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You’d probably think that there isn’t much interesting going on in segments like the one in yesterday’s translation post.

There really wasn’t too much to it. Jia Zheng asked Jia Zhen how many things are ready. Jia Zhen gave one of those answers that made it clear that he didn’t know any actual details. Jia Zheng asked Jia Lian to come over and give more information. Jia Lian came over, read from a piece of paper, and that was that.

So why do we have this strange interlude? Why stop all of Jia Baoyu’s poetry to tell us this?

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This is the first meticulous and encyclopedic passage we’ve seen so far in Dream of the Red Chamber. There are more to come, and this sort of thing reminds me of some of the oddly specific passages in Les Misérables by Victor Hugo.

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My Translation

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Let’s talk about poetry.

I know that a lot of you are actually interested in why Jia Baoyu hung his head after Jia Zheng addressed him in yesterday’s post:

While Jia Baoyu’s psychological response to his father is interesting, I honestly feel that the poem Jia Baoyu composed is a lot more interesting.

The thing about the poetry in Dream of the Red Chamber is that it tends to have deeper meanings than what you see on the surface. The poems also tend to be predictive in nature. However, as we’ll see in a second, sometimes the poems have multiple possible and contradictory interpretations.

If you take it at face value, the poem Jia Baoyu composed at the end of yesterday’s post is about Jia Yuanchun’s coming visit back home:

寶鼎茶閒煙尚綠，幽窗棋罷指猶涼。

In the precious kettle, the tea sits idle, and the steam is green;

By the quiet window, the chess game is abandoned, and the fingers are cold.

Now, if you’re familiar with Chinese idioms (and it’s okay if you’re not), this poem should remind you of a fairly well known idiom.

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Jia Baoyu’s brilliance is on display again today. This is a pretty complex and dense passage, and I probably should have split it up into two or three posts. Enjoy today’s long translation post and complex explanation!

My Translation

The group then left the pavilion, went across the pond, and were careful to examine every hill, every rock, every flower, and every tree along their way. After a while, when they raised their heads, they suddenly saw a row of whitewashed walls surrounding several tall rooms, partially shaded by a dense grove of countless green bamboo trees. “What an excellent spot!” everybody exclaimed as they entered.

After they entered through the gateway, they found themselves walking along a winding covered walkway. There was a path paved with small pebbles below the steps which led onward to a tiny building with three rooms: two bright rooms with windows and one darker inner room. Every piece of furniture inside, including couches, tables, chairs, and desks, had been custom built to fit the exact proportions of the rooms. A small door led out from the inner room to a garden in the back, where large pear trees and broad-leaved plantains grew, along with two small paths leading to the outside of the compound.

There was a narrow opening at the bottom of the rear garden wall that enclosed a stream of spring water. There was a shallow channel, about a foot wide, that carried the water under the wall. This channel wound around the steps, enclosed the house, flowed out into the front courtyard, and went in and out of the bamboo trees before finally draining away.

“This really is a nice area,” said Jia Zheng with a smile. “If you could come here on a moonlit night to read by these windows, surely your life would not be lived in vain!” He glanced over at Baoyu as he said these words.

Baoyu was startled and quickly dropped his head. The others intervened with some casual chatter to smooth things over.

“We really ought to find four characters for the plaque by this scene,” spoke two of the scholars.

“Which four characters?” asked Jia Zheng with a smile.

“How about ‘The Legacy of the Qi River?’” suggested one scholar.

“That’s too obvious,” replied Jia Zhen.

“What about ‘The Relics of the Sui Garden?’” asked another scholar.

“That’s also too common,” replied Jia Zheng.

Jia Zhen was standing nearby, and he spoke up. “Maybe we should let Baoyu come up with one here.”

“Before he comes up with his idea,” said Jia Zheng with a hint of frustration, “he should find fault with what the others have said first. Then we can see how flippant and arrogant he really is.”

“But his criticisms are correct,” replied the scholars. “We really can’t help it.”

“Don’t indulge him so much,” replied Jia Zheng hastily. He then turned to Jia Baoyu. “Today I’ll let you speak as wildly and recklessly as you like. However, you may only compose your own title after you’ve given us your criticism. Now, among the suggestions you just heard, is there any that you think we could use?”

“None of them seem quite right,” said Baoyu after thinking about Jia Zheng’s question.

“Why aren’t they quite right?” asked Jia Zheng with a cold smile.

“This is the very first place for the imperial visit,” said Jia Baoyu. “The inscription needs to extol the imperial presence above all. And besides, if we’re going to use a four character plaque here, why make a new one when perfectly good ancient models already exist?”

“Wait,” replied Jia Zheng. “Don’t you realize that ‘Qi River’ and ‘Sui Garden’ come from ancient sources?”

“Yes,” said Baoyu, “but they are too stiff and predictable. It would be much better to use the phrase ‘The Phoenix Arrives In Ritual Splendor.’”

“Absolutely brilliant!” exclaimed all the scholars.

“You little beast,” said Jia Zheng as he nodded. “You’ve only got a shallow and limited view of the whole thing. Now let’s see you come up with a matching couplet poem to go along with it.”

Baoyu composed this poem:

In the precious kettle, the tea sits idle, and the steam is green;

By the quiet window, the chess game is abandoned, and the fingers are cold.

“Nothing remarkable at all,” muttered Jia Zheng as he shook his head. And he then led the party out.

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Translation Critique

Hawkes

Hawkes describes that Jia Zheng’s “glance happened to fall on Bao-yu, who instantly became so embarrassed that he hung his head in shame.” This makes no sense at all in this context. Instead, Jia Zheng looked at Jia Baoyu deliberately because his phrase about studying beside the window on a moonlit night was intended to test Jia Baoyu’s literary abilities. It’s not necessarily a mistranslation; however, if you only read The Story of the Stone, you’re going to be very confused by this passage.

Thankfully, David Hawkes gives us a direct quotation to explain what 淇水遺風 (“Where Bends the Qi”) means:

“‘Where Bends The Qi’” said one of them, no doubt having in mind the song in the Poetry Classic which begins with the words

See in that nook where bends the Qi,

The green bamboos, how graceful grown!

I honestly wish Hawkes would have done this more frequently with the other literary allusions in this book.

Unfortunately, the Sui Garden reference doesn’t work quite as well:

“‘North of the Sui’” said the other, evidently thinking of the ancient Rabbit Garden of the Prince of Liang in Suiyang – also famous for its bamboos and running water.

This kind of works, except that it misses the point. The point is that the 睢園 was also a famous literary gathering place that served pretty much the same role that this garden will serve as we continue through Dream of the Red Chamber. However, Hawkes says nothing here about the literary role of that garden.

Hawkes also explains Jia Baoyu’s suggestion to a certain extent:

This is the first building our visitor will enter when she looks over the garden, so there ought to be some word of praise for the Emperor at this point. If we want a classical reference with imperial symbolism, I suggest “The Phoenix Dance,” alluding to that passage in the History Classic about the male and female phoenixes alighting “with measured gambollings” in the Emperor’s courtyard.

I was confused about this when I first read it several years ago, especially the “gambollings” part. To gambol means to frolic or move about playfully. Unfortunately for David Hawkes, this is actually a mistranslation of 簫韶九成，鳳凰來儀, where the phoenix comes in to perform a ritual. The problem is that 儀 means to perform a ritual, not to dance or rest or play around or whatever.

Hawkes translates the poem like this:

From the empty cauldron the steam still rises after the brewing of tea.

By the darkening window the fingers are still cold after the game of Go.

The problem with this translation is that the steam isn’t green. It needs to be green. If the steam isn’t green, then there is no allusion at all to the bamboo, and the poem doesn’t make any sense.

