been given a reprieve. For the two younger ones it was the end of their day: a blessed nothingness until bedtime. But Bao-yu was still grieving for Skybright. The sight of the hibiscus by the lake reminded him of what the little maid had told him about her. As he stood gazing sorrowfully at the bushes, an idea suddenly came to him.

‘Since I wasn't able to see her in her coffin, why don't I pay my last respects to her here, in the presence of her flowers?'

He was on the point of kneeling down in front of them when another thought occurred to him.

‘That's all very well, but I can't do it just anyhow. In order to show proper respect I must first make sure that I am dressed correctly. And I must prepare a little ceremony and make her some sort of offering.'

This led to further cogitation.

‘It says somewhere in the classics, “Where there is faith enough and goodwill, duckweed boiled in puddle-water is an offering acceptable to the gods and a dish fit to be set before princes.” Proper respect evidently has nothing to do with the value of the offering. And I could always write something to read out before I made it.'

He began to plan what he would write. ‘An elegy' it would be called. It would be a bit like one of those long Chu poems –
Li sao
or
The Summons of the Soul
– but with elements of other things as well. And of course a lot of it would be original. He sat down and began writing it as soon as he got back to his apartment. As it was to please himself, he could be as wild and extravagant as he liked and compose as quickly as his imagination would let him. Soon the draft was finished, and he took a piece of white material of the kind they call ‘mermaid silk', which he knew Skybright had been fond of, and after first writing the title on it in large characters: