by Cao Xueqin
For a while Bao-yu could think of no reply to this homily. Finally he gave a silly laugh and said:
‘After not speaking to me for so long, here you are lecturing me. You are wasting your breath.’
Encouraged by this response to go a step further, Bao-chai said:
‘Let me tell you the plain truth, then. Some days ago, while you were unconscious, Cousin Lin passed away.’
With a sudden movement, Bao-yu sat up and cried out in horror:
‘It can’t be true!’
‘It is. Would I lie about such a thing? Grandmother and Mother knew how fond you were of each other, and wouldn’t tell you because they were afraid that if they did, you would die too.’
Bao-yu began howling unrestrainedly and slumped back in his bed. Suddenly all was pitch black before his eyes. He could not tell where he was and was beginning to feel very lost, when he thought he saw a man walking towards him and asked in a bewildered tone of voice:
‘Would you be so kind as to tell me where I am?’
‘This,’ replied the stranger, ‘is the road to the Springs of the Nether World. Your time is not yet come. What brings you here?’
‘I have just learned of the death of a friend and have come to find her. But I seem to have lost my way.’
‘Who is this friend of yours?’
‘Lin Dai-yu of Soochow.’
The man gave a chilling smile:
‘In life Lin Dai-yu was no ordinary mortal, and in death she has become no ordinary shade. An ordinary mortal has two souls which coalesce at birth to vitalize the physical frame, and disperse at death to rejoin the cosmic flux. If you consider the impossibility of tracing even such ordinary human entities in the Nether World, you will realize what a futile task it is to look for Lin Dai-yu. You had better return at once.’
After standing for a moment lost in thought, Bao-yu asked again:
‘But if as you say, death is a dispersion, how can there be such a place as the Nether World?’
‘There is,’ replied the man with a superior smile, ‘and yet there is not, such a place. It is a teaching, devised to warn mankind in its blind attachment to the idea of life and death. The Supreme Wrath is aroused by human folly in all forms – whether it be excessive ambition, premature death self-sought, or futile self-destruction through debauchery and a life of overweening violence. Hell is the place where souls such as these are imprisoned and made to suffer countless torments in expiation of their sins. This search of yours for Lin Dai-yu is a case of futile self-delusion. Dai-yu has already returned to the Land of Illusion and if you really want to find her you must cultivate your mind and strengthen your spiritual nature. Then one day you will see her again. But if you throw your life away, you will be guilty of premature death self-sought and will be confined to Hell. And then, although you may be allowed to. see your parents, you will certainly never see Dai-yu again.’
When he had finished speaking, the man took a stone from within his sleeve and threw it at Bao-yu’s chest. The words he had spoken and the impact of the stone as it landed on his chest combined to give Bao-yu such a fright that he would have returned home at once, if he had only know which way to turn. In his confusion he suddenly heard a voice, and turning, saw the figures of Grandmother Jia, Lady Wang, Bao-chai, Aroma and his other maids standing in a circle around him, weeping and calling his name. He was lying on his own bed. The red lamp was on the table. The moon was shining brilliantly through the window. He was back among the elegant comforts of his own home. A moment’s reflection told him that what he had just experienced had been a dream. He was in a cold sweat. Though his mind felt strangely lucid, thinking only intensified his feeling of helpless desolation, and he uttered several profound sighs.
Bao-chai had known of Dai-yu’s death for several days. While Grandmother Jia had forbidden the maids to tell him for fear of further complicating his illness, she felt she knew better. Aware that it was Dai-yu who lay at the root of his illness and that the loss of his jade was only a secondary factor, she took the opportunity of breaking the news of her death to him in this abrupt manner, hoping that by severing his attachment once and for all she would enable his sanity and health to be restored. Grandmother Jia, Lady Wang and company were not aware of her intentions and at first reproached her for her lack of caution. But when they saw Bao-yu regain consciousness, they were all greatly relieved and went at once to the library to ask doctor Bi to come in and examine his patient again. The doctor carefully took his pulses.
‘How odd!’ he exclaimed. ‘His pulses are deep and still, his spirit calm, the oppression quite dispersed. Tomorrow he must take a regulative draught, which I shall prescribe, and he should make a prompt and complete recovery.’
The doctor left and the ladies all returned to their apartments in much improved spirits.
