notion! She may go on giving way to these ideas, but I, for my part, will only care for Mr. Chia Cheng and Madame Wang. I won't care a rap for any one else. In fact, I'll be nice with such of my sisters and brothers, as are nice to me; and won't even draw any distinction between those born of primary wives and those of secondary ones. Properly speaking, I shouldn't say these things about her, but she's narrow-minded to a degree, and unlike what she should be. There's besides another ridiculous thing. This took place the last time I gave you the money to get me those trifles. Well, two days after that, she saw me, and she began again to represent that she had no money and that she was hard up. Nevertheless, I did not worry my brain with her goings on. But as it happened, the servant- girls subsequently quitted the room, and she at once started finding fault with me. 'Why,' she asked, 'do I give you my savings to spend and don't, after all, let Huan Erh have them and enjoy them?' When I heard these reproaches, I felt both inclined to laugh, and also disposed to lose my temper; but I there and then skedaddled out of her quarters, and went over to our Madame Wang.'
As she was recounting this incident, 'Well,' she overheard Pao-ch'ai sarcastically observe from the opposite direction, 'have you done spinning your yarns? If you have, come along! It's quite evident that you are brother and sister, for here you leave every one else and go and discuss your own private matters. Couldn't we too listen to a single sentence of what you have to say?'
While she taunted them, T'an Ch'un and Pao-yue eventually drew near her with smiling faces.
Pao-yue, however, failed to see Lin Tai-yue and he concluded that she had dodged out of the way and gone elsewhere. 'It would be better,' he muttered, after some thought, 'that I should let two days elapse, and give her temper time to evaporate before I go to her.' But as he drooped his head, his eye was attracted by a heap of touch-me-nots, pomegranate blossom and various kinds of fallen flowers, which covered the ground thick as tapestry, and he heaved a sigh. 'It's because,' he pondered, 'she's angry that she did not remove these flowers; but I'll take them over to the place, and by and bye ask her about them.'
As he argued to himself, he heard Pao-ch'ai bid them go out. 'I'll join you in a moment,' Pao-yue replied; and waiting till his two cousins had gone some distance, he bundled the flowers into his coat, and ascending the hill, he crossed the stream, penetrated into the arbour, passed through the avenues with flowers and wended his way straight for the spot, where he had, on a previous occasion, interred the peach-blossoms with the assistance of Lin Tai-yue. But scarcely had he reached the mound containing the flowers, and before he had, as yet, rounded the brow of the hill, than he caught, emanating from the off side, the sound of some one sobbing, who while giving way to invective, wept in a most heart-rending way.
'I wonder,' soliloquised Pao-yue, 'whose servant-girl this is, who has been so aggrieved as to run over here to have a good cry!'
While speculating within himself, he halted. He then heard, mingled with wails:-
Flowers wither and decay; and flowers do fleet; they fly all o'er the
skies;
Their bloom wanes; their smell dies; but who is there with them to
sympathise?
While vagrant gossamer soft doth on fluttering spring-bowers bind its
coils,
And drooping catkins lightly strike and cling on the embroidered
screens,
A maiden in the inner rooms, I sore deplore the close of spring.
Such ceaseless sorrow fills my breast, that solace nowhere can I find.
Past the embroidered screen I issue forth, taking with me a hoe,
And on the faded flowers to tread I needs must, as I come and go.
The willow fibres and elm seeds have each a fragrance of their own.
What care I, peach blossoms may fall, pear flowers away be blown;
Yet peach and pear will, when next year returns, burst out again in
bloom,
But can it e'er be told who will next year dwell in the inner room?
What time the third moon comes, the scented nests have been already
built.
And on the beams the swallows perch, excessive spiritless and staid;
Next year, when the flowers bud, they may, it's true, have ample to
feed on:
But they know not that when I'm gone beams will be vacant and nests
fall!
In a whole year, which doth consist of three hundred and sixty days,
Winds sharp as swords and frost like unto spears each other rigorous
press,
So that how long can last their beauty bright; their fresh charm how
long stays?
Sudden they droop and fly; and whither they have flown, 'tis hard to
guess.
Flowers, while in bloom, easy the eye attract; but, when they wither,
hard they are to find.
Now by the footsteps, I bury the flowers, but sorrow will slay me.
Alone I stand, and as I clutch the hoe, silent tears trickle down,
And drip on the bare twigs, leaving behind them the traces of blood.
The goatsucker hath sung his song, the shades lower of eventide,
So with the lotus hoe I return home and shut the double doors.
Upon the wall the green lamp sheds its rays just as I go to sleep.
The cover is yet cold; against the window patters the bleak rain.
How strange! Why can it ever be that I feel so wounded at heart!
Partly, because spring I regret; partly, because with spring I'm
vexed!
Regret for spring, because it sudden comes; vexed, for it sudden goes.
For without warning, lo! it comes; and without asking it doth fleet.
Yesterday night, outside the hall sorrowful songs burst from my mouth,
For I found out that flowers decay, and that birds also pass away.
The soul of flowers, and the spirit of birds are both hard to
restrain.
Birds, to themselves when left, in silence plunge; and flowers, alone,
they blush.
Oh! would that on my sides a pair of wings could grow,
That to the end of heaven I may fly in the wake of flowers!
Yea to the very end of heaven,
Where I could find a fragrant grave!
For better, is it not, that an embroidered bag should hold my
well-shaped bones,
And that a heap of stainless earth should in its folds my winsome
charms enshroud.
For spotless once my frame did come, and spotless again it will go!
Far better than that I, like filthy mire, should sink into some drain!
Ye flowers are now faded and gone, and, lo, I come to bury you.
But as for me, what day I shall see death is not as yet divined!
Here I am fain these flowers to inter; but humankind will laugh me as
a fool.
Who knows, who will, in years to come, commit me to my grave!
Mark, and you'll find the close of spring, and the gradual decay of