The other problem is that the cauldron is not “empty.” It’s “precious” (寶). In fact, the cauldron is not really empty. The tea is ready and is cooling off, but the person inside is not paying any attention because of the amazing scene outside the window.

Note as well that the original poem implies that the game of chess has been ignored as much as the tea sitting in the cauldron. Your fingers wouldn’t be cold after a game of chess or Go. Your fingers would be warm. Your fingers would only be cold if the game never took place to begin with, which is what this poem actually means.

Yang

The Yangs have Jia Baoyu hang “his head in confusion” after his father makes the comment and looks at him. This is not a correct translation. Jia Baoyu understands what his father expects of him, but is hanging his head because it’s not really his place right now to come up with some spectacular poem on the spot.

The Yangs translate the first suggestion as “Shades of the River Chi,” with a note explaining that “According to the Book of Songs, the area around the River Chi, in the northern part of present-day Honan, abounded with bamboo in ancient time.” This is sort of correct, but it misses the point of the reference to 淇奧. The point here is the comparison between the bamboo and an upright gentleman – which is actually also why this name is inappropriate, as Jia Baoyu correctly points out.

The second name is translated as “Traces of the Sui Garden,” which is explained in a footnote as “Garden of Prince Hsiao of Liang in the Han Dynasty.” That’s correct, of course. However, as was the case with David Hawkes’ translation, the problem is that no context or explanation is given. Actually, the Sui Garden is an excellent foreshadowing of what this garden is going to become as this book continues.

They translate Jia Baoyu’s title as “Where the Phoenix Alights,” which is okay, but not entirely correct. Remember that 儀 refers to a ritual act, not just arriving.

They translate Baoyu’s poem like this:

Still green the smoke from tea brewed in a rare tripod;

Yet cold the fingers from chess played by quiet window.

They get the “green smoke” or “green steam” image correct. However, as I’ve noted elsewhere, it’s not possible for the chess game to have actually been played if the fingers were cold. Rather, the implication in this poem is that the person inside hasn’t drunk the team or played the game of chess because she is so caught up in the fantastic scene outside the window.

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Chinese Text

於是出亭過池，一山一石，一花一木，莫不著意觀覽。忽抬頭見前面一帶粉垣，數楹修舍，有千百竿翠竹遮映。眾人都道：「好個所在！」於是大家進入。只見進門便是曲折遊廊，階下石子漫成甬路，上面小小三間房舍，兩明一暗，裡面都是合著地步打的床几椅案。從裡間房裡又有一小門出去，卻是後園，有大株梨花，闊葉芭蕉，又有兩間小小退步。後院牆下忽開一隙，得泉一派，開溝尺許，灌入牆內，繞階緣屋至前院，盤旋竹下而出。

賈政笑道：「這一處倒還好。若能月夜至此窗下讀書，也不枉虛生一世！」說著，便看寶玉，唬的寶玉忙垂了頭。眾人忙用閒話解說。又二客說：「此處的匾，該題四個字。」賈政笑問：「那四字？」一個道是「淇水遺風」。賈政道：「也俗。」又一個道是「睢園遺蹟。」賈政道：「也俗。」賈珍在旁說道：「還是寶兄弟擬一個罷。」賈政道：「他未曾做，先要議論人家的好歹，可見是個輕薄東西！」眾客道：「議論的是，也無奈他何。」賈政忙道：「休如此縱了他。」因說道：「今日任你狂為亂道，等說出議論來，方許你做。方才眾人說的，可有使得的沒有？」寶玉見問，便答道：「都似不妥。」賈政冷笑道：「怎麼不妥？」寶玉道：「這是第一處行幸之所，必須頌聖方可。若用四字的匾，又有古人現成的，何必再做？」賈政道：「難道『淇水』『睢園』不是古人的？」寶玉道：「這太板了，莫若『有鳳來儀』四字。」眾人都鬨然叫妙。賈政點頭道：「畜生，畜生！可謂『管窺蠡測』矣。」因命：「再題一聯來。」寶玉便念道：「寶鼎茶閒煙尚綠，幽窗棋罷指猶涼。」

賈政搖頭道：「也未見長。」說畢，引人出來。

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Translation Notes

粉垣 literally means a “powdered wall.” 粉 is frequently used to describe makeup, though in this case it’s referring to a low wall covered with whitewash.

修舍 seems to mean a tall or lofty building. In this case, 修 means “tall,” not “to repair.”

翠竹 means green bamboo

Notice that the water curves and winds under the bamboo trees rather than flowing straight. This was considered to be auspicious because the “vital energy,” or qi (氣), was slowed down by this process. And, of course, it’s more common in nature to see water that flows one way and the other instead of water that moves in a straight line.

This passage shows the expectations Jia Zheng has of his son. When he looks at Jia Baoyu after making his remark about reading by the window, he’s expecting Jia Baoyu to spontaneously produce fascinating poetry. Jia Baoyu isn’t dropping his head because of guilt; rather, it’s because he knows what his father expects. And the response by the men around them is an attempt to lighten the tension a bit and distract Jia Zheng.

淇水遺風 is a direct allusion to a poem in the 詩經, or the Classic of Poetry. More specifically, it is a poem called 淇奥, “The Bamboo Pole,” in the 衛風 or “Odes of Wei” section. This is the beginning of the group of three poems:

瞻彼淇奧，綠竹猗猗。

有匪君子，如切如磋，如琢如磨。

Look at that bend of the Qi River,

Where the green bamboos grow so lush and fair.

There is a man of such refined grace,

As if he were cut, as if he were polished,

As if he were carved, as if he were ground.

The phrase 淇奧 is similarly repeated in the other three poems.

The notable element here is the fact that the rising green bamboo trees along the Qi River are used to praise a man of noble virtue and profound learning.

As you can see, when the scholar says 淇水遺風, the only allusion to the poem is 淇水 itself. 遺風 literally means “handed down wind” or “bequeathed wind,” as if the wind or spirit or feeling of the past were handed down from generation to generation. Basically, the title 淇水遺風 is presumptuous, as if to say that this combination of room and trees were somehow the entire embodiment of the old legacy of the Odes of Wei (衛風).

Jia Zhen replies that it’s “obvious” or “common” (俗) because of how famous the allusion to 淇奧 (the Qi River) was. There’s also a hint here of being a bit presumptuous.

睢園遺蹟 is a historical allusion to a legendary royal garden built during the Weestern Han dynasty. This garden was actually called the 梁園 or Liang Garden. However, it was located in the ancient city of Suiyang (睢陽) in what is now Henan Province. This was a massive garden filled with palaces, pavilions, exotic animals, and huge bamboo groves.

This Sui Garden was known in large part for being the literary and cultural center of its time. Writers lived in the garden, composed poetry, and had numerous intellectual discussions, which itself is a foreshadowing of what we’re about to see in the remaining chapters of Dream of the Red Chamber.

It seems at first glance that the Sui Garden reference is fitting. The problem, however, is that it’s another famous literary cliché, and it is somewhat stiff and pedantic.

It seems a little bit odd that Jia Zheng scolds Jia Baoyu as 輕薄東西 (a flippant, arrogant thing) here before he has said a word. This might be because this entire scene is set up basically as a charade to showcase Jia Baoyu’s literary brilliance. Jia Zheng might be worried that he feels arrogant and might have added in this snide remark to cut Jia Baoyu down to size.

Jia Baoyu’s title 有鳳來儀 (A Phoenix Comes Here In Splendor) is a line taken from the 尚書, or Book of Documents. The original passage described the reign of the legendary King Shun:

簫韶九成，鳳凰來儀。

When the Xiao-Shao music was played in nine movements, the phoenix came and performed its ritual dance.