Although at first Aroma greatly resented the way in which Bao-chai had broken the news, she did not dare say so. Oriole, on the other hand, reproved her mistress in private for having been, as she put it, too hasty.
‘What do you know about such things?’ retorted Bao-chai. ‘Leave this to me. I take full responsibility.’
Bao-chai ignored the opinions and criticisms of those around her and continued to keep a close watch on Bao-yu’s progress, probing him judiciously, like an acupunturist with a needle.
A day or two later, he began to feel a slight improvement in himself, though his mental equilibrium was still easily disturbed by the least thought of Dai-yu. Aroma was constantly at his side, with such words of consolation as:
‘The Master chose Miss Chai as your bride for her more dependable nature. He thought Miss Lin too difficult and temperamental for you, and besides there was always the fear that she would not live long. Then later Her Old Ladyship thought you were not in a fit state to know what was best for you and would only be upset and make yourself iller if you knew the truth, so she made Snowgoose come over, to try and make things easier for you.’
This did nothing to lessen his grief, and he often wept inconsolably. But each time he thought of putting an end to his life, he remembered the words of the stranger in his dream; and then he thought of the distress his death would cause his mother and grandmother and knew that he could not tear himself away from them. He also reflected that Dai-yu was dead, and that Bao-chai was a fine lady in her own right; there must after all have been some truth in the bond of gold and jade. This thought eased his mind a little. Bao-chai could see that things were improving, and herself felt calmer as a result. Every day she scrupulously performed her duties towards Grandmother Jia and Lady Wang, and when these were completed, did all she could to cure Bao-yu of his grief. He was still not able to sit up for long periods, but often when he saw her sitting by his bedside he would succumb to his old weakness for the fairer sex. She tried to rally him in an earnest manner, saying:
‘The important thing is to take care of your health. Now that we are married, we have a whole lifetime ahead of us.’
He was reluctant to listen to her advice. But since his grandmother, his mother, Aunt Xue and all the others took it in turns to watch over him during the day, and since Bao-chai slept on her own in an adjoining room, and he was waited on at night by one or two maids of Grandmother Jia’s, he found himself left with little choice but to rest and get well again. And as time went by and Bao-chai proved herself a gentle and devoted companion, he found that a small part of his love for Dai-yu began to transfer itself to her. But this belongs to a later part of our story.
*
Let us return to the wedding-day. Dai-yu, it will be remembered, had lost consciousness while it was still light, and was holding onto life by the slenderest thread. Her weak breathing and precarious heart-beat caused Li Wan and Nightingale to weep in despair. By evening however, she seemed easier again. She feebly opened her eyes, and seemed to be asking for water or medicine. ‘Snowgoose had already left, and only Li Wan and Nightingale were at her bedside. Nightingale brought her a little cup of pear-juice
blended with a decoction of longans, and with a small silver spoon fed her two or three spoonfuls of it. Dai-yu closed her eyes and rested for a while. Conscious ness would flicker momentarily within her, then fade away again. Li Wan recognized this peaceful state as the last transient revival of the dying, but thinking that the end would not come for a few hours, she returned briefly to Sweet-rice Village to see to her own affairs.
Dai-yu opened her eyes again. Seeing no one in the room but Nightingale and her old wet-nurse and a few other junior maids, she clutched Nightingale’s hand and said with a great effort:
‘I am finished! After the years you have spent seeing to my every need, I had hoped the two of us could always be together. But now …’
She broke off, panting for breath, closed her eyes and lay still, gripping Nightingale’s hand tightly. Nightingale did not dare to move. She had thought that Dai-yu seemed so much better, had even hoped she might pull through after all; but these words, sent a chill down her spine. After a long pause, Dai-yu spoke again:
‘Sister Nightingale! I have no family of my own here. My body is pure: promise me you’ll ask them to bury me at home!’
