You are putting amazing effort into this and I am grateful. My Chinese is very rusty. I have read the Hawkes translation twice and love it.
It would be even better for me if you added more pinyin to the translation notes, since I understand some Chinese but certainly not enough to read the novel. You write: "好, hao, means “good” and is one of the first words any Chinese student learns. 了, which should be read as liao here, can mean either “to end / to finish” (i.e. 了結, 完了) or “to understand / to clarify” (i.e. 明了, 了然). And, if you look back at the chant, you’ll see both of those characters come up at the end of the first two lines: “世人都曉神仙好，惟有功名忘不了” and so on."
Shìrén dōu xiǎo shénxiān hǎo, wéiyǒu gōngmíng wàng bùliǎo. OK, I got that from Google Translate and can't confirm the tones.
It takes me ages to look up all the characters. And you write that your audience do not have to be fluent Chinese readers. But just giving the characters without the pinyin seems to be intended for an audience that does not include me.
One more note, and kind of a teaser for what I'm putting together (which I should have published by mid-May): the actual dialogue in Dream of the Red Chamber also shows a lot of influence from other Chinese dialects, which is fascinating.
I lived in northeast China for a few years and have a bit of familiarity with the local dialect. As a result, when I read the original version of Dream of the Red Chamber, "Granny Liu" (劉姥姥) speaks in a way that seems really natural and familiar to me.
In contrast, Lin Daiyu's speech contains clear evidence of influence of the Wu dialect, most particularly Suzhouese (蘇州話). This is because she grew up in Suzhou.
I'll show a few examples when we get to the post. The fascinating thing about Cao Xueqin is that he demonstrates familiarity with a number of Chinese dialects, and yet is able to write in a way that everybody can understand.
One thing that we need to keep in mind is that "standard Mandarin" or "standard Chinese" is really a product of the early 20th century. Cao Xueqin's poetry is largely composed with a heavy Middle Chinese influence, in particular the rhyme schemes. His classical sections fit the rigorous grammatical rules of classical Chinese: we'll see in about a week or so how Jia Yucun uses that rhetoric in a way that is kind of comical. And the spoken language reflects a number of different dialectical influences.
The more you dive into this book, the deeper it gets. It's uniquely Chinese in that sense: no other work I am aware of more fully reflects the full depth and breadth of the Chinese language.
The biggest issue with trying to stick pinyin everywhere is that there is a LOT of pinyin to insert. And it's unfortunately only going to get more difficult from here.
Part of the issue is figuring out the best way to convey the meaning of the poems instead of just their form. In the case of 了 (liǎo) the pronunciation actually does make a difference; however, in many of the poems we'll encounter, the original pronunciation isn't quite as important as the actual meaning behind the poem.
There's also a bit more going on behind the scenes than I've talked about. For example, classical Chinese poetry utilized a rhyming scheme that largely doesn't exist in modern Mandarin. This is the 平 (píng) and 仄 (zè) system. You can learn a little bit more about it in this Wikipedia page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tone_pattern It relates to the original four tones of Middle Chinese — 平, 上, 去, and 入, none of which really are present in the modern language.
It's a pretty cool system, and you can actually deconstruct the vast majority of the poems in 紅樓夢 to figure out if they fit certain patterns or not. However, it's not always easy to figure that part out — and it's not always the case that being able to identify the original "rhyme scheme" actually makes a difference in the interpretation of the poem.
Things become even more complicated when you realize the depth of Chinese dialects and the impact that has had on poetry. If you try to read old Tang poems in something like Taiwanese Hokkien or Cantonese, you'll find that there's a natural rhyme to many of them that simply doesn't exist in modern Mandarin. This is because those dialects have kept the original tonal rules intact. In fact, though learners of Chinese tend to think of those dialects as simply country speech, the truth is that they're quite conservative linguistically. Of course, the problem is figuring out whether this really makes a difference or not.
My hope is that I can point out places where the pronunciation actually makes a difference and is important, but try to keep a lot of the more boring and academic details out. You're correct that the 好了歌 gets its name from the words 好 and 了 that exist at the end of every line — and it's probably worth nothing that they both rhyme in a modern sense (hǎo and liǎo). Both words have multiple meanings: 好 can be read as "hào" if it means "to like," and 了 is famously "le" when it is used as a perfective aspect particle or to demonstrate change of state, something that does come up in Dream of the Red Chamber from time to time. So, yeah, I can certainly appreciate the confusion.
