A Dream of Red Mansion

by Cao Xueqin

  “I’m not doing anything wrong, am I?” he demanded. “It just happened to cross my mind. What does it matter whether you have it or not? I ask one little question, and listen to the way you run on!”

  “I didn’t mean to nag.” She smiled. “But someone who studies the classics and knows the rules of propriety ought to aim high. Then, when the one you love comes, she’ll be pleased and respect you.”

  This reminded Baoyu of something.

  “Botheration!” he exclaimed. “There was such a crowd with the old lady just now that I wasn’t able to talk with Cousin Lin. She paid me no attention either. By the time I left, she’d already gone. She must be in her place now. I’ll drop in to see her.” With that he started out.

  “Don’t be too long,” said Xiren. “I shouldn’t have said that, getting you all worked up.”

  Baoyu made no reply but went off with lowered head to Bamboo Lodge where Daiyu, bending over her desk, was reading. He approached her with a smile.

  “Have you been back long?”

  “You cut me, so why should I stay there?” She asked archly.

  “There were so many people talking, I couldn’t get a word in. That’s why I didn’t speak to you.”

  He had been eyeing Daiyu’s book, but could not recognize the characters in it. Some looked familiar, others were combinations of various radicals and numerals.

  In puzzled surprise he observed, “You’re getting more erudite, cousin, all the time, reading something so esoteric!” Daiyu burst out laughing.

  “What a scholar!” she teased. “Have you never seen a lute score before?”

  “Of course I have. But how come I don’t know any of those characters there? Do you understand them, cousin?”

  “Would I read it if I didn’t?”

  T don’t believe you. I’ve never seen you playing a lute. We have several hanging in our study. The other year a scholar called, Ji Haogu I think his name was. My father asked him to play, but when he took the lutes down he said none of them was any good and proposed, if you like, sir, I’ll bring my own lute some day to play for you.’ But he never turned up again, probably because my father’s no connoisseur. Why have you been hiding this accomplishment from me?”

  “I’m no good at it really,” she said. “The other day, feeling a bit better, I rummaged through the books on the big bookcase and found a set of lute scores which looked intriguing. It gives a lucid account of musical theory and clear instructions for playing. Luting was truly an art the men of old cultivated to achieve tranquillity and integrity. In Yangzhou, I heard it explained and learned to play, but then I gave up and that was the end of that. As the saying goes, ‘Three days without playing, and fingers become thumbs.’

  “The other day when I read those scores, there were no words to the music, only titles. Then I found a score somewhere else with words set to the music, which made it more interesting. It’s really hard to play well. We read that when the musician Kuang played the lute, he could summon up wind and thunder, dragons and phoenixes. Even the sage Confucius learned from the musician Xiang, and as soon as he played a piece he realized that this was King Wen’s music. Then there was the musician who, playing of mountains and streams, met a man of true understanding...” Here her eyelashes fluttered and, slowly, she lowered her head.

  By now Baoyu’s enthusiasm was aroused.

  “Dear cousin, how fascinating you make it sound!” he exclaimed. “But I can’t read any of those characters. Won’t you teach me a few of them.”

  “You don’t have to be taught. Once I explain, you’ll catch on.”

  “I’m a stupid fellow, so tell me what that character like ‘big’ with a hook to it means, and the one that has a ‘five’ in it.”

  Daiyu rejoined gaily, “the one made up of ‘big’ and ‘nine’ means that you must thumb the ninth note of the lute. The hook combined with ‘five’ means that you must pluck the fifth string with your right hand. They’re not characters actually but musical signs, which are very easy to follow. Then there are various methods of fingering: Whirring, stroking, plucking, damping, tapping, sliding, gliding, pushing and so forth.”

  Baoyu was delighted.

  “Good cousin, since you understand all about it, why don’t we learn to play the lute?” he proposed.

