by Cao Xueqin
‘Oh no,’ replied Dai-yu. ‘I’m no good. It just happened that a day or two ago, when I was feeling a little better, I was looking through my bookcase and came across an old Qin Handbook. It seemed such a fine thing, and made such fascinating reading. It began with a preface on the general philosophy of the Qin, which I found most profound, and then it explained the technical side in great detail. I realized that playing the Qin is a form of meditation and spiritual discipline handed down to us from the ancients.
‘I had a few lessons when we lived in Yangchow, and made some progress. But since then I’ve become so out of practice, and now my fingers are all “overgrown with brambles”, as they say! The first Qin Handbook I found only had the names of the Airs, it didn’t have the words and music. But now I’ve found another with the Airs written out in full. It’s so interesting! Of course, I realize that I shall never be able to do justice to the score. To think what the great Master Musicians of the past could do – like Master Kuang, whose playing could summon wind and thunder, dragon and phoenix! And to think that Confucius could tell from his Music Master Xiang’s first notes that he was listening to a musical portrait of King Wen! To play a Rhapsody of Hills and Streams and share its inner meaning with a fellow music-lover…’
Dai-yu fluttered her eyelids and slowly bowed her head.
Bao-yu was completely carried away:
‘Oh coz! How wonderful it all sounds! But I’m afraid I still don’t understand these peculiar characters. Please teach me how to read some of them.’
‘I don’t need to teach you. It’s easy.’
‘But I’m such a fool! Please help me! Take that one there – all I can make out is Hook, with Big on top and Five in the middle.’
Dai-yu laughed at him.
‘The Big and Nine on top mean you stop the string with the thumb of your left hand at the ninth fret. The Hook and Five mean you hook the middle finger of your right hand slightly and pull the fifth string towards you. So you see, it’s not what we would call a character, it’s more a cluster of signs telling you what the next note is and how to play it. It’s very easy. Then there are signs for all the graces – the narrow and the wide vibrato, the rising and the falling glissando, the mordent, the tremulo, the falling glissando with open-string drone…’
Bao-yu was beside himself with joy.
‘As you understand it so perfectly, coz, why don’t we start studying the Qin together?’
‘The essence of the Qin,’ replied Dai-yu, ‘is restraint. It was created in ancient times to help man purify himself and lead a gentle and sober life, to quell all wayward passions and to curb every riotous impulse. If you wish to play, then you must first
seek out a quiet chamber,
a studio with distant view,
or upper room;
or some secluded nook
’mong rocks and trees,
on craggy mountain-top,
by water’s edge…
Let the weather be clear and calm, a gentle breeze, a moonlit night. Light some incense, and sit in silent meditation. Empty the mind of outward thoughts. Poise Breath and Blood in Perfect Harmony. Your Soul may now commune with the Divine, and enter into that mysterious Union with the Way.
‘As the ancients said, true music-lovers have always been few. If there is no one able to share your music’s true delight, then sit alone, and
serenade the breeze and moonlight,
hymn the ancient pines
and weather-worn rocks;
let wild monkeys and venerable cranes
hear your song,
rather than the vulgar mob, whose dull ears would only sully the precious virtue of the Qin.
‘So much for the setting. The next two essentials are finger-technique and touch. And before you think of playing, be sure to dress in a suitable style – preferably in a swansdown cape or other antique robe. Assume the dignified manner of the ancients, a manner in keeping with the chosen instrument of the sages. Wash your hands. Light the incense. Sit on the edge of your couch. Place the Qin on the table before you, and sit with your chest opposite the fifth fret. Raise both hands slowly and gracefully. You are now ready, in body and mind, to begin.
‘You must while playing observe carefully the dynamic markings – piano, forte, allegro, adagio – and maintain a relaxed but serious manner at all times.’
‘Goodness me!’ cried Bao-yu. ‘I was thinking we could do it for fun! If it’s as complicated as that, I’m not sure I’d be up to it!’
While they were talking Nightingale came in, and on seeing Bao-yu in the room, inquired with a smile:
‘To what are we to attribute this joyful event, Master Bao?’
‘Cousin Dai has just been teaching me about the Qin. It’s as though scales had fallen from my eyes! I could go on listening for ever!’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Nightingale. ‘What I meant was, it’s so rarely that we see you at all nowadays, I wondered if something out of the ordinary had happened to bring you here today?’
‘I suppose it must seem like that,’ replied Bao-yu. ‘But the only reason I’ve not been round more often is that I know Cousin Dai has not been well, and thought it best not to trouble her. And then I’ve been having to go to school…’
‘Well,’ interrupted Nightingale, ‘Miss Lin has only just started to feel better, so don’t you think you should let her rest now, and not wear her out giving you lessons?’
‘Why yes! How thoughtless of me!’ he exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I was so absorbed in what she was saying, that it never entered my head she might be tiring herself.’
‘I wasn’t,’ said Dai-yu, smiling. ‘Talking about music doesn’t tire one, on the contrary, it raises one’s spirits. I only wonder if what I was saying wasn’t beyond you…’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Bao-yu. ‘I’m sure if we take it slowly I’ll be able to understand.’
He stood up.