Note that 儀 literally means to perform a ritual. When I say “splendor” in the translation of the title, what I mean is a type of ritual splendor; the phoenix, or Jia Yuanchun, is coming here to perform an important ritual just as the phoenix that visited King Shun did thousands of years earlier.

The appearance of the phoenix in this context was a sort of cosmic endorsement of the virtue of King Shun. In other words, heaven was so pleased with the moral governance of King Shun that it sent the phoenix as a living symbol of peace, prosperity, and the heavenly mandate.

Baoyu’s use of this phrase is actually brilliant when you think about it. Even though this is a direct classical reference, it’s really forward looking. Instead of talking about the handed down remnants of the Qi River or the relics of the long since destroyed Liang Garden in Suiyang, his reference looks forward to imperial visit.

Remember that the phoenix (鳳) often referred to imperial women, sort of like how the dragon (龍) would refer to imperial men, or to the Emperor. In other words, when Jia Baoyu says that the phoenix is coming here to rest, it is a direct reference to Jia Yuanchun coming to stay in this garden. And the fact that Jia Baoyu has taken a well known classical phrase and has adapted it to an entirely new context is precisely why the scholars praise him so highly.

管窺蠡測 literally means to look at the sky through a bamboo tube and to try to measure the depth of the sea with a water gourd. Jia Zheng is rhetorically criticizing Jia Baoyu as being uneducated and shortsighted. The interesting thing, though, is that he nodded in approval while he said this, which shows that he’s actually quite proud of his son. Jia Zheng is basically caught between wanting to praise his child and the necessity of maintaining his stern and Confucian disciplinarian fatherly image. And that’s probably why he uses such harsh language here.

There’s also a feeling among commentators that Jia Zheng might be criticizing himself with this language, and not his son.

Note that the poem 寶鼎茶閒煙尚綠，幽窗棋罷指猶涼 is a couplet where the grammar follows the exact same pattern in both lines. In other words, 茶閒 (the tea is idle, or the tea has been brewed but nobody is drinking it) and 棋罷 (the chess or go game has been abandoned, or finished) are parallel, the descriptive words 寶鼎 (in the precious kettle) and 幽窗 (by the quiet window) are parallel, and the phrases 煙尚綠 (the steam is still green) and 指猶涼 (the fingers are still cool) are also parallel.

The question, of course, is what precisely is this poem about? The tea has grown cold because it’s idle and the chess game is either over or has been abandoned (note that 罷 usually means “finished,” but probably means “abandoned” in this case). And yet the occupant of the room has not left. Why? This is likely because they are sitting in quiet contemplation, absorbed in the beauty that they see outside the window.

Or, in other words, the scene they saw was so beautiful that they neglected to drink the tea or play the chess game. They are contemplating while sitting in this space, allowing their life to slow down to appreciate the beauty around them. And the thing that they’re obviously observing is the impressive bamboo right outside the window.

It’s almost certainly true that the chess game is abandoned and not finished, even though 罷 usually means “to finish.” The reason why is because the fingers are cold (指猶涼). If you just finished a game of chess, your fingers would be warm, not cold.

Obviously, this does not directly refer to the name 有鳳來儀 (A Phoenix Comes Here To Rest), which is probably why Jia Zheng dismisses the poem outright. But, of course, there is an indirect reference. The phoenix traditionally was believed to dwell in bamboo groves and eat bamboo seeds. Therefore, it would naturally be appropriate for the phoenix to spend her time resting in a place like this, lost in silent contemplation of the world outside the window. It’s a pretty subtle poem, but it’s exciting when you understand it.

The most amazing part about this poem is that Jia Baoyu never actually talks about the bamboo, even though it’s clearly the highlight. The poem says nothing about what lies outside the window. However, the phrase 煙尚綠 (the steam is still green) is the clue. The steam of tea isn’t green, of course. The reason it appears to be green, however, is because of the dense green light that pours into the room and permeates everything around it. That color comes from the dense grove of bamboo trees that lie outside. Just like in the previous poem, Jia Baoyu has managed to find a way to talk about the centerpiece of the scene without actually talking about it.

寶鼎 is odd, of course. 鼎 means a censer, but also referred to tea heating vessels or kettles. By calling this a precious kettle (寶鼎), Jia Baoyu establishes the fact that it is appropriate for an imperial visit, but also places emphasis on just how breathtaking the bamboo scenery outside the window really is. It’s amazing to the point that the person inside the room has completely ignored the precious kettle and the tea inside.

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Jia Baoyu’s poem in yesterday’s post isn’t just interesting because it’s well written. There’s something a bit deeper going on here. Check out today’s “podcast” episode and let me know what you think!

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Today’s post will make it obvious why Dream of the Red Chamber absolutely requires extensive textual notes. There’s simply no way you’d ever be able to understand what is going on here without slowing things down and reading very carefully. Jia Baoyu’s poem is absolutely marvelous.

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My Translation

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Among all the excitement of yesterday’s post, there’s a gem in here that you might not have noticed.

Cao Xueqin created this small section of Dream of the Red Chamber by using a technique that makes the whole thing feel cinematic.

We start off by entering into a stone cave or grotto, after which things open up slowly:

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I’m splitting this section up into two posts, mostly because the literary allusions in today’s post are very thick and are important to talk about. We’ll see in the next translation post how our friends decide to name this amazing scene.

My Translation

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If you’re like me and you didn’t grow up in a Chinese speaking environment, passages like yesterday’s can be a bit difficult to understand:

The problem here is the classic problem of trying to understand poetry in a foreign language. Because we are foreign students of the language, we don’t have the same background in the linguistic environment. We also generally lack cultural context, which makes certain aspects of the story surrounding the poetry a bit confusing.

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With this passage, we’re starting to get into the poetic heart of Dream of the Red Chamber. We’ve got a lot more stuff like this to come. Here Cao Xueqin shows us Jia Baoyu’s genius for poetry and contrasts it in an interesting way with the scholars that surround Jia Zheng.

My Translation

Coincidentally, Jia Baoyu was so saddened by the loss of Qin Zhong that Grandmother Jia had some of the servants take him to the new garden to amuse himself. He had only just entered when he saw Jia Zhen approaching.

“Shouldn’t you run off?” asked Jia Zhen with a grin. “Your father will be here any minute now!”

When he heard this, Baoyu ran out of the garden like a wisp of smoke, with his old nursemaid and a few servants flanking him. But, just as he turned the corner, he ran straight into Jia Zheng, who was walking together with his group of scholars. There was no way to avoid them in time, and so Baoyu had no choice but to move to the side and stand respectfully.

Now, Jia Zheng had recently heard from Dai Rui that Baoyu was particularly good at composing poetry, particularly matching couplets. Though Baoyu wasn’t all that fond of studying, he still had a certain unorthodox cleverness. And so Jia Zheng ordered Baoyu to follow him into the garden, hoping to test out the boy’s skills.

Baoyu had no idea what was going on, but had no choice but to go along anyway. Once they reached the garden gate, they saw Jia Zhen standing there with a number of servants lined up to his side.

“Close the gate,” said Jia Zheng. “Let’s look over the outside first, and then we’ll go in.” Jia Zhen ordered the gate shut.

Jia Zheng first stood upright and gazed at the fence. He saw that there were five bays on top of the main gate, and that the roof was covered with cylindrical tiles that formed a ridge shaped like the back of a mudfish. The door frames, railings, and lattice windows were all exquisitely carved in the latest fashion, and yet they had no vermilion or painted adornment. The surrounding walls were all made of polished, smoothly ground stone. The white marble steps below those walls were carved with a passionflower motif. When he looked left and right, Jia Zheng saw plastered walls as white as snow, with their lower areas being made of tiger-skin stone in a texture pattern, avoiding the ostentation of more common wealthy people. Jia Zheng was delighted by this, and ordered that the gate be opened.