  “No,” she said. “The men of old made music to induce self-restraint, curb passion, and suppress licence and extravagance. So anyone wanting to play the lute should choose some quiet, lofty studio either in some attic among forests and rocks, or on the summit of a hill or the bank of a stream. A fine, mild day should be chosen too, with a cool breeze and bright moon. Then one should burn incense and sit quietly, one’s mind a blank, one’s breathing regular, to become one with the spirit world and the Way. This is why the ancients said ‘Hard to meet one who understands music’. When there are no understanding listeners, one should play to the cool breeze and bright moon, green pines and rugged rocks, wild monkeys and hoary cranes, conveying one’s emotions in solitude so as not to do injustice to the lute.

  “Then again, good fingering and execution are needed. Before playing one must dress fittingly in a loose cape or long robe like the men of old, to be worthy of this instrument of the sage’s. This done, the hands should be washed, incense lit, and the lutist should sit lightly on the couch with the lute on his desk, its fifth note facing his heart. Only then, when mind and body are well-regulated, can the two hands be raised slowly. And whether soft or loud, fast or slow, the playing must be natural and dignified.”

  “We’re only learning for fun!” exclaimed Baoyu. “If you’re so particular, it’ll be too hard.”

  While they were talking Zijuan had come in. She smiled at the sight of Baoyu.

  “So you’re in good spirits today, Master Bao!” she remarked. “My cousin’s conversation is so illuminating, I could never tire of listening,” he told her.

  “That’s not what I meant,” said the maid. “You must have been in good spirits today to come here.”

  “While she was unwell, I was afraid to disturb her; besides, I had to go to school. That’s why I gave the impression of keeping away....”

  “Miss Lin’s only just better,” Zijuan interrupted. “As you know that, Master Bao, you should let her rest now and not wear her out.”

  “I was so intent on listening, I forgot that she might be tired.”

  “It’s not tiring but fun to discuss such things,” said Daiyu with a smile. “I’m only afraid you may not understand.”

  “Well, anyway, I’ll get it clear gradually.” With that he stood up saying, “Really you’d better rest now. Tomorrow I’ll ask Tanchun and Xichun to learn to play the lute for me too.”

  “You’re too spoilt!” chuckled Daiyu. “If we all learn to play but you don’t understand, won’t that be a case of playing a lute to an....” Here she recollected herself and broke off.

  “So long as you can play, I’ll be only too glad to listen,” said Baoyu cheerfully. “I don’t care if you think me an ox.”

  Daiyu blushed and smiled while Zijuan and Xueyan laughed. Baoyu was on his way out when along came Qiuwen with a younger maid carrying a small pot of orchids.

  “Someone sent four pots of orchids to Her Ladyship,” she announced. “They’re too busy to enjoy them, so Her Ladyship told us to take one pot to Master Bao, one to Miss Lin.”

  Daiyu saw that a few sprays had double blooms. The sight stirred her, but whether with joy or with grief she did not know as she stared at them blankly. Baoyu’s mind, however, was still set on the lute.

  “Now that you have these orchids, cousin,” he said, “you can play that tune The Orchid.”

  This remark upset Daiyu. Going back to her room she gazed at the orchids, reflecting, “In spring, plants put out fresh blooms and luxuriant leaves. I’m still young, yet already I’m like a plant in late autumn. If my wish comes true, I may gradually grow stronger. If not, I fear I’ll be like a fading flower—how can I stand buffeting by rain an
d wind?” She could not hold back her tears.

  Zijuan seeing this could not understand the reason. She thought, “Just now with Baoyu here she was so happy. Why has looking at orchids made her sad again?”

  She was anxiously wondering how to comfort her mistress when a maid arrived with a message from Baochai. To know what it was, read on.

  Chapter 87

  Moved by an Autumn Poem, a Lutist Mourns the Past

  One Practising Yoga Is Possessed Through Lust

  Baochai’s maid, called in by Daiyu, presented her young lady’s greetings and letter, then was sent off to have some tea. Opening the letter, Daiyu found written there:

  Born on an unlucky day in an ill-fated family, I have no sister and my mother is failing. Day and night there is bickering and brawling here, on top of which fearful disasters have assailed us thick and fast. At dead of night I toss and turn, overwhelmed by anxiety. Surely you who understand me must sympathize with me?

  I recall the Begonia Club we formed in autumn and how we enjoyed chrysanthemums and crabs in happy harmony. When I remember those lines:

  Proud recluse, with what hermit are you taking refuge?