She closed her eyes again and was silent. Her grip tightened still further around Nightingale’s hand, and she was seized with another paroxysm of breathlessness. When she could breathe again, her outward breaths became longer, her inward breaths shorter and more feeble. They quickened at a rate that caused Nightingale great alarm, and she sent at once for Li Wan. Tan-chun happened to arrive at that very moment. Nightingale said to her in an urgent whisper:
‘Miss! Come and look at Miss Lin!’ As she spoke, her tears fell like drops of rain. Tan-chun came over and felt Dai-yu’s hand. It was already cold, and her eyes were glazed and lifeless. Tan-chun and Nightingale wept as they gave orders for water to be brought and for Dai-yu to be washed. Now Li Wan came hurrying in. She, Tan-chun and Nightingale looked at each other, but were too shocked to say a word. They began wiping Dai-yu’s face with a flannel, when suddenly she cried out in a loud voice:
‘Bao-yu! Bao-yu! How could you …’
Her whole body broke into a cold sweat and she could say no more. They tried to calm her down and support her. She sweated more and more profusely and her body became colder by degrees. Tan-chun and Li Wan told the maids to put up her hair and dress her in her grave-clothes, and to be quick about it. Her eyes rolled upwards. Alas!
Her fragrant soul disperses, wafted on the breeze;
Her sorrows now a dream, drifting into the night.
The moment Dai-yu breathed her last was the very moment that Bao-yu took Bao-chai to be his wife. Nightingale and Dai-yu’s other maids began to wail and lament. Li Wan and Tan-chun recalled all their past affection for her, a memory made the more poignant by the lonely circumstances of her death, and they too shed many bitter and heartfelt tears. The wedding chamber was a long way off, and the guests heard nothing of the weeping, but from the Naiad’s House, in a brief interval of silence between their lamentations, they heard a faint snatch of music in the distance. They strained their ears to catch it, but it was gone. Tan-chun and Li Wan went out into the garden to listen again, but all they could hear was the rustling of the bamboos in the wind. The moonlight cast a wavering shadow on the wall. It was an eerie, desolate night.
Presently they sent for Steward Lin’s wife and had Dai-yu properly laid out. Maids were set to watch the body. Early next morning they reported her death to Xi-feng, who was now placed in an acute dilemma: Grandmother Jia and Lady Wang were both extremely busy and distraught, Jia Zheng was about to leave, Bao-yu in a worse stupor than ever; if she broke the bad news to them now, she was afraid for Grandmother Jia’s and Lady Wang’s health. They were already burdened with so many worries, and might not be equal to the shock. She decided to go to the Garden herself. When she arrived at the Naiad’s House and went inside, she could not help but weep. She spoke to Li Wan and Tan-chun, and learned that all the correct preparations had been made for the laying out.
‘Good,’ she said, resuming her brisk tone of voice. ‘But I wish you had told me earlier. I have been so worried.’
‘How could we?’ they replied. ‘Sir Zheng was just leaving.’
‘Perhaps it was considerate of you,’ said Xi-feng, on reflection. ‘Well, I must go back and see to the other half of this lovesick pair. I really do not know what to do for the best. I ought to tell them today. But if I do, I am afraid it may be too much for Grandmother.’
‘You do what you think best,’ said Li Wan.
Xi-feng nodded and hurried back. She arrived to find the doctor with Bao-yu. Hearing him say that Bao-yu’s condition was nothing to worry about, and seeing that Grandmother Jia and Lady Wang were calmer as a consequence, she decided to tell them without further delay. She broke it to them as gently as possible, in a place where there was no chance of Bao-yu overhearing. The news had a shattering effect, and Grandmother Jia broke down in tears.
‘I am to blame! I have brought this on her! But why did she have to be so obstinate and foolish?’
She wanted to go to the Garden to mourn, but was torn between that and her concern for Bao-yu. Lady Wang and the others all tried to dissuade her, containing their own grief as best they could, and saying:
‘You shouldn’t go, Mother. You must take care of yourself.’
Grandmother Jia submitted to their counsel, and had to content herself with sending Lady Wang in her place.
‘Give her spirit this message from me. Tell her: “It is not because I am hard-hearted that I have not come to bid you farewell, but because my grandson needs me here. You are my daughter’s child, I know. But Bao-yu is a Jia, and I cannot leave him now. If I did and he were to die, how would I ever be able to look his father in the face again?” ’
The old lady broke down again. Lady Wang tried to console her.
‘We all know how much you loved Miss Lin, Mother. But the fates have decreed her an early death. She is dead now and there is nothing more we can do for her, except give her the best possible funeral. That at least will be some expression of our love for her, and will bring some peace to her departed spirit, and that of her dear mother.’