Anyway, if I understand right, 好 and 了 would both be classified as 平 in the old system because they both have the 上 tone, based on what is listed on https://ytenx.org/ . This is probably not a particularly helpful resource for you, though, since it's 100% in Chinese and assumes some knowledge of how original classical Chinese rhyming dictionaries work.
If it's any consolation, I'm planning on starting up a YouTube channel connected with this project in the near future. It might be helpful to hear how certain things are pronounced, especially when it comes to some of these poems.
There are also audiobook versions of Dream of the Red Chamber available. I've got two in the Member's Area that you can download, and there are a few resources on YouTube as well. These are all in modern Mandarin, and can kind of give you a feel for what the book "sounds" like.
I'll also try to stick in pinyin a bit more frequently when applicable. I'm hoping, though, to get by without diving too deep into the somewhat confusing and complicated world of how Chinese poetry "rhymes" and is "supposed" to sound...
Thanks again for the comment! Apologies for the long ramble.
Apologies — I got this wrong. Both 好 and 了 should be characterized as "仄聲" ("oblique" tones), not 平 ("flat").
You bring up a really good point, Margaret. I'm going to draft a post to try to explain some of this stuff in a few weeks. When it comes to the "Hao-Liao" song here the modern rhyme works — and it works for a couple of other poems. However, one thing to keep in mind is that Pinyin didn't exist in Cao Xueqin's day, that certain words likely had different pronunciations, and that he wasn't thinking in terms of the modern four tones.
I'm still thinking about Shiyin's frame of mind in this passage, and noticed the "forcing a laugh" in your translation vs. Hawkes "he therefore smiled back at the Taoist". Any chance of a translation critique on that point?
Also, is this the same crazy Taoist that Shiyin has met before? Wouldn't hao-liao be more appropriate coming from his scabby-headed Buddhist friend?
Good point - and I'm happy to see that you're still interested in trying to settle this out.
Unfortunately, the Chinese is pretty ambiguous.
This is the phrase: "士隱本是有夙慧的，一聞此言，心中早已悟徹，因笑道" It literally means "Zhen Shiyin was wise. As soon as he heard this, he quickly comprehended everything. And so he [smiled or laughed] and said:"
夙慧 (sùhuì) means wise, and 悟徹 (wùchè) means to comprehend completely. However, the word 悟 also implies enlightenment. There's interesting grammar in the phrase "心中早已悟徹:" the "早已" part implies that he had become enlightened or understood everything very quickly, almost as if he understood as soon as the priest started talking.
I think the problem here is 笑, which can either mean "smile" or "laugh." If you read through the Chinese, you'll notice that just about everybody will 笑 when they talk. Sometimes it's a smile that clearly covers up a sinister motive, sometimes it's a smile because they're making a joke or laughing, and sometimes it's a smile out of politeness.
The way you translate it has to do with your interpretation of the very issue you're talking about. In other words, you probably could see it either way.
Precisely what Zhen Shiyin "comprehended" or was "enlightened" by, and why his wisdom is important here, is left ambiguous, and probably deliberately so.
And, yeah, I think it's the same Taoist that was with the Buddhist monk who told Zhen Shiyin to cut off all ties with Yinglian. It's also the same pair that took the stone with them to travel to earth in the first chapter. My guess is that Cao Xueqin made the two have basically interchangeable personalities, though I could be wrong — we'll see what happens as the book continues.
By the way, this is also really important for the overall interpretation of the novel. Zhen Shiyin is kind of a microcosm of Jia Baoyu — and the way Jia Baoyu winds up in the end is also extremely ambiguous.
Dream of the Red Chamber is fascinating because of all the different ways it can be interpreted. For example, in the publisher's preface to the first edition of "A Dream of Red Mansions," the translation by Gladys Yang and her husband Yang Hsien-I, the writer goes on and on about how Jia Baoyu and Lin Daiyu are perfect examples of the proletariat in its endless struggle against the bourgeoise. I personally think that interpretation is kind of out there, but you certainly can make a legitimate class-based argument about the meaning of the book. I think the same goes for the question of Zhen Shiyin's motive and true feelings here: there seems to be quite a bit of evidence going in multiple directions, allowing for multiple interpretations.
