Lu Xun Complete Works/zh-en/Jiwaiji shiyi

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中文 (Original)	English (Translation)
= 集外集拾遗 =	= Gleanings from the Collection Outside the Collection (集外集拾遗) =
Part of the Lu Xun's Complete Works translation project.	Lu Xun
=== 第1节 ===	== Section 1 ==
*懷舊 (杜甫) *懷舊 (王安石) *懷舊 (晁說之) *懷舊 (鄒浩) *懷舊 (鄭剛中) *懷舊 (李正民) *懷舊 (陸游) *懷舊 (趙蕃) *懷舊 (劉克莊) *懷舊 (舒岳祥) *懷舊 (李俊民) *懷舊 (鄭東) *懷舊 (張昱) *懷舊 (張羽) *懷舊 (李時勉) *懷舊 (吳與弼) *懷舊 (吳宣) *懷舊 (張寧) *懷舊 (謝復) *懷舊 (馮元翀) *懷舊 (張彥修) *懷舊 (張洙) *懷舊 (申欽) *懷舊 (金尚憲) *懷舊 (洪錫箕) *懷舊 (李健) *懷舊 (施閏章) *懷舊 (尹拯) *懷舊 (朴允默) *懷舊 (周准) *懷舊 (李希聖) *懷舊第一百五 *懷舊第一百六 *懷舊第一百七 *懷舊第一百八 *懷舊一百九 *懷舊集句 *懷舊一首 *懷舊六首 *懷舊三首 *懷舊二首 *懷舊十二首 *懷舊四首 *懷舊絕句十首 *懷舊十六韻 *懷舊次韻 *懷舊用昔人蜀道詩韻 *懷舊賦 *懷舊詩 *懷舊詩九首 *懷舊詩十三章 *懷舊歌 *蘇幕遮·懷舊 *蝶戀花·懷舊 *木蘭花慢·懷舊 *一剪梅·懷舊 *浣溪沙·懷舊 *虞美人·懷舊 *霜天曉角·懷舊 *踏莎行·懷舊 *烏夜啼·懷舊 *滿江紅·懷舊 *太常引·懷舊 *長相思·懷舊 *金縷曲·懷舊 *蘭陵王·懷舊	*Nostalgia (Du Fu) *Nostalgia (Wang Anshi) *Nostalgia (Chao Yuezhi) *Nostalgia (Zou Hao) *Nostalgia (Zheng Gangzhong) *Nostalgia (Li Zhengmin) *Nostalgia (Lu You) *Nostalgia (Zhao Fan) *Nostalgia (Liu Kezhuang) *Nostalgia (Shu Yuexiang) *Nostalgia (Li Junmin) *Nostalgia (Zheng Dong) *Nostalgia (Zhang Yu) *Nostalgia (Zhang Yu) *Nostalgia (Li Shimian) *Nostalgia (Wu Yubi) *Nostalgia (Wu Xuan) *Nostalgia (Zhang Ning) *Nostalgia (Xie Fu) *Nostalgia (Feng Yuanchong) *Nostalgia (Zhang Yanxiu) *Nostalgia (Zhang Zhu) *Nostalgia (Shen Qin) *Nostalgia (Jin Sangxian) *Nostalgia (Hong Xiji) *Nostalgia (Li Jian) *Nostalgia (Shi Runzhang) *Nostalgia (Yin Zheng) *Nostalgia (Piao Yunmo) *Nostalgia (Zhou Zhun) *Nostalgia (Li Xisheng) *Nostalgia, No. 105 *Nostalgia, No. 106 *Nostalgia, No. 107 *Nostalgia, No. 108 *Nostalgia, No. 109 *Nostalgia, Assembled Lines *Nostalgia, One Poem *Nostalgia, Six Poems *Nostalgia, Three Poems *Nostalgia, Two Poems *Nostalgia, Twelve Poems *Nostalgia, Four Poems *Nostalgia, Ten Quatrains *Nostalgia, Sixteen Rhymes *Nostalgia, Matching Rhymes *Nostalgia, Using the Rhyme Scheme of an Old Poem on the Shu Road *Nostalgia, A Rhapsody *Nostalgia, A Poem *Nostalgia, Nine Poems *Nostalgia, Thirteen Chapters of Verse *Nostalgia, A Song *Su Mu Zhe — Nostalgia *Die Lian Hua — Nostalgia *Mu Lan Hua Man — Nostalgia *Yi Jian Mei — Nostalgia *Huan Xi Sha — Nostalgia *Yu Mei Ren — Nostalgia *Shuang Tian Xiao Jiao — Nostalgia *Ta Sha Xing — Nostalgia *Wu Ye Ti — Nostalgia *Man Jiang Hong — Nostalgia *Tai Chang Yin — Nostalgia *Chang Xiang Si — Nostalgia *Jin Lü Qu — Nostalgia *Lan Ling Wang — Nostalgia
=== 第2节 ===	== Section 2 ==
孟真先生： 　　來信收到了。現在對於《新潮》沒有別的意見：倘以後想到什麼，極願意隨時通知。 　　《新潮》每本裡面有一二篇純粹科學文，也是好的。但我的意見，以為不要太多；而且最好是無論如何總要對於中國的老病刺他幾針，譬如說天文忽然罵陰曆，講生理終於打醫生之類。現在的老先生聽人說「地球橢圓」，「元素七十七種」，是不反對的了。《新潮》裡裝滿了這些文章，他們或者還暗地裡高興。（他們有許多很鼓吹少年專講科學，不要議論，《新潮》三期通信內有史志元先生的信，似乎也上了他們的當。）現在偏要發議論，而且講科學，講科學而仍發議論，庶幾乎他們依然不得安穩，我們也可告無罪於天下了。總而言之，從三皇五帝時代的眼光看來，講科學和發議論都是蛇，無非前者是青梢蛇，後者是蝮蛇罷了；一朝有了棍子，就都要打死的。既然如此，自然還是毒重的好。——但蛇自己不肯被打，也自然不消說得。 　　《新潮》裡的詩寫景敘事的多，抒情的少，所以有點單調。此後能多有幾樣作風很不同的詩就好了。翻譯外國的詩歌也是一種要事，可惜這事很不容易。 　　《狂人日記》很幼稚，而且太逼促，照藝術上說，是不應該的。來信說好，大約是夜間飛禽都歸巢睡覺，所以單見蝙蝠能幹了。我自己知道實在不是作家，現在的亂嚷，是想鬧出幾個新的創作家來，——我想中國總該有天才，被社會擠倒在底下，——破破中國的寂寞。 　　《新潮》裡的《雪夜》，《這也是一個人》，《是愛情還是苦痛》（起首有點小毛病），都是好的。上海的小說家夢裡也沒有想到過。這樣下去，創作很有點希望。《扇誤》譯的很好。《推霞》實在不敢恭維。 　　魯迅四月十六日	Mr. Mengzhen: Your letter has been received. At present I have no other opinions regarding New Tide; should I think of something in the future, I shall be most willing to communicate it at any time. It is good for each issue of New Tide to contain one or two articles of pure science. But in my view, there should not be too many; and it would be best if, no matter what, they always manage to prick a few needles at China's chronic ailments — for instance, a piece on astronomy that suddenly attacks the lunar calendar, or a physiology lecture that ends up assailing the traditional doctors. Nowadays, the venerable old gentlemen do not object when they hear someone say "the earth is elliptical" or "there are seventy-seven elements." If New Tide were filled with such articles, they might even secretly rejoice. (Many of them actively encourage the young to devote themselves exclusively to science and not to engage in polemics; the letter from Mr. Shi Zhiyuan in the correspondence section of issue three of New Tide seems also to have fallen for their trick.) What we should do instead is insist on being polemical, and moreover talk about science — talk about science while still being polemical — so that they still