He immediately saw a green mountain screen before him, blocking his view. “What a great mountain!” exclaimed the resident scholars spontaneously.

“If it weren’t for this mountain,” pontificated Jia Zheng, “every scene in the garden would be fully exposed to the eye as soon as we entered. Where would the pleasure be in that?”

“Perfectly true!” agreed the scholars. “Unless they had great hills and valleys in one’s own breast, how could anyone have even thought of this?”

They then looked straight ahead and saw jagged white rocks piled up in rugged peaks. Some looked like demons and goblins and others looked like fierce beasts. They stood in a crisscrossing formation in front of the men. Mottled moss covered the stones, draped here and there with vines and other foliage. A narrow winding path was faintly visible in the middle of the scenery.

“Let’s continue our tour on this little path,” said Jia Zheng. “When we return we can come out the other side. This way we’ll be able to see everything thoroughly.”

He then ordered Jia Zhen to lead the way, and took Baoyu by the hand himself. And so they wound their way into the mountain pass.

Looking up, they suddenly caught sight of a smooth, mirror-like white stone on the mountain. This was precisely the spot that had been left open for an inscription.

“Gentlemen,” said Jia Zheng as he turned back with a smile, “what name would be most fitting to inscribe here?”

The men accompanying him all responded. Some proposed “Layered Emerald.” Others suggested “Brocade Screen.” Still others offered names such as “Rival of the Incense Burner” or “Lesser Zhongnan.” Dozens of names and variations were put forward.

Now, the truth was that every one of those men knew that Jia Zheng had intended to test Baoyu’s literary talent. And therefore they deliberately had put forward these trite and hackneyed suggestions to go through the motions.

But Baoyu also understood this perfectly well.

When Jia Zheng heard those recommendations, he turned around and asked Baoyu to come up with a proposal.

Baoyu said, “I’ve often heard that the ancients said ‘Making something new is never as good as drawing upon the old; carving in the modern style can never surpass ancient inscriptions.’ And besides, this spot is not the main peak or the principal view of the garden. There’s nothing here that cries out for a formal title. This is really just a preliminary step that leads further into the scenery.

“I think it would be best to inscribe an old line from the ancients: ‘A winding path leads to a secluded spot.’ That would be proper and dignified.”

“Exactly right!” exclaimed everyone around him as they heard this. “Amazing! Jia Baoyu has a naturally high level of intelligence and literary gifts that far exceed our own. He’s far beyond those of us who have read the old books until they’ve gone stale!”

“Don’t give him too much praise,” laughed Jia Zheng. “He’s still young, and can use his limited knowledge to an unusual extent. It’s really only for fun. Let’s wait and make the final selection later.”

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Translation Critique

Hawkes

We see a bit more of David Hawkes’ wordy nature in this passage. For example, he describes how Jia Baoyu “nevertheless possessed a certain meretricious talent for versification not undeserving of commendation.” The Chinese original simply says 卻有些歪才, or that Jia Baoyu had a certain unusual cleverness. Hawkes is correct that this description refers to how Jia Baoyu could create poetry; however, the Chinese original is not as formal or as wordy as the Hawkes translation.

When Jia Zhen remarks on the hill that blocks his view, Hawkes describes that “Jia Zheng somewhat otiosely observed” how excellent the screen was. Otiosely means perfunctorily, or doing something with no real reason or out of boredom. The idea here is apparently that Jia Zheng is only being polite when he makes this remark.

When the attendants propose names for the inscription, Hawkes provides a little bit of explanation:

Another proposed that they should call it ‘Little Censer’ after the famous Censer Peak in Kiangsi.

However, Hawkes makes no reference to the famous Li Bai poem, nor does he offer any context for the “Little Zhong-nan” suggestion that comes afterwards.

Meanwhile, Hawkes correctly and helpfully notes that Jia Baoyu’s “Pathway to Mysteries” suggestion comes from a Chang Jian poem.

In the end, Hawkes has Jia Zheng say “we shall have to think of a better name later on” rather than saying that they would select the most appropriate name later. It’s kind of a minor point, though I think it’s pretty significant.

Yang

The Yangs have the group around Jia Zheng comment that “only a bold landscape gardener could have conceived this” when they see the screen. This is a little bit misleading, since this group is actually fawning on Jia Zheng, not on the man that he hired to design the garden.

The Yangs provide footnote explanations for the two literary allusions that the men around Jia Zheng propose (“The Censer” and “A Miniature Chungnan”). However, they don’t include any footnote for the Chang Jian poem that Jia Baoyu cites.

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Chinese Text

可巧近日寶玉因思念秦鍾，憂傷不已，賈母常命人帶他到新園子裡來玩耍。此時也才進去，忽見賈珍來了，和他笑道：「你還不快出去呢，一會子老爺就來了。」寶玉聽了，帶著奶孃小廝們，一溜煙跑出園來。方轉過彎，頂頭看見賈政引著眾客來了，躲之不及，只得一旁站住。

賈政近來聞得代儒稱讚他專能對對，雖不喜讀書，卻有些歪才，所以此時便命他跟入園中，意欲試他一試。寶玉未知何意，只得隨往。剛至園門，只見賈珍帶領許多執事人旁邊侍立。賈政道：「你且把園門關上，我們先瞧外面，再進去。」賈珍命人將門關上。

賈政先秉正看門。只見正門五間，上面筩瓦泥鰍脊；那門欄窗槅俱是細雕時新花樣，並無朱粉塗飾，一色水磨群牆；下面白石臺階，鑿成西番蓮花樣；左右一望，雪白粉牆，下面虎皮石砌成紋理，不落富麗俗套。自是喜歡，遂命開門進去。只見一帶翠嶂，擋在面前。眾清客都道：「好山，好山！」賈政道：「非此一山，一進來，園中所有之景悉入目中，更有何趣？」眾人都道：「極是。非胸中大有邱壑，焉能想到這裡！」說畢，往前一望，見白石崚嶒，或如鬼怪，或似猛獸，縱橫拱立。上面苔蘚斑駁，或藤蘿掩映，其中微露羊腸小道。賈政道：「我們就從此小徑游去，回來由那一邊出去，方可遍覽。」說畢，命賈珍前導，自己扶了寶玉，逶迤走進山口。抬頭忽見山上有鏡面白石一塊，正是迎面留題處。

賈政回頭笑道：「諸公請看，此處題以何名方妙？」眾人聽說，也有說該題「迭翠」二字的，也有說該題「錦嶂」的，又有說「賽香爐」的，又有說「小終南」的，種種名色，不止幾十個。原來眾客心中早知賈政要試寶玉的才情，故此只將些俗套來敷衍，寶玉也知此意。

賈政聽了，便回頭命寶玉擬來。寶玉道：「嘗聽見古人說：『編新不如述舊，刻古終勝雕今。』況這裡並非主山正景，原無可題，不過是探景的一進步耳，莫如直書古人『曲徑通幽』這舊句在上，倒也大方。」眾人聽了，讚道：「是極！妙極！二世兄天分高，才情遠，不似我們讀腐了書的！」賈政笑道：「不當過獎他。他年小的人，不過以一知充十用，取笑罷了，再俟選擬。」

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Translation Notes

對對 might seem a little bit confusing at first. This refers to the traditional art of composing parallel poetic couplets, which is actually something that we see a lot of in this book. The idea was naturally to compose those parallel poems on the spot.

歪才 means something like “unorthodox talent.” 歪 means slanted or crooked.

秉正 means to be upright

五間 refers to five “bays” that comprise the width of a building. A “bay” (間) is basically the horizontal distance between two adjacent columns on the front facade of the building. So, if you had a building with five of these bays, you’d have six columns; the “bay” is basically the space between each column. In the Qing dynasty, officials and nobles would have five bays to their buildings; commoners would have three, princes would have seven, and the Emperor would have nine or eleven for the most grand halls.