‘But seriously, I think I should leave you in peace now. Tomorrow I’ll ask Tan and Xi if they’ll come over with me. You three can learn together. I think I’ll just sit in…’
‘Why, you lazy thing!’ laughed Dai-yu. ‘Imagine if we three did learn to play, and you were as ignorant as ever; wouldn’t we then be casting our…’
She felt she was allowing herself to become too intimate, and suddenly stopped short. Bao-yu only laughed:
‘I’d be happy just to hear you play. I’d do anything for that – even be your swine!’
Dai-yu blushed, but laughed nonetheless. Nightingale and Snowgoose laughed too.
Bao-yu took his leave, and had reached the door, when Ripple appeared, followed by a junior maid bearing a small pot of orchid-plants.
‘Her Ladyship has been given four pots of these orchids,’ said Ripple, ‘and she thought that, as she was so busy at the palace and wouldn’t have time to appreciate them, she would give one to you, Master Bao, and one to you, Miss Lin.’
Dai-yu looked at the orchids. Among them were some of the double-headed kind, and looking at these, she had a strange sensation that they meant something. Whether it was joy or sorrow that they portended, she could not tell. But it was something of importance. She stood staring at them, lost in thought.
Bao-yu’s mind, by contrast, was still full of vibratos and glissandos, and as he left he said gaily:
‘Now that you have these orchids, coz, you’ll be able to compose your own Lonely Orchid Pavan. And I’m sure it will be just as good as the one Confucius wrote!’
Dai-yu’s heart was too troubled to respond to this parting jest. She walked indoors, and staring once more at her orchids, thought to herself:
‘Flowers have their spring-time, a time for fresh blossoms and young leaves. I am young, but frail as the willow that dreads the first breath of autumn… If all turns out for the best, I may grow stronger yet. But if not, my fate will be like that of the fallen petals at spring’s end, driven by the rain and tossed in the wind…’
These sombre ref
lections brought tears to her eyes. Nightingale was puzzled to see her cry. ‘Just now,’ she thought to herself, ‘when Master Bao was here, they were both in such high spirits; and now look at her! And all she’s done is look at those flowers!’
She was still trying in vain to think of some consolation to offer, when one of Bao-chai’s serving-women came into the room. But if you wish to know the purpose of her visit, you must read the next chapter.
Chapter 87
Autumnal sounds combine with sad remembrances to inspire a composition on the Qin
And a flood of passion allows evil spirits to disturb the serenity of Zen
The serving-woman was shown into the Naiad’s House. After paying her respects, she delivered a letter for Dai-yu and was taken off to drink tea with the maids. Dai-yu opened her letter. It was from Bao-chai, and began:.
‘Dear Cousin,
Some malign star must surely have ruled the day of my birth! Misfortune pursues the family at every turn! Cousin Qin and I both fatherless; Mother advanced in years; to which add the sounds of bestial ululation that now emanate from our inner apartments at every hour of the day and night; and, to complete this recital of family woes, Brother Pan’s recent and most cruel blow! Alas! We are indeed beset with howling winds and torrential rains! As I lie awake at night, tossing on my bed, unable to master this grief, my only consolation is the thought of a kindred spirit such as yours. Ah, dear Cousin! You, I know, have the heart to share my present trials, as once you shared the joys of that golden autumn, when harmony and conviviality prevailed. Then, united beneath the aegis of the Crab-flower Club, we tasted crustacean delicacies and contemplated chrysanthemums. Once, I recall, you questioned the flowers thus:
“Who world disdainer, shares your hiding-place?
Of all the flowers, why do yours bloom so late?”
The lines never fail to rive my heart. For are not you and I late blooms, that tremble at the approaching chill?
‘I have endeavoured to compose a lament in four stanzas, to express these feelings of mine. I beg you, read it not as a piece of literary art, but as a simple vessel for my tears.
Your Affectionate Cousin,
Bao-chai.’
The poem was attached.
Alas! the seasons turn,
and turning bring once more
The chill of autumn
to our joy-forsaken door.
We have a flower,
flos matris is its name,
Heartsease…
Poor Mother! What art
can heal thy grief,
or ease thy heart?
My soul aches for thee.
The scudding clouds
by biting autumn winds are blown;
The courtyard-walk
with withered leaves is thickly strewn.
Whither shall I go?
To whom shall I turn?
My love is gone,
And only an anguish
too deep for words
remains.
My heart is desolate.
The mighty sturgeon
has his pool;
The stork upon the dam
makes his habitation.
Fish in scaly armour,
Birds in serried plumes,
find protection.
In my distress
I question
that inscrutable expanse:
O bowels of earth!
O boundless sky!
Will ye not hearken to my cry?
Above, the twinkling Milky Way;
The air cold,
Slanting moonlight,
The water-clock
sunk past midnight.
My restless heart
grieves still;
I read once more this sad lament,
Before entrusting it to you,
My kindred soul and friend!
Dai-yu was deeply moved. ‘She knew I’d be able to understand!’ she thought to herself. ‘That’s why she wrote to me rather than anyone else.’ She was lost in thought, when a voice called from outside:
‘Is Cousin Lin at home?’
