''...clasping my knees, I hum my lays....'
'as if you couldn't, in fact, tear yourself away for even a moment from them,' Li Wan laughed, 'to come to the knowledge of the chrysanthemums, why, they would certainly be sick and tired of you.'
This joke made every one laugh.
'I'm last again!' smiled Pao-yue. 'Is it likely that:
''Who plants the flowers?....
...in autumn where do they go?
With sandals waxed I come from distant shores;....
...and as on this cold day I can't exhaust my song;....'
'do not all forsooth amount to searching for chrysanthemums? And that
''Last night they got a shower....
And this morn ... bedecked with frost,'
'don't both bear on planting them? But unfortunately they can't come up to these lines:
''Some scent I hold by the side of my mouth and turning to the moon I
sing my sentiments.'
'In their pure and cool fragrance, clasping my knees I hum my lays.'
'...short hair on his temples....'
'His flaxen turban....
...golden tinge is faint.
...verdure is all past.
...in autumn ... all trace of you is gone.
...my dreams then know something of you.'
'But to-morrow,' he proceeded, 'if I have got nothing to do, I'll write twelve stanzas my self.'
'Yours are also good,' Li Wan pursued, 'the only thing is that they aren't as full of original conception as those other lines, that's all.'
But after a few further criticisms, they asked for some more warm crabs; and, helping themselves, as soon as they were brought, from the large circular table, they regaled themselves for a time.
'With the crabs to-day in one's hand and the olea before one's eyes, one cannot help inditing verses,' Pao- yue smiled. 'I've already thought of a few; but will any of you again have the pluck to devise any?'
With this challenge, he there and then hastily washed his hands and picking up a pen he wrote out what, his companions found on perusal, to run in this strain:
When in my hands I clasp a crab what most enchants my heart is the
cassia's cool shade.
While I pour vinegar and ground ginger, I feel from joy as if I would
go mad.
With so much gluttony the prince's grandson eats his crabs that he
should have some wine.
The side-walking young gentleman has no intestines in his frame at
all.
I lose sight in my greediness that in my stomach cold accumulates.
To my fingers a strong smell doth adhere and though I wash them yet
the smell clings fast.
The main secret of this is that men in this world make much of food.
The P'o Spirit has laughed at them that all their lives they only seek
to eat.
'I could readily compose a hundred stanzas with such verses in no time,' Tai-yue observed with a sarcastic smile.
'Your mental energies are now long ago exhausted,' Pao-yue rejoined laughingly, 'and instead of confessing your inability to devise any, you still go on heaping invective upon people!'
Tai-yue, upon catching this insinuation, made no reply of any kind; but slightly raising her head she hummed something to herself for a while, and then taking up a pen she completed a whole stanza with a few dashes.
The company then read her lines. They consisted of-
E'en after death, their armour and their lengthy spears are never cast
away.
So nice they look, piled in the plate, that first to taste them I'd
fain be.
In every pair of legs they have, the crabs are full of tender
jade-like meat.
Each piece of ruddy fat, which in their shell bumps up, emits a
fragrant smell.
Besides much meat, they have a greater relish for me still, eight feet
as well.
Who bids me drink a thousand cups of wine in order to enhance my joy?
What time I can behold their luscious food, with the fine season doth
accord
When cassias wave with fragrance pure, and the chrysanthemums are
decked with frost.
Pao-yue had just finished conning it over and was beginning to sing its praise, when Tai-yue, with one snatch, tore it to pieces and bade a servant go and burn it.
'As my compositions can't come up to yours,' she then observed, 'I'll burn it. Yours is capital, much better than the lines you wrote a little time back on the chrysanthemums, so keep it for the benefit of others.'
'I've likewise succeeded, after much effort, in putting together a stanza,' Pao-ch'ai laughingly remarked. 'It cannot, of course, be worth much, but I'll put it down for fun's sake.'
As she spoke, she too wrote down her lines. When they came to look at them, they read-
On this bright beauteous day, I bask in the dryandra shade, with a cup
in my hand.
When I was at Ch'ang An, with drivelling mouth, I longed for the ninth
day of the ninth moon.
The road stretches before their very eyes, but they can't tell between
straight and transverse.
Under their shells in spring and autumn only reigns a vacuum, yellow
and black.
At this point, they felt unable to refrain from shouting: 'Excellent!' 'She abuses in fine style!' Pao-yue shouted. 'But my lines should also be committed to the flames.'
The company thereupon scanned the remainder of the stanza, which was couched in this wise:
When all the stock of wine is gone, chrysanthemums then use to scour
away the smell.
So as to counteract their properties of gath'ring cold, fresh ginger
you should take.
Alas! now that they have been dropped into the boiling pot, what good
do they derive?
About the moonlit river banks there but remains the fragrant aroma of
corn.
At the close of their perusal, they with one voice, explained that this was a first-rate song on crab-eating; that minor themes of this kind should really conceal lofty thoughts, before they could be held to be of any great merit, and that the only thing was that it chaffed people rather too virulently.
But while they were engaged in conversation, P'ing Erh was again seen coming into the garden. What she wanted is not, however, yet known; so, reader, peruse the details given in the subsequent chapter.