I was wondering about the "forced" part - to me that conveys a very different feeling from just the smile.
Like you say, the question of renunciation keeps coming up. This one is particularly interesting - it occupies a lot of space at the very beginning yet doesn't really move the story forward. It must be there for a reason, right?
It's funny that you mention the class struggle interpretation - Opus 4 claims that the religion-as-escapism interpretation first got traction with the Marxists too. In this case it comes up so many times that the author must have known what he was doing.
The first time I read Dream of the Red Chamber about a decade ago, I simply skipped over things like this, figuring that it would eventually make sense. These days, I absolutely think it's worth it to dig deep and try to figure out what is happening and why the author decided to write something that seems otherwise unrelated.
There are all sorts of subtle clues about the religion-as-escapism motif — stuff that I'm only realizing now that I'm going through the book slowly and deliberately. For example, as we're going to see soon, the only people Lin Daiyu meets with during her first rounds in the Rongguo Mansion are women. The men are apparently all off performing some sort of religious ceremony and seem to be too busy to pay attention to day-to-day matters.
I also suspect that Cao Xueqin might have made the whole religion-as-escapism subtle on purpose. There are some scholars who believe that Dream of the Red Chamber was pretty heavily censored due to the politics of the Qing Dynasty. I can't remember his name off the top of my head, but there is a scholar in mainland China who is adamant that the book would have been much better were it not for the politics of the time. I'm not sure that I agree with that, however — I'd argue that an astute and deliberate reader will ask deeper questions about what is going on and will discover what the author's intent likely was.
It's funny - my wife (who is from Taiwan) asked me the other week if Dream of the Red Chamber was a Marxist book. It's really not: Cao Xueqin didn't know a thing about Marxism, and you don't see people gathering in communes or criticizing capitalism or whatever. However, the pretty obscure satire in the book can absolutely be interpreted after the fact as a type of Marxist social criticism.
Maybe if the political climate had been different it would be blunt and didactic and not nearly as interesting! Or maybe Cao would have found some other way to be subversive.
I don't see the novel itself as Marxist in any way. My impression is that Cao was angry at corruption but would have been satisfied with responsible and humane aristocrats. The most sympathetic people in the book are servants or peasants, but the family's tolerance for uppity maids still seems to be portrayed as a sign of decay.
But if nobody was pointing out the barbed social and religious commentary until the Marxist critics came on the scene, that's pretty wild from a modern perspective.
Yeah - I'm actually not all that knowledgeable about the full scope of "redology," or the study of the book. There's a book that was written a few years back that is a study of the history of redology; I'll see if I can find a copy somewhere.
I think that you're right, though. It seems that Cao was mostly frustrated with the corruption he saw around him.
As a reader with no Chinese, I too would appreciate more pinyin. It's not about pronunciation, it's just much easier to recognize words in the alphabet I know even in a language I don't know - visually I can't immediately tell 寶玉 from 黛玉 even though the difference between Baoyu and Daiyu is obvious. As a result I find myself skipping over the translation notes section because it takes too long to decode. Also, as an English speaker I read each page backwards from the order you have them in - translation first, then translation notes and comparison. Leading with the original is going to bounce some fraction of readers.
I really appreciate this project however you choose to share it! I had been thinking of reading Story of the Stone again but reading a new annotated translation is so much better.
Actually - the more I think about it, the more I think you're right. I'll try to slowly start pushing the change out, and will go back and fix some of the older posts as well.
Thanks very much for both speedy replies, Daniel. Actually I can't remember seeing ChineseConverter.com before and it solves my problem, as I can get a block of characters followed by a block of pinyin, and that helps me understand what you are referring to, e.g. when you write "通靈 could mean a number of things. ..." - I don't feel comfortable unless I can say the term to myself.
I take your point about pinyin not always being appropriate or easy. I wasn't even thinking of the poetry or that the modern Mandarin is not appropriate. I have heard of the 平 (píng) and 仄 (zè) before but how far I will get into the details of the poetry I can't tell - it might be too time-consuming.
Hi Daniel,
You are putting amazing effort into this and I am grateful. My Chinese is very rusty. I have read the Hawkes translation twice and love it.