  All flowers must bloom, what makes you bloom so late?

  I cannot but feel that the chrysanthemum’s old fragrance is like the two of us! Moved by these thoughts I have scribbled out four stanzas. Though simply an empty lament, they voice my distress.

  1

  Sad to see the passing of seasons,

  Cool autumn is here once more;

  My family is ill-fated,

  Alone I dwell, my heart sore.

  Day-lilies in the northern hall

  Cannot make me forget my cares.

  With no means to banish grief,

  My heart despairs.

  2

  Low hang the clouds,

  The autumn wind makes moan;

  I pace the court

  Through withered leaves turned roan.

  Where can I go?

  Lost, my past happiness.

  Remembered joys

  But fill me with distress.

  3

  The sturgeon has its tarn.

  The crane its nest,

  One lurking within scales,

  One with long plumage dressed!

  At my wit’s end

  I ask infinity:

  High heaven, vast earth,

  Who knows my misery?

  4

  The Milky Way is twinkling,

  The atmosphere strikes chill;

  The moon is sloping down the sky,

  The jade clepsydra’s still.

  There is no sleep for aching hearts.

  My grief I must impart;

  Chanting again and yet again

  For one who knows my heart.

  Daiyu after reading these lines was plunged in grief. She reflected, “The fact that Cousin Baochai didn’t send these to anyone else, only to me, shows that we are kindred spirits.”

  She was lost in thought when someone outside called out, “Is Cousin Lin at home?”

  Putting Baochai’s letter away she asked who was there, even as Tanchun, Xiangyun, Li Wen and Li Qi trooped in. They exchanged greetings while Xueyan brought them tea, after which they chatted. Remembering the poems they had written that year on chrysanthemums, Daiyu remarked:

  “Baochai came over twice after moving out, yet these days—even when something happens—she doesn’t come. Isn’t that odd? I wonder whether she’ll ever come back or not!”

  “Why shouldn’t she?” asked Tanchun with a smile. “She’s bound to eventually.... Just now, of course, she has too much to see to, what with her sister-in-law’s cranky ways, aunty getting on in years, and on top of everything this trouble of Cousin Pan’s. She hasn’t the time to spare that she used to have.”

  Just then a gust of wind sprang up, dashing fallen leaves against the window paper. By and by they smelt a faint fragrance.

  “Where does this scent come from?” they wondered. “What can it be?”

  “It’s like fragrant osmanthus,” observed Daiyu.

  “Cousin Lin is talking like a southerner,” teased Tanchun. “How could fragrant osmanthus bloom in the ninth month?”

  “Quite so.” Daiyu laughed. “That’s why I said it’s like fragrant osmanthus.”

  “You’d better pipe down, Tanchun,” put in Xiangyun. “Don’t you remember the lines:

  Ten li of lotus blooms.

  And in late autumn fragrant osmanthus seeds.

  This is the season for it to blossom down south, only you’ve never seen it. When you go south in future, you’ll find out.”

  “Why should I go south?” asked Tanchun. “Besides, I knew that without your telling me.”

  Li Wen and Li Qi said nothing, only smiled.

  “Don’t be so sure about that, cousin,” said Daiyu. “As the saying goes, ‘Man is a wanderer, here today but gone tomorrow’. For example, how did I get here, when I’m a southerner?”

  Xiangyun clapped her hands and laughed.

  “Today Cousin Lin’s floored Cousin Tanchun!” she crowed. “Not only is Daiyu here from the south, the rest of us come from different places too. Some are northerners, others were born in the south and brought up in the north, still others were brought up in the south and then came north. Our coming together now in one place shows that everyone’s fate is fixed. Each individual is destined for different places.”

  The others nodded approval while Tanchun merely smiled. And after more casual talk the visitors left. When Daiyu saw them to the door they said, “You’ve only just got a bit better, don’t come out. We don’t want you to catch cold.”

  She stood in the doorway exchanging civilities with them until they left the compound, then went back to her room and sat down. It was sunset now, birds were winging back to the hills. And Xiangyun’s talk about the south filled Daiyu’s mind with fancies.