筩瓦 refers to semicircular tiles on the top of a roof. Since these tiles are gathered together in a way that resembles the back of a mudfish (泥鰍), you can imagine that they’re fairly round and aren’t just square.

水磨 refers to a finishing technique common in Qing dynasty architecture for high quality construction. After laying down the masonry, the craftsmen would grind the surface with stones to achieve a very smooth and flat finish. They’d often use water as a sort of lubricant, which explains why this was called “water polishing,” or 水磨.

虎皮石, or “tiger-skin stone,” refers to a sort of rustic and naturally variegated stone. This stone usually was a kind of yellowish brown with darker colored streaks running through it. They called it “tiger skin stone” because the color and stripes made it look something like the coat of a tiger.

This talk about 不落富麗俗套, or avoiding the vulgar cliché of wealthy ostentation, goes back to the earlier statement about the lack of bright colors and excessive ornamentation. The idea behind using things like “tiger-skin stone” is that it looked and felt natural as opposed to being purely ostentatious. This reflects the “雖由人作，宛自天開” principle of classical Chinese garden design, which means something like “although it was made by man, it ought to seem like it was divinely created.”

翠嶂 refers to a verdant green visual screen that serves to block the scenery (障景). This is actually pretty common in older Chinese garden architecture, and you’ll see this if you have the chance to visit some of the more famous gardens that still exist in China. The idea here is that the designer would force you to follow a certain visual path once you enter the garden instead of seeing every single thing at once. The idea is that there’s a ton of depth that awaits you, but that the immense grandeur of the scene ahead will only be unfolded to you a bit at a time, instead of overwhelming you with everything at once. If you spend a lot of time with Chinese poetry, literature (including Dream of the Red Chamber), and art, you’ll notice that this concept appears over and over again. There are a lot of deep and complex ideas and concepts that are deceivingly simple at first glance.

The phrase 胸中大有邱壑 (one having great hills and valleys in one’s own breast) refers to an old Chinese idiom that reads 胸中有丘壑. This was a compliment to landscape painters, implying that they had already internalized the entire natural world, including every mountain peak, every stream, and every valley, long before their brush ever touched canvas. It basically means to have a grand vision and profound strategic thinking, and it’s a complement aimed directly at Jia Zheng.

Of course, this is a phrase that is designed to overly flatter Jia Zheng. Remember that Jia Zheng did not actually design the garden; rather, he used a professional designer to create this design. Additionally, the idea of using a scene blocking and delayed revelation technique was actually extremely common in classical Chinese works of art and literature; in fact, if you were to look at 10 random pieces of Chinese art, you’d likely discover hints of this concept in every single one of them. Praising Jia Zheng for this achievement is extremely sarcastic, though he can’t tell.

逶迤 means winding or meandering.

迭翠, or Layered Emerald, is a pretty stock phrase for any green mountain or hill. It could apply to just about any garden out there.

錦嶂, or Brocade Screen, is another relatively safe and conventional name. 錦, or “brocade,” signifies colorful and rich vegetation in this sense; you can think of all the plants forming together as if they were woven.

賽香爐, or Rival of the Incense Burner, refers to the famous Incense Burner Peak (香爐峰) in Jiangxi Province. 賽, or course, means to compete or contest, or, as an adjective, something like “competitor” or “rival.” The name 香爐峰 was made famous by this Li Bai poem:

日照香爐生紫煙，遙看瀑布掛前川。

飛流直下三千尺，疑是銀河落九天。

Sunlight shines of Incense Burner Peak, giving birth to a purple mist.

From a distance, I see the waterfall hanging before the river.

Flying waters plunge three thousand feet straight down.

One might suspect that the Milky Way has fallen from heaven.

Like many of Li Bai’s poems, this is incredibly famous, to the point of being somewhat hackneyed. This is precisely why the scholar recommended this name: it’s an attempt to set up Jia Baoyu to see what brilliance he can come up with, almost like a baseball pitcher serving up a fat and juicy pitch to see what the batter will do with it.

Similarly, the name 小終南 (Lesser Zhongnan) refers to Mount Zhongnan (終南山), a famous retreat for hermits and Daoist immortals and a place of spiritual cultivation. It would be like calling the park behind your house “Little Yellowstone.”

When Baoyu says 編新不如述舊，刻古終勝雕今 (making something new is not as good as drawing upon something old, and the modern style of carving will never be as good as the ancient), he’s not necessarily saying something extremely conservative. Instead, his argument is that an apt quotation from an old and revered poet would carry cultural weight that would always surpass any new phrase or poetic turn. In other words, the idea here is to transform the past to fit the present, not to come up with something entirely new. Of course, the irony is that none of the titles that Jia Zheng’s people proposed were anything new anyway.

曲徑通幽 (a winding path leads to a secluded spot) comes from an old poem by Chang Jian (常建) of the Tang dynasty:

曲徑通幽處，禪房花木深。

A winding path leads to a secluded spot;

The meditative hall lies deep among flowers and trees.

By using this simple line, Jia Baoyu accurately describes the physical scene (the winding path among the natural beauty), lends literary prestige to the spot (by associating it with the quiet and contemplative atmosphere of a Buddhist monastery), and shows off his learning without being boisterous by quoting and attributing the phrase to the ancients. This is an excellent example of the principle he just mentioned, which is drawing upon something old and showing how it fits with a new concept.

If you’re familiar with the Chinese language, you’ll recognize right away that the language itself reflects this general concept. Older set phrases and idioms are constantly in modern use, as if the history of the language never really died off or changed. It’s the same idea: true learning comes from taking great ideas and thoughts of the past and using them in new environments.

一知充十用 literally means “use one piece of knowledge to fill up a measure of ten.” The idea is that a little bit of knowledge is expanded and stretched to turn into something impressive.

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In modern language learning communities, the biggest trend these days is focused on what they call “comprehensible input.”

The idea here is that the best way to learn a language is to make gradual progress from one level of sentence to another. It’s sort of like learning how to swim by gradually moving deeper and deeper into the pool instead of jumping in all at once.

It’s an interesting idea, and I have some sympathy with the idea. However, I don’t think it’s great.

In my experience, the best way to achieve fluency in a foreign language is to work on truly immersing yourself. And, as I describe above in today’s video, mining sentences from native content is an extremely effective way to simulate that kind of lingustic immersion.

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There’s unfortunately no substitute for using the language on a daily basis in an environment where you simply have to speak the language. For example, I was able to naturally achieve a relatively high level of fluency in German as a missionary in only two years. This happened in large part because I spent an extensive amount of time every single day speaking German with native German speakers in German speaking countries.

If you can’t move, the next best thing is to find native speakers of your target language who live closer to you, make friends with them, and speak your target language with them. And, if that part doesn’t work, your next best option is to consume native level media in your target language.

Of course, there’s always a worry that you’re not going to be able to understand much, especially at first. I know that worry well; in fact, I go through the same anxiety every single time I start to learn a new foreign language.

However, I can assure you that the pain of beginning does not last long, and will actually be easier to stand if you start deliberately spending time interacting directly with the foreign language at a native pace. As nice as textbooks are, there really is no substitute for listening to the pace and rhythm of a language authentically spoken by native speakers in an authentic setting.

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When I studied Korean at the Foreign Service Institute about 15 years ago, I considered myself somehow intellectually above watching Korean dramas and truly immersing myself in the language. I thought that reading textbooks and messing around with dictionaries would be good enough. And, as an unfortunate result, my stubborn adherence to doing things the “right way” did nothing but delay my development in Korean.