It would be even better for me if you added more pinyin to the translation notes, since I understand some Chinese but certainly not enough to read the novel. You write: "好, hao, means “good” and is one of the first words any Chinese student learns. 了, which should be read as liao here, can mean either “to end / to finish” (i.e. 了結, 完了) or “to understand / to clarify” (i.e. 明了, 了然). And, if you look back at the chant, you’ll see both of those characters come up at the end of the first two lines: “世人都曉神仙好，惟有功名忘不了” and so on."
Shìrén dōu xiǎo shénxiān hǎo, wéiyǒu gōngmíng wàng bùliǎo. OK, I got that from Google Translate and can't confirm the tones.
It takes me ages to look up all the characters. And you write that your audience do not have to be fluent Chinese readers. But just giving the characters without the pinyin seems to be intended for an audience that does not include me.
Margaret
Hi again Margaret,
One more note, and kind of a teaser for what I'm putting together (which I should have published by mid-May): the actual dialogue in Dream of the Red Chamber also shows a lot of influence from other Chinese dialects, which is fascinating.
I lived in northeast China for a few years and have a bit of familiarity with the local dialect. As a result, when I read the original version of Dream of the Red Chamber, "Granny Liu" (劉姥姥) speaks in a way that seems really natural and familiar to me.
In contrast, Lin Daiyu's speech contains clear evidence of influence of the Wu dialect, most particularly Suzhouese (蘇州話). This is because she grew up in Suzhou.
I'll show a few examples when we get to the post. The fascinating thing about Cao Xueqin is that he demonstrates familiarity with a number of Chinese dialects, and yet is able to write in a way that everybody can understand.
One thing that we need to keep in mind is that "standard Mandarin" or "standard Chinese" is really a product of the early 20th century. Cao Xueqin's poetry is largely composed with a heavy Middle Chinese influence, in particular the rhyme schemes. His classical sections fit the rigorous grammatical rules of classical Chinese: we'll see in about a week or so how Jia Yucun uses that rhetoric in a way that is kind of comical. And the spoken language reflects a number of different dialectical influences.
The more you dive into this book, the deeper it gets. It's uniquely Chinese in that sense: no other work I am aware of more fully reflects the full depth and breadth of the Chinese language.
Thanks for the note, Margaret!
The biggest issue with trying to stick pinyin everywhere is that there is a LOT of pinyin to insert. And it's unfortunately only going to get more difficult from here.
There are a few places where you can get automatic conversion from Chinese characters to pinyin — for example, this website can be somewhat helpful: https://www.chineseconverter.com/en/convert/chinese-to-pinyin
Part of the issue is figuring out the best way to convey the meaning of the poems instead of just their form. In the case of 了 (liǎo) the pronunciation actually does make a difference; however, in many of the poems we'll encounter, the original pronunciation isn't quite as important as the actual meaning behind the poem.
There's also a bit more going on behind the scenes than I've talked about. For example, classical Chinese poetry utilized a rhyming scheme that largely doesn't exist in modern Mandarin. This is the 平 (píng) and 仄 (zè) system. You can learn a little bit more about it in this Wikipedia page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tone_pattern It relates to the original four tones of Middle Chinese — 平, 上, 去, and 入, none of which really are present in the modern language.
It's a pretty cool system, and you can actually deconstruct the vast majority of the poems in 紅樓夢 to figure out if they fit certain patterns or not. However, it's not always easy to figure that part out — and it's not always the case that being able to identify the original "rhyme scheme" actually makes a difference in the interpretation of the poem.
Things become even more complicated when you realize the depth of Chinese dialects and the impact that has had on poetry. If you try to read old Tang poems in something like Taiwanese Hokkien or Cantonese, you'll find that there's a natural rhyme to many of them that simply doesn't exist in modern Mandarin. This is because those dialects have kept the original tonal rules intact. In fact, though learners of Chinese tend to think of those dialects as simply country speech, the truth is that they're quite conservative linguistically. Of course, the problem is figuring out whether this really makes a difference or not.
My hope is that I can point out places where the pronunciation actually makes a difference and is important, but try to keep a lot of the more boring and academic details out. You're correct that the 好了歌 gets its name from the words 好 and 了 that exist at the end of every line — and it's probably worth nothing that they both rhyme in a modern sense (hǎo and liǎo). Both words have multiple meanings: 好 can be read as "hào" if it means "to like," and 了 is famously "le" when it is used as a perfective aspect particle or to demonstrate change of state, something that does come up in Dream of the Red Chamber from time to time. So, yeah, I can certainly appreciate the confusion.