  “If my parents were still alive... the south with spring flowers and autumn moonlight, limpid streams and lucent hills, Yangzhou’s twenty-four bridges and Six Dynasties’ relics... no lack of maids to wait on me, and freedom to do as I pleased without worrying... a scented carriage and a painted barge, the red apricots and green signs of country taverns, my own mistress, respected by all.... Now, living with another family, although they treat me so well I have to watch my step all the time.... What sins did I commit in my last life to be so wretched now? In the words of the deposed king of Southern Tang, ‘Here I can only bathe my face in tears every day’....” She lost herself in these reflections.

  Zijuan coming back supposed that her melancholy had been induced by the talk about south and north which Daiyu had taken to heart.

  “The young ladies were here so long chatting, you must be tired, miss,” she said. “I just told Xueyan to get the kitchen to prepare you a bowl of cabbage soup with ham and dried shrimps, as well as some bamboo shoots and laver in it. Is that all right?”

  “It will do.”

  “There’ll be congee too.”

  Daiyu nodded, then said, “I’d like you two to cook it, not leave it to the kitchen.”

  “Yes, we will,” Zijuan assured her. “I was afraid, too, that the kitchen wouldn’t be clean enough. As for the soup, I asked Xueyan to tell Mrs. Liu that it must be very clean. And Mrs. Liu said she’d get together the ingredients, then ask their Wuer to cook it on the small stove in their own room.”

  “It’s not that I think them dirty,” said Daiyu. “But all this time I’ve been unwell I’ve had to depend on them for everything. So now they may resent these special instructions about soup and congee.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again.

  “Don’t go imagining things, miss,” urged Zijuan. “You’re the old lady’s grand-daughter and she dotes on you. They’re only too glad of a chance to please you. How can they possibly complain?”

  Daiyu nodded. Then she asked, “That Wuer you mentioned just now, isn’t she the girl who was with Fangguan in Master Bao’s place?” />
  “That’s the one.”

  “Didn’t I hear say she’d be coming to work in the Garden?”

  “Yes, miss. But she fell ill, and when she got over it and was to come, there was all that trouble over Qingwen and the rest, and so it got delayed.”

  “She looked to me a neat girl,” Daiyu said.

  Now a serving-woman outside delivered the soup, Xueyan went out to fetch it.

  The woman reported, “Mrs. Liu says to tell your young lady that this was prepared by her Wuer. She didn’t dare have it prepared in the big kitchen for fear your young lady might think it not clean enough.”

  Xueyan voiced approval and brought the soup in. Daiyu, who had heard this exchange, made Xueyan tell the woman to thank them for their trouble, after which the latter left. Then Xueyan set Daiyu’s bowl and chopsticks on the small table.

  “We’ve those five-spice pickles from the south too,” she said. “Would you like some with sesame oil and vinegar?”

  “All right, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  When the congee was served, Daiyu ate half a bowl and two spoonfuls of the soup, but then gave up. Two maids cleared and wiped the table, took it away, then brought in the small table which she liked to use.

  Daiyu, having rinsed her mouth and washed her hands, asked Zijuan, “Have you added fresh incense?”

  “I’ll do it now, miss.”

  “You two may as well finish up the congee and soup; they taste quite good and they’re clean. I’ll see to the incense myself.”

  The two maids agreed and sat down to supper in the outer room.

  After adding fresh incense, Daiyu settled down to read when a west wind sprang up and set all the trees rustling. Presently the iron chimes swinging from the eaves raised a loud tinkling too. Xueyan, her supper finished, now came back. “It’s grown cold,” Daiyu told her. “Have you aired my fur clothes, as I asked you the other day?”

  “Yes, all of them.”

  “Bring me something to put over my shoulders.”

  Xueyan fetched in a bundle of fur-lined clothes and unwrapped it for Daiyu to make her choice. The first thing her eye fell on was a silk wrapper. Undoing this, she found the old handkerchiefs Baoyu had sent her when he was ill, on which she had written poems—they still had her tear-stains on them. Wrapped inside were the scented pouch which she had cut up, a fan-case and the tassel from Baoyu’s Jade of Spiritual Understanding. These had been in the chest when it was opened to sun the clothes, and Zijuan for fear that they might get mislaid had put them in the bundle.