The truth is that there’s no reason to wait until you’ve reached a certain level to do what you want to do in the target language. In fact, I’ve learned this as I’ve jumped into the deep end of Dream of the Red Chamber. The best way to read a difficult novel like this is to simply read the novel, even if it’s difficult. After all, there’s nothing that can prepare yourself for a certain book quite as well as actually reading it.

Languages are the same way. Instead of reading and talking about how you might learn a language, just go straight for it. There’s no need to delay.

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This might seem like a pretty basic and uninteresting passage at first. The group that worked on the garden and finished it now ask Jia Zheng to come along with them and help them create spontaneous poetry to accompany and beautify the garden. Jia Zheng tries to find a way out of this, realizing that he does not have the gift of composing beautiful and inspiring text. The passage here sets us up for the incredible outpouring of poetic beauty that we’re going to see for the rest of the novel.

My Translation

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We’ve now seen two major deaths in Dream of the Red Chamber, and we’re not even a fourth of the way into the novel.

Qin Keqing’s death was the first, of course. And her demise was memorable, to say the least. In fact, scenes involving her death and funeral take up the better part of two chapters. This is probably the most notable translation post on the subject:

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Qin Zhong officially passes away in the beginning of chapter 17, and it’s got kind of an anticlimactic feel to it.

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My Translation

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If you haven’t read it yet, you really need to read my translation post yesterday, where we saw Qin Zhong battle against the bureaucracy of the underworld:

Now, if you’re familiar with the great Chinese classic novels, you know that it wasn’t unusual for the afterlife to be described as a complex government system that mirrored the system of the Chinese empire. In fact, Journey to the West (西遊記) probably exemplifies this fact better than any other Chinese novel.

But this passage in Dream of the Red Chamber is simply impossible to put down. In fact, I was almost late to my day job the other day because I was so wrapped up in translating that passage.

Anyway, here are a few scattered thoughts that have come to my mind as I’ve been reflecting on this:

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Everybody wants to put the blame on emotions. Remember that Jia Baoyu is told by the servant Li Gui to stop crying, and is warned that his friend Qin Zhong would somehow become weaker if Jia Baoyu expressed his emotions.

This is bizarre logic, of course, and was likely as strange to readers back in the late 18th century as it is today. Jia Baoyu’s emotional expression has absolutely nothing to do with Qin Zhong’s physical state. And yet Jia Baoyu forces himself to suppress his sobs and keep a straight face as he constantly tells his dying friend that he is here.

Of course, if we were forced at gunpoint (or by an overzealous literature teacher) to find some cause for Qin Zhong’s terminal illness, we’d probably blame Qin Zhong himself. After all, he’s the one who was shamelessly running around with the young nun Zhineng. But, on the other hand, it’s likely that his sickness is just one of those things that happens.

But putting the blame on Jia Baoyu for expressing any emotion just feels harsh and cruel.

The underworld judge is scared of Jia Baoyu. There really isn’t much of a logical reason given for the judge’s sudden reaction upon hearing the name Jia Baoyu:

那判官聽了，先就唬的慌張起來，忙喝罵那些小鬼道：「我說你們放了他回去走走罷，你們不依我的話；如今鬧的請出個運旺時盛的人來了，怎麼好？」眾鬼見都判如此，也都忙了手腳，一面又抱怨道：「你老人家先是那麼雷霆火炮，原來見不得『寶玉』二字！依我們想來：他是陽間，我們是陰間，怕他亦無益。」那都判越發著急，吆喝起來。

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When the presiding judge heard this, he was struck with a sense of panic. He began to berate the lesser ghosts, saying, “I told you to let him go back for a while, but you wouldn’t listen to me! Now you’ve stirred things up until you’ve summoned a person in the midst of prosperity and fortune. What are we going to do?”

When the ghosts saw the judge in this state, they were also confused. At the same time, however, they complained among themselves. “Sir, you were all thunder and lightning just now,” they said, “and it turns out that you can’t even bear the thought of the name ‘Baoyu!’ As we see it, he belongs to the world of the living, and we belong to the world of the dead. What do we have to fear from him?”

This only made the chief judge more frantic, and he began to shout even louder.

As I noted yesterday, David Hawkes seems to think that this is because of Jia Baoyu’s jade, or because of some talisman that he had or something like this.

However, I side with the person who left a comment on yesterday’s post speculating that the demonic judge was scared of the power of Jia Baoyu’s emotion. In other words, it’s possible that the pure emotional sentiment that Jia Baoyu felt is strong enough to cause the demons of the underworld to shake and tremble.

This feels almost Biblical in a way.

This passage is simply awesome. My final thought for now is to simply geek out over how fantastically written the underworld scene really is.

Cao Xueqin’s writing is incredible deliberate and careful. Jia Baoyu is “暢快” (happy) that his father is too preoccupied to worry about whether he’s studying or not. However, the fact that his best friend is seriously ill means that he can’t actually be “快樂” (happy).

This sort of distinction between two very similar adjectives will drive you nuts if you’re trying to translate this book into another language. However, if you have an appreciation for the beauty of the Chinese language, you’ll slowly realize that the writing is just pure genius.

And the fact that the mere mention of Jia Baoyu is enough to cause even the leaders of hell to turn around and denounce everything they were just saying is even better. I guess it goes to show that anything really is possible in China.

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This is one of the best passages that we’ve seen so far in this book. I’ll let it speak for itself.

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My Translation

Since Jia Zheng was so preoccupied with the major events happening in the household, he didn’t have time to worry about Jia Baoyu’s studies. And so Baoyu was extremely pleased.

However, Qin Zhong’s sickness was getting more serious by the day. Baoyu started to get extremely worried about this, and so he wasn’t able to feel truly happy.

On this particular morning, Baoyu got up early and quickly finished washing up and dressing. He was about to go tell Grandmother Jia that he was going to visit Qin Zhong. While he was walking there, he saw Mingyan hovering at the edge of the second gate, nervously looking here and there. When Baoyu saw him, he hurried over and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Young Master Qin is close to death,” replied Mingyan.

This news absolutely shocked Baoyu. “But I just saw him yesterday,” he replied quickly. “He was perfectly lucid! How can he suddenly be close to death?”

“I don’t know either,” replied Mingyan. “Just now one of the older servants from his household told me.”

Once he heard this, Baoyu went straight to Grandmother Jia to tell her the news. Grandmother Jia ordered a few servants to go along with them. “Hurry up and go there to fulfill your duties as a classmate,” she told him, “and come straight back. You must return without delay.”

Baoyu hurried out to change his clothes. When he arrived at the outer courtyard, the carriage was still not ready. He felt so anxious that he started pacing in circles frantically around the hall.

Before long, the carriage had finally arrived. He climbed aboard, with Li Gui, Mingyan, and the others following along.

When they reached the Qin family gate, there was not a soul in sight. They swarmed forward straight into the inner chamber. This was sho shocking to Qin Zhong’s two distant aunts, his sisters-in-law, and several of his female cousins that they all scrambled frantically to hide themselves, just managing to get out of sight in time.

Qin Zhong was on his deathbed and had been in and out of consciousness by this time, and had already fainted two or three times. When Baoyu saw him, he couldn’t help but burst into loud sobs.

Li Gui hurried over to try to stop him. “Don’t cry,” he told Baoyu. “Brother Qin is weak from his illness. He found the kang too hard and uncomfortable, and so we temporarily moved him over here to help him get some relief. Brother, if you cry like this, it will only make his sickness worse.”

Baoyu held back his tears when he heard this. He stepped closer and saw that Qin Zhong’s face was as pale as wax, that his eyes were closed, and that his breathing was shallow as he turned and tossed on his pillow.

“Oh dear brother, Baoyu is here,” said Baoyu. Baoyu said this two or three times, but Qin Zhong didn’t respond. “Baoyu is here,” said Baoyu again.