Anyway, if I understand right, 好 and 了 would both be classified as 平 in the old system because they both have the 上 tone, based on what is listed on https://ytenx.org/ . This is probably not a particularly helpful resource for you, though, since it's 100% in Chinese and assumes some knowledge of how original classical Chinese rhyming dictionaries work.
If it's any consolation, I'm planning on starting up a YouTube channel connected with this project in the near future. It might be helpful to hear how certain things are pronounced, especially when it comes to some of these poems.
There are also audiobook versions of Dream of the Red Chamber available. I've got two in the Member's Area that you can download, and there are a few resources on YouTube as well. These are all in modern Mandarin, and can kind of give you a feel for what the book "sounds" like.
I'll also try to stick in pinyin a bit more frequently when applicable. I'm hoping, though, to get by without diving too deep into the somewhat confusing and complicated world of how Chinese poetry "rhymes" and is "supposed" to sound...
Thanks again for the comment! Apologies for the long ramble.
Apologies — I got this wrong. Both 好 and 了 should be characterized as "仄聲" ("oblique" tones), not 平 ("flat").
You bring up a really good point, Margaret. I'm going to draft a post to try to explain some of this stuff in a few weeks. When it comes to the "Hao-Liao" song here the modern rhyme works — and it works for a couple of other poems. However, one thing to keep in mind is that Pinyin didn't exist in Cao Xueqin's day, that certain words likely had different pronunciations, and that he wasn't thinking in terms of the modern four tones.
I'm still thinking about Shiyin's frame of mind in this passage, and noticed the "forcing a laugh" in your translation vs. Hawkes "he therefore smiled back at the Taoist". Any chance of a translation critique on that point?
Also, is this the same crazy Taoist that Shiyin has met before? Wouldn't hao-liao be more appropriate coming from his scabby-headed Buddhist friend?
Good point - and I'm happy to see that you're still interested in trying to settle this out.
Unfortunately, the Chinese is pretty ambiguous.
This is the phrase: "士隱本是有夙慧的，一聞此言，心中早已悟徹，因笑道" It literally means "Zhen Shiyin was wise. As soon as he heard this, he quickly comprehended everything. And so he [smiled or laughed] and said:"
夙慧 (sùhuì) means wise, and 悟徹 (wùchè) means to comprehend completely. However, the word 悟 also implies enlightenment. There's interesting grammar in the phrase "心中早已悟徹:" the "早已" part implies that he had become enlightened or understood everything very quickly, almost as if he understood as soon as the priest started talking.
I think the problem here is 笑, which can either mean "smile" or "laugh." If you read through the Chinese, you'll notice that just about everybody will 笑 when they talk. Sometimes it's a smile that clearly covers up a sinister motive, sometimes it's a smile because they're making a joke or laughing, and sometimes it's a smile out of politeness.
The way you translate it has to do with your interpretation of the very issue you're talking about. In other words, you probably could see it either way.
Precisely what Zhen Shiyin "comprehended" or was "enlightened" by, and why his wisdom is important here, is left ambiguous, and probably deliberately so.
And, yeah, I think it's the same Taoist that was with the Buddhist monk who told Zhen Shiyin to cut off all ties with Yinglian. It's also the same pair that took the stone with them to travel to earth in the first chapter. My guess is that Cao Xueqin made the two have basically interchangeable personalities, though I could be wrong — we'll see what happens as the book continues.
By the way, this is also really important for the overall interpretation of the novel. Zhen Shiyin is kind of a microcosm of Jia Baoyu — and the way Jia Baoyu winds up in the end is also extremely ambiguous.
Dream of the Red Chamber is fascinating because of all the different ways it can be interpreted. For example, in the publisher's preface to the first edition of "A Dream of Red Mansions," the translation by Gladys Yang and her husband Yang Hsien-I, the writer goes on and on about how Jia Baoyu and Lin Daiyu are perfect examples of the proletariat in its endless struggle against the bourgeoise. I personally think that interpretation is kind of out there, but you certainly can make a legitimate class-based argument about the meaning of the book. I think the same goes for the question of Zhen Shiyin's motive and true feelings here: there seems to be quite a bit of evidence going in multiple directions, allowing for multiple interpretations.