cannot rest easy, and we too can declare ourselves guiltless before the world. In sum, viewed through the eyes of the era of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, both talking science and being polemical are snakes — the former merely a green whip snake and the latter a viper; the moment a stick is at hand, both are to be beaten to death. Since this is so, it is naturally better to be the more venomous one. — But the snake itself is unwilling to be beaten, which naturally goes without saying. The poetry in New Tide mostly describes scenes and narrates events, with little lyrical expression, so it is somewhat monotonous. It would be good if hereafter there could be more poems in quite different styles. Translating foreign poetry is also an important matter, but unfortunately this is very difficult. "Diary of a Madman" is very immature and too rushed; from an artistic standpoint, it should not be so. Your letter says it is good — probably because at night, when all other birds have returned to their nests to sleep, the bat alone appears capable. I myself know that I am truly not a writer; my present clamoring is meant to rouse a few new creative writers — I think China must surely have geniuses, crushed beneath the weight of society — to break China's desolation. "Snowy Night," "This Too Is a Person," and "Is It Love or Suffering?" (there is a small blemish at the beginning) in New Tide are all good. The novelists of Shanghai have never dreamed of anything like them. If things continue this way, creative writing has considerable hope. "Fan Wu" is very well translated. "Tui Xia" I really cannot compliment. Lu Xun, April 16
=== 第3节 ===	== Section 3 ==
translation=}}	Lu Xun's Translation of the Prologue to "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" [Translator's note: This is Lu Xun's 1920 Chinese rendering of the Prologue (Vorrede) of Nietzsche's Also sprach Zarathustra, sections 1-10. The translation below is a back-translation from Lu Xun's Chinese, not a reproduction of Nietzsche's original. Where Lu Xun's interpretation diverges notably from Nietzsche's German, annotations are provided in brackets.] == One == When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his homeland and the lake of his homeland, and walked into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and his solitude, and for ten years did not grow weary. But at last his heart changed — one morning he rose together with the dawn, stepped before the sun, and spoke to it thus: "You great star! What happiness would you have, if you did not have those whom you illuminate! For ten years you have come to my stone cave: your light and your path would long since have grown weary, were it not for me, my eagle and my serpent. But each morning we awaited you, took from you your overflow, and for this blessed you. Behold! I am sated with my wisdom, like a bee that has gathered too much honey; I await the outstretched hands. I would give, I would share, until the wise among men once more rejoice in their folly, and the poor once more rejoice in their riches. For this I must descend to the depths: as you do in the evening, when you go behind the sea and still bring light to the underworld, you over-rich star! I must, like you, go down [Note: Lu Xun renders Nietzsche's wordplay on 'untergehen' (to go down / to perish) literally as 'descend,' losing the double meaning], as these people call it — I must go down to them. Then bless me, you tranquil eye, that can behold the greatest happiness without envy! Bless this cup that wants to overflow; the water shall pour from it golden-glittering, carrying everywhere the reflection of your delight! Behold! This cup wants to be empty again, and Zarathustra wants to become man again." — Thus began Zarathustra's going-down. == Two == Zarathustra came down the mountain alone, and no one met him. But when he reached the forest, there suddenly stood before him an old man who had left his holy dwelling to seek roots in the forest. And the old man spoke thus to Zarathustra: "This wanderer is no stranger to me: many years ago he passed through here. His name is Zarathustra, but he has changed. Before, you carried your ashes up the mountain: now do you want to bring your fire into the valley? Do you not fear the punishment for arson? Yes, I recognize Zarathustra — pure are his eyes, and in his mouth there