These words brought a fresh and still more heartbroken outburst of tears from Grandmother Jia. Xi-feng was worried that she might damage her health through excess of grief and decided to take advantage of Bao-yu’s clouded state of mind to create a distraction. She gave secret instructions to one of the maids, who left the room. Shortly afterwards another maid came in with the timely news that Bao-yu was demanding to see his grandmother. Grandmother Jia stopped crying at once, and asked:
‘Gracious! Is anything the matter?’
Xi-feng smiled coaxingly.
‘Of course not, Grannie. He is probably just missing you.’
Grandmother Jia immediately put a hand on Pearl’s shoulder and set off, accompanied by Xi-feng. They were half-way to Bao-yu’s apartment, when they met Lady Wang returning from the Naiad’s House. She gave a minute account of her mission, which Grandmother Jia found most moving. But she was intent upon visiting Bao-yu, and had to check her tears and contain her grief.
‘Since you have been there and all is in order, I shall not go myself but leave it all to you. It would grieve me too much to see her. I shall rely on you to do things properly.’
Lady Wang and Xi-feng replied that she was quite right to do so, and left her to continue on her way to Bao-yu. When she saw him, she asked:
‘What did you want me for?’
He smiled wanly, and said:
‘Yesterday evening I saw Cousin Lin, and she told me she was going back to the South. I have been thinking that there is no one here to persuade her to stay, except you, Grannie. Will you, for my sake?’
‘Of course I will,’ replied Grandmother Jia. ‘Don’t worry.’
Aroma helped Bao-yu to lie down again, and Grandmother Jia went into Bao-chai’s room. This was before Bao-chai had celebrated her Ninth Day, and she still fe
lt rather shy in her new surroundings. When Grandmother Jia came in, she saw that the old lady’s face was wet with tears. She served her with a cup of tea, after which Grandmother Jia asked her to be seated, which she did with great diffidence, sitting by her side on the edge of the couch and saying:
‘I hear that Cousin Lin has been ill. I hope she is getting better now.’
Tears began to stream from Grandmother Jia’s eyes.
‘My child! If I tell you, you must promise not to tell Bao-yu. It is all because of your Cousin Lin that you have been made to suffer so. But now that you are Bao-yu’s wife, I must tell you the truth. Your Cousin Lin has been dead now for some time. She died just at the time you were married. This present illness of Bao-yu’s is all because of her. The three of you were neighbours at one time in the Garden, so I am sure you know what I mean.’
The colour rose in Bao-chai’s cheeks. She began to weep too, as she thought of her departed friend. Grandmother Jia talked with her a little longer, and then left.
It was from this moment that Bao-chai began to rack her brains for a cure for Bao-yu. She still felt the need to be cautious, and it was only after the Ninth Day that she acquired the confidence to begin the course of treatment which was to prove so efficacious. With Bao-yu’s recovery, it became possible for everyone to talk to him more openly again. But although his health showed a marked daily improvement, nothing could abate his obsessive love for Dai-yu, and he began to insist on going over himself to weep by her corpse. Grandmother Jia forbade it, on the grounds that he was not yet fully cured and any such excursion might upset him. But cooped up as he was in his room, his depression grew almost intolerable and he began to suffer from his old fits again. It was finally the docto who, in view of the psychological nature of the illness, positively recommended the excursion, to enhance the efficacy of his medicines and speed up the cure. Bao-yu, when he heard this, wanted to go to the Naiad’s House at once. This time Grandmother Jia reluctantly gave her permission, and told them to bring a bamboo carrying-chair and help him into it. She and Lady Wang led the way. When they arrived and saw Dai-yu’s coffin, Grandmother Jia nearly wept herself into a fit, and was only kept from doing so by the repeated intervention of Xi-feng and the others present. Lady Wang wept too. Li Wan then asked Grandmother Jia and Lady Wang to retire to the inner room, which they did, still weeping. As Bao-yu arrived, his thoughts went back to the days before Dai-yu had fallen ill, before things had taken this turn. The sight of the familiar room was too much for him, and he started howling wildly. How close they had once been! What a gulf death had put between them! His passionate display of grief began to concern them all. They were afraid it might be dangerous, coming so soon after his illness, and all tried to console him. He was already beside himself with weeping, however, and the most they could do was help him to lie down and rest. The others who had accompanied him, including Bao-chai, all wept most bitterly.