I was wondering about the "forced" part - to me that conveys a very different feeling from just the smile.
Like you say, the question of renunciation keeps coming up. This one is particularly interesting - it occupies a lot of space at the very beginning yet doesn't really move the story forward. It must be there for a reason, right?
It's funny that you mention the class struggle interpretation - Opus 4 claims that the religion-as-escapism interpretation first got traction with the Marxists too. In this case it comes up so many times that the author must have known what he was doing.
Yeah, you're absolutely right.
The first time I read Dream of the Red Chamber about a decade ago, I simply skipped over things like this, figuring that it would eventually make sense. These days, I absolutely think it's worth it to dig deep and try to figure out what is happening and why the author decided to write something that seems otherwise unrelated.
There are all sorts of subtle clues about the religion-as-escapism motif — stuff that I'm only realizing now that I'm going through the book slowly and deliberately. For example, as we're going to see soon, the only people Lin Daiyu meets with during her first rounds in the Rongguo Mansion are women. The men are apparently all off performing some sort of religious ceremony and seem to be too busy to pay attention to day-to-day matters.
I also suspect that Cao Xueqin might have made the whole religion-as-escapism subtle on purpose. There are some scholars who believe that Dream of the Red Chamber was pretty heavily censored due to the politics of the Qing Dynasty. I can't remember his name off the top of my head, but there is a scholar in mainland China who is adamant that the book would have been much better were it not for the politics of the time. I'm not sure that I agree with that, however — I'd argue that an astute and deliberate reader will ask deeper questions about what is going on and will discover what the author's intent likely was.
It's funny - my wife (who is from Taiwan) asked me the other week if Dream of the Red Chamber was a Marxist book. It's really not: Cao Xueqin didn't know a thing about Marxism, and you don't see people gathering in communes or criticizing capitalism or whatever. However, the pretty obscure satire in the book can absolutely be interpreted after the fact as a type of Marxist social criticism.
Maybe if the political climate had been different it would be blunt and didactic and not nearly as interesting! Or maybe Cao would have found some other way to be subversive.
I don't see the novel itself as Marxist in any way. My impression is that Cao was angry at corruption but would have been satisfied with responsible and humane aristocrats. The most sympathetic people in the book are servants or peasants, but the family's tolerance for uppity maids still seems to be portrayed as a sign of decay.
But if nobody was pointing out the barbed social and religious commentary until the Marxist critics came on the scene, that's pretty wild from a modern perspective.
Yeah - I'm actually not all that knowledgeable about the full scope of "redology," or the study of the book. There's a book that was written a few years back that is a study of the history of redology; I'll see if I can find a copy somewhere.
I think that you're right, though. It seems that Cao was mostly frustrated with the corruption he saw around him.
As a reader with no Chinese, I too would appreciate more pinyin. It's not about pronunciation, it's just much easier to recognize words in the alphabet I know even in a language I don't know - visually I can't immediately tell 寶玉 from 黛玉 even though the difference between Baoyu and Daiyu is obvious. As a result I find myself skipping over the translation notes section because it takes too long to decode. Also, as an English speaker I read each page backwards from the order you have them in - translation first, then translation notes and comparison. Leading with the original is going to bounce some fraction of readers.
I really appreciate this project however you choose to share it! I had been thinking of reading Story of the Stone again but reading a new annotated translation is so much better.
Actually - the more I think about it, the more I think you're right. I'll try to slowly start pushing the change out, and will go back and fix some of the older posts as well.
I'll do the best I can - it might take a few weeks to make the change, though, since I'm a few weeks ahead of the publishing schedule.
Thanks very much for both speedy replies, Daniel. Actually I can't remember seeing ChineseConverter.com before and it solves my problem, as I can get a block of characters followed by a block of pinyin, and that helps me understand what you are referring to, e.g. when you write "通靈 could mean a number of things. ..." - I don't feel comfortable unless I can say the term to myself.
I take your point about pinyin not always being appropriate or easy. I wasn't even thinking of the poetry or that the modern Mandarin is not appropriate. I have heard of the 平 (píng) and 仄 (zè) before but how far I will get into the details of the poetry I can't tell - it might be too time-consuming.