is nothing disgusting hidden. Does he not walk like a dancer? Zarathustra has changed, Zarathustra has become a child, Zarathustra is an awakened one: what do you want among the sleepers? You lived in solitude as in the sea, and the sea bore you. Alas, you want to go ashore? Alas, you want to drag your body about again?" Zarathustra answered: "I love mankind." "Why," said the saint, "did I go into the forest and the wasteland? Was it not because I loved mankind too much? Now I love God: mankind I do not love. Man is for me too imperfect a thing. Love of man would destroy me." Zarathustra answered: "What did I say of love! I bring gifts to mankind." "Give them nothing," said the saint, "rather take something from them and bear it together with them — that is most comfortable for them: if only it be comfortable for you too! And if you want to give to them, give no more than an alms, and let them beg for it besides!" "No," answered Zarathustra, "I do not give alms. I am not poor enough for that." The saint laughed at Zarathustra and spoke thus: "Then see to it that they accept your treasures! They are suspicious of hermits and do not believe that we come to give. Our footsteps sound too solitary through their streets. At night, when they lie in their beds and hear someone walking while the sun has not yet risen, they always ask themselves: where is this thief going? Do not go to mankind, stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Why not be, as I am — a bear among bears, a bird among birds?" "And what does the saint do in the forest?" asked Zarathustra. The saint answered: "I make songs and sing them; when I make songs, I laugh, weep, and hum: thus I praise God. With singing, laughing, weeping and humming I praise God, praise my God. But what do you bring us as a gift?" When Zarathustra heard these words, he bowed to the saint and said: "What could I give you! But let me go quickly, before I take something from you!" — And so they parted, the old man and the younger, laughing like two boys. When Zarathustra was alone, he spoke thus to his heart: "How is this possible! This old saint in his forest has not yet heard that God is dead!" [Note: Lu Xun's Chinese breaks off the famous declaration with an exclamation mark, rendering it as "还没有听到这件事" (has not yet heard this thing), leaving the content — "God is dead" — unstated but implied.] == Three == When Zarathustra reached the nearest town adjoining the forest, he found many people gathered in the marketplace: for it had been announced that a tightrope walker would perform. And Zarathustra spoke thus: I teach you the overman [Note: Lu Xun renders 'Übermensch' as '超人' (chaoren), literally 'super-person,' which became the standard Chinese term]. Man is a thing that shall be overcome — what have you done to overcome him? All things hitherto have created something beyond themselves: yet you want to be the ebb of this great flood, and would rather go back to the animals than overcome man? What is the ape to man? A laughingstock or a painful disgrace. And that is precisely what man shall be to the overman: a laughingstock or a painful disgrace. You have made the way from worm to man, and much in you is still worm. Once you were apes, and even now man is more ape than any ape. Whoever is the wisest among you is but a discord and hybrid of plant and ghost. But do I bid you become ghosts or plants? Behold, I teach you the overman! The overman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: the overman shall be the meaning of the earth! I beseech you, my brothers, remain faithful to the earth and do not believe those who speak to you of otherworldly hopes! They are poisoners, whether they know it or not. They are despisers of life, decaying and self-poisoned, of whom the earth is weary: let them be gone! Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy, but God died, and thereupon these blasphemers died too. Now the most terrible thing is to blaspheme the earth, and to esteem the entrails of the unknowable higher than the meaning of the earth! Once the soul looked contemptuously upon the body: and then this contempt was the highest — the soul wanted the body lean, ghastly, and starved. Thus the soul thought to escape the body and the earth. Oh, but this soul was itself lean, ghastly, and starved: and cruelty was the delight of this soul! But you, my brothers, tell