By this time, Qin Zhong’s spirit had already departed his body, leaving behind only a faint, lingering wisp of breath in his chest. Qin Zhong saw a host of ghastly demons and judges holding summons placards and dragging iron chains, coming over to seize him.

But how could Qin Zhong’s spirit be willing to depart like that? He was still worried about the fact that there was nobody left in his household to manage family affairs, and he was also worried about Zhineng, whose whereabouts were still unknown. And so he begged and pleaded with the ghostly judges in every possible way.

Unfortunately, none of those judges were willing to bend the rules for him. On the contrary, they sharply rebuked him “To think that you consider yourself an educated man!” they scolded. “Have you never heard the common saying that ‘If King Yama summons you at the third watch, who would dare hold you back until the fifth watch?’ Here in the underworld we are completely just and incorruptible. We are not like the world of the living, where people make allowances for feelings and sentiments, and where there are so many entanglements and complications that get in the way!”

With all of this commotion, Qin Zhong’s spirit suddenly heard the words “Baoyu is here.”

Qin Zhong began pleading with the officers again. “Honorable divine officers, please show a bit of mercy and allow me to go back just for a moment to say a word to a dear friend. I’ll come straight back.”

“What good friend is that?” asked the ghosts.

“To be frank with you,” said Qin Zhong, “he is the grandson of the Duke of Rongguo; his childhood name is Baoyu.”

When the presiding judge heard this, he was struck with a sense of panic. He began to berate the lesser ghosts, saying, “I told you to let him go back for a while, but you wouldn’t listen to me! Now you’ve stirred things up until you’ve summoned a person in the midst of prosperity and fortune. What are we going to do?”

When the ghosts saw the judge in this state, they were also confused. At the same time, however, they complained among themselves. “Sir, you were all thunder and lightning just now,” they said, “and it turns out that you can’t even bear the thought of the name ‘Baoyu!’ As we see it, he belongs to the world of the living, and we belong to the world of the dead. What do we have to fear from him?”

This only made the chief judge more frantic, and he began to shout even louder.

Does Qin Zhong live or die? See the next chapter to find out.

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Translation Critique

Hawkes

Hawkes has Grandmother Jia tell Jia Baoyu that he can see Qin Zhong “since you have been such good friends.” This seems natural to a Western audience, but is actually a mistranslation. Grandmother Jia specifically refers to fulfilling 同窗之情, or the duties of a classmate. She’s basically telling him that he can pay his respects as a classmate of Qin Zhong, and that he needs to leave as soon as possible – it’s the opposite of referring to their friendship.

Always the scholar, David Hawkes makes a parenthetical reference to local custom: Qin Zhong “in accordance with the Northern custom which forbids a sick man to breathe his last on the kang, had some time since been lifted on to a trestle bed to die.” The lengthy explanation is not in the Chinese original, but it is somewhat helpful to the reader. My only wish is that it weren’t written in such a dry and formal style, since it takes away from the emotion of the event.

When describing how the judges of the underworld reacted to hearing the name Jia Baoyu, Hawkes throws in an inappropriate interpretation:

The trepidation of their leader, who was perhaps thinking more of Bao-yu’s demon-repelling talisman than of its wearer, was far from comforted by this reflection.

This is entirely inappropriate because 運旺時盛 refers to Baoyu being at the height of life and happiness and prosperity in the mortal world. The judges are not worried about the jade or any talisman or anything like this. This is entirely a product of David Hawkes’ imagination.

Hawkes also has Qin Zhong wake up momentarily before the end of the chapter, which might come from an earlier Chinese manuscript.

Yang

The Yangs leave out the references to Chinese customs and the reference to Baoyu’s “demon-repelling talisman” that Hawkes inserts.

However, the end of this chapter in the Yang translation also has Qin Zhong momentarily wake up to speak with Baoyu, which tells me that they’re probably using an earlier Chinese manuscript as well.

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Chinese Text

且說寶玉近因家中有這等大事，賈政不來問他的書，心中自是暢快。無奈秦鍾之病日重一日，也著實懸心，不能快樂。這日一早起來，才梳洗了，意欲回了賈母去望候秦鍾，忽見茗煙在二門影壁前探頭縮腦，寶玉忙出來問他：「做什麼？」茗煙道：「秦大爺不中用了。」寶玉聽了，嚇了一跳，忙問道：「我昨兒才瞧了他，還明明白白的，怎麼就說不中用了呢？」茗煙道：「我也不知道，剛才是他家的老頭子來特告訴我的。」

寶玉聽畢，忙轉身回明賈母。賈母吩咐派妥當人跟去，「到那裡盡一盡同窗之情，就回來，不許多耽擱了。」寶玉忙出來更衣，到外邊，車猶未備，急的滿廳亂轉。一時，催促的車到，忙上了車，李貴茗煙等跟隨。來至秦家門首，悄無一人，遂蜂擁至內室。嚇的秦鐘的兩個遠房嬸孃、嫂子並幾個姐妹都藏之不迭。

此時秦鍾已發過兩三次昏，易簀多時矣。寶玉一見，便不禁失聲的哭起來。李貴忙勸道：「不可。秦哥兒是弱症，怕炕上硌的不受用，所以暫且挪下來鬆泛些。哥兒這一哭倒添了他的病了。」寶玉聽了，方忍住，近前見秦鍾面如白蠟，合目呼吸，展轉枕上。寶玉忙叫道：「鯨哥，寶玉來了。」連叫了兩三聲，秦鐘不睬。寶玉又叫道：「寶玉來了。」

那秦鍾早已魂魄離身，只剩得一口悠悠餘氣在胸，正見許多鬼判持牌提索來捉他。那秦鍾魂魄那裡肯就去？又記念著家中無人管理家務，又惦記著智能兒尚無下落，因此百般求告鬼判。無奈這些鬼判都不肯徇私，反叱吒秦鍾道：「虧你還是讀過書的人！豈不知俗語說的：『閻王叫你三更死，誰敢留人到五更？』我們陰間，上下都是鐵面無私的，不比陽間瞻情顧意，有許多的關礙處！」

正鬧著，那秦鐘的魂魄忽聽見「寶玉來了」四字，便忙又央求道：「列位神差略慈悲慈悲，讓我回去和一個好朋友說一句話就來了。」眾鬼道：「又是什麼好朋友？」秦鍾道：「不瞞列位，就是榮國公的孫子，小名兒叫寶玉的。」那判官聽了，先就唬的慌張起來，忙喝罵那些小鬼道：「我說你們放了他回去走走罷，你們不依我的話；如今鬧的請出個運旺時盛的人來了，怎麼好？」眾鬼見都判如此，也都忙了手腳，一面又抱怨道：「你老人家先是那麼雷霆火炮，原來見不得『寶玉』二字！依我們想來：他是陽間，我們是陰間，怕他亦無益。」那都判越發著急，吆喝起來。

畢竟秦鍾死活如何，且聽下回分解。

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Translation Notes

暢快 means carefree and happy. Note that this adjective is contrasted here with 快樂, which also means happy. It seems that 快樂 is used as a more intense form of happiness, which is why I’ve somewhat arbitrarily translated 暢快 as “pleased.”

著實 (pronounced zhuóshí) is an intensifying adverb that means “really” or “very.”

懸心 means to worry or feel anxious

無奈 almost certainly means “however” or “yet” in this context

探頭縮腦 means something like stretching your head out and then shrinking it back. The thing that isn’t being said explicitly here is that the 二門, or the “second gate,” was the gate that separated the outer male quarters from the inner female quarters. Mingyan is Baoyu’s servant, though we haven’t read much about him for a little while. It’s obvious that Mingyan is trying to find Baoyu.