Refolding the letter, she replied in a somewhat distant tone:
‘Who’s that?’
Her visitors were already on their way into the room – Tan-chun, Shi Xiang-yun and the two Li sisters. The girls exchanged greetings, and Snowgoose served them with tea. During the conversation that followed, Dai-yu found her thoughts turning back to the gathering, two years earlier, at which they had written the chrysanthemum poems:
‘Don’t you think it’s strange?’ she remarked to the others. ‘Since Cousin Chai moved out of the Garden, she’s only been to see us a couple of times all together. And now it seems as though nothing will induce her to come. I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll ever visit us again.’
Tan-chun smiled.
‘Of course she will! It’s just that at the moment things are a bit difficult: Cousin Pan’s wife is rather a tricky sort of person, Aunt Xue is getting on in years, and with this latest trouble of Pan’s on top of everything else, Chai really is needed to look after things at home. It’s not like the old days, when she was free to do as she pleased.’
As she spoke, they heard a sudden gust of wind outside, and a patter of falling leaves against the paper-covered window. A faint scent drifted into the room. They all tried to guess what flower it could be coming from.
‘It’s very like cassia-blossom,’ suggested Dai-yu.
Tan-chun laughed.
‘Still a southerner at heart! It’s the ninth month, long past cassia-time.’
Dai-yu smiled.
‘You’re right. But then I didn’t say it was, only very like…’
‘Anyway, Tan,’ Xiang-yun butted in, ‘you can’t talk. Don’t you know the lines:
The lotus fragrance drifts for miles,
The cassia blooms till autumn’s end?
In the South, the late-flowering cassia is at its best now. It’s just that you’ve never seen it. If you ever have a chance to go to the South, you’ll be able to see it for yourself.’
‘And what should I be doing in the South?’ retorted Tan-chun with a crushing smile. ‘Anyway, I knew all that ages ago, thanks very much…’
The Li sisters grinned at each other.
‘You never know, Tan,’ said Dai-yu. ‘We are “fairy earthlings, fleet of foot”, that’s what the old proverb says. Here today, who knows where tomorrow. Take me, for example. I was born a southerner, but here I am living in the North.’
Xiang-yun clapped her hands.
‘Well said! Dai’s got you there, Tan! And she’s not the only one to have had such an experience. Look at the rest of us. Some of us are northerners, born and bred. Some were born in the South but grew up in the North. And some grew up in the South and then moved here later. And yet here we all are together. It’s our fate, you see. People and places have an affinity. Their karma brings them together.’
They all nodded at Xiang-yun’s little discourse, except for Tan-chun who just smiled. After chatting for a while longer, they got up to go. Dai-yu walked with them as far as the door, and would have gone out, but they dissuaded her:
‘You’ve only just started to feel better. If you come out now, you might catch a chill.’
So she stood in the doorway, said a few parting words, and watched the four of them walk out of the courtyard gate.
When they had gone, she went indoors again and sat down. The birds were returning to their nests; the sun was setting. With Xiang-yun’s words about the South still ringing in her ears, Dai-yu drifted into a daydream. If her parents were still alive… If she still lived in the South, that gentle land of spring flowers and autumn moonlight, of limpid waters and luminous hills… How she would love to be there again, to visit the Twenty Four Bridges in Yangchow and all the famous historical sites of Nanking! In the South she would have plenty of servants of her own to wait on her. She could do and speak as she pleased, sail in painted pleasure-boats and ride
in perfumed carriages, watch the fields of red apricot-blossom go by, spot the inn-signs through the trees… She would be a young lady in her own right, not an outsider, dependent on others for everything. However much the Jias did for her, she always felt the need to be on her best behaviour. What wrong had she done in a previous incarnation to deserve this lonely existence? Those words written in captivity by the last emperor of Southern Tang –
Here, all day long, I bathe my face in tears –
how well they expressed her own feelings! Her soul seemed transported to some distant region.
When Nightingale came in, a single glance sufficed to tell her the cause of Dai-yu’s ‘absence’. She had been in the room when Xiang-yun was talking, and knew how easily Dai-yu was upset by the slightest reference to the South.
‘I thought you might feel tired again, Miss,’ she said, ‘after all your visitors and such a lot of talking, so I’ve just sent Snowgoose to the kitchen for a bowl of ham and cabbage broth, cooked with dried shrimps, dried seaweed and bamboo-shoots. Doesn’t that sound good?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And some congee?’
Dai-yu nodded.
‘I’d rather you and Snowgoose made the congee yourselves. Don’t have it done in the kitchen.’
‘No Miss. You can never be sure how clean things are in the kitchen. We’ll cook the congee ourselves. I asked Snowgoose to tell Cook Liu in the kitchen to take special care with the soup. Cook Liu said we were not to worry, she’d see to it personally and prepare it in her own room. Her daughter Fivey is going to keep an eye on it while it simmers.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ replied Dai-yu. ‘I wasn’t complaining that the kitchen was dirty. It’s just that I’ve been imposing on people for so long, and this illness of mine has caused quite enough extra trouble as it is. With all these special orders for soup and congee, I’m afraid I shall make myself unpopular.’