不中用 in this context means dying or approaching death.

When Grandmother Jia talks about 同窗之情, she’s referring to a formal obligation that Jia Baoyu has to his classmate. It feels almost like a Confucian obligation, as if she were telling him to “fulfill the duties of a classmate” instead of telling him to go visit his friend one last time. This is amplified by her admonition that he return right away (就回來，不許多耽擱了), which, of course, means that he should not linger. The irony, of course, is that our favorite word 情 has emerged once again.

易簀多時矣 is a classical Chinese phrase that can be difficult to understand. 易簀 literally means to “change the mat.” It’s an allusion to the Book of Rites that tells the story of the philosopher Zengzi who asked that his mat (簀) be changed on his deathbed. A 簀 literally means a “bamboo bed mat,” and was considered more comfortable than the hard kang (炕) that most people sat on and slept on. By using the phrase 易簀, Cao Xueqin is telling us that Qin Zhong has been in this state for a long time, and is also making a strong classical allusion to Qin Zhong’s pending demise.

鬆泛 is a very specific word that means comfortable in the sense of being relaxed or not tight. 舒服 is the more general term that you’d expect to see. Li Gui is using this particular term to try to calm Jia Baoyu down and to downplay the seriousness of Qin Zhong’s illness.

鯨哥 refers to Qin Zhong’s nickname, which is 鯨 (Jing).

魂魄離身 refers to the traditional Chinese belief in the 魂, which is the intellectual spirit that ascends to heaven upon death, and the 魄, which is the earthly soul that descends to the earth upon death. In this case, Qin Zhong’s spirits have already separated the body, which means that Qin Zhong is truly on death’s door.

Qin Zhong sees 許多鬼判持牌提索來捉他, or many ghostly demons and judges summoning him over and trying to capture him with an iron chain. This refers to the traditional Chinese belief in judgment for the deceased after life. It’s always interesting to note that even the pits of hell were bureaucratic in the ancient Chinese tradition.

徇私 means to act in a biased way or to practice favoritism.

閻王叫你三更死，誰敢留人到五更 is basically a way to say that you can’t delay inevitable death. 三更 and 五更 refer to different hours of the night in the traditional Chinese timekeeping system; one 更 is equal to about two hours. This phrase exists in a very similar form in Journey to the West, which was published several centuries before Dream of the Red Chamber.

陰間 is the afterworld, and is contrasted here to 陽間, or the world of the living.

鐵面無私 means strictly impartial and incorruptible

瞻情顧意 literally means looking to sentiment and caring for personal feelings.

關礙 means to interfere or hinder

The phrase 運旺時盛 (at the height of fortune and prosperity) can be confusing here. It seems that such prosperity and happiness meant that Baoyu was at the height of his worldly (陽間) existence, which meant that their sheer life force meant that the outerworldly and demonic elements of death (陰間) could not harm them. There’s a bit of an implication here that the underworld is subservient to the world of the living. Of course, there is a lot of intentional irony and humor in the fact that the judge of the underworld is frantically berating his servants for a decision that he has already made.

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As usual, the aiuthor’s commentary in chapter 16 of Dream of the Red Chamber is pretty subtle. Cao Xueqin doesn’t usually come out and say what he thinks about the way his characters are acting. Instead, he will hint at or allude to underlying problems that only become apparently when you think carefully.

For example, there’s this business of the leading men in the Jia family paying no attention to their responsibilities as they construct the massive garden.

Jia Zheng is a pretty good example of this:

賈政不慣於俗務，只憑賈赦、賈珍、賈璉、賴大、賴升、林之孝、吳新登、詹光、程日興等幾人安插擺佈。

Jia Zheng wasn’t accustomed to handling worldly affairs. And so he left everything to Jia She, Jia Zhen, Jia Lian, Lai Da, Lai Sheng, Lin Zhixiao, Wu Xindeng, Zhan Guang, Cheng Rixing, and a few others, letting them handle things as they saw fit.

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We have another glimpse today of the construction of the marvelous garden. The interesting part here is to see how authority and the work itself was delegated.

My Translation

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I hope all of you are doing well! Here are a few unscripted and off the cuff thoughts that I have about the garden that we read about for the first time in yesterday’s translation passage.

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Today we get the first look at what will eventually become the most important location in all of Dream of the Red Chamber.

My Translation

Jia Lian woke up the next morning, went to briefly see Jia She and Jia Zheng, and then went straight over to the Ningguo Mansion. He met there with some of the older household servants and some of the resident scholars from families close to the Jia family. They went out together to inspect the grounds of both houses and drew up plans for the reception halls and pavillions that they would need for the coming imperial visit. They also looked into how many people they would need for the project.

From that day on, artisans and laborers of every trade assembled together. Gold, silver, copper, tin, timber, earth, bricks, tiles, and other goods were constantly coming in.

The workers started off by dismantling the walls, towers, and pavilions of Ningguo Mansion’s Huifang Garden. This opened up a direct connection to the eastern side of the Rongguo Mansion. Meanwhile, the entire row of servants’ rooms on the eastern side of the Rongguo Mansion was demolished.

Although there was a small alley that prevented the two mansions from connecting, the land was private property, not a public road. And so it was naturally possible to join the two compounds.

The Huifang Garden already had a source of running water that came in from the northern corner of the now demolished garden walls, which meant that there was no need for a new water supply. Though the rocks, trees, and garden features of the old garden would not suffice, Jia She’s residence included the original garden of the Rongguo Mansion. Its bamboo groves, trees, rocks, pavilions, terraces, balustrades, and so on could all be relocated and reused. In fact, since that garden was also very close by, the two could be combined into one, which would save considerable expense and labor. Rough estimates suggested that the additional financial outlay would be relatively low.

All of this was thanks to an old master named Hu, who they called “Mountain Wilds.” He drew up every detail of the plans and supervised the entire construction process.

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Translation Critique

Hawkes

David Hawkes translates 老管事的家人等並幾位世交門下清客相公們 as “a group consisting of the older stewards and domestics and a few friends and clients of the family.” This isn’t entirely correct. 老管事的家人 clearly refers to older family servants. However, 世交門下清客相公 refers specifically to resident scholars living with the Jia family who have long standing close family relationships.

Hawkes notes here that “the All-scents Garden had been watered by a stream led in by a culvert which ran under a corner of the north wall.” A culvert is a channel that crosses under a road or a railway to drain water.

Yang

The Yangs refer to the water that ran under the wall as a “stream.” In this case, I think the David Hawkes translation is probably more accurate.

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Chinese Text

次早，賈璉起來，見過賈赦賈政，便往寧國府中來，合同老管事的家人等並幾位世交門下清客相公們審察兩府地方，繕畫省親殿宇，一面參度辦理人丁。自此後，各行匠役齊全，金銀銅錫以及土木磚瓦之物，搬運移送不歇。先令匠役拆寧府會芳園的牆垣樓閣，直接入榮府東大院中。榮府東邊所有下人一帶群房已盡拆去。當日寧榮二宅雖有一條小巷界斷不通，然亦系私地，並非官道，故可以聯絡。會芳園本是從北牆角下引了來的一股活水，今亦無煩再引。其山樹木石雖不敷用，賈赦住的乃是榮府舊園，其中竹樹山石以及亭榭欄杆等物，皆可挪就前來。如此兩處又甚近，便湊成一處，省許多財力。大概算計起來，所添有限。全虧一個胡老名公，號「山子野」，一一籌劃起造。

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Translation Notes

When the Chinese original mentions 會芳園本是從北牆角下引了來的一股活水，今亦無煩再引, or the fact that there was already a source of water from the northern corner of the old garden walls, keep in mind that the walls had already been demolished. It seems that this water source likely came from some sort of pipe running under the old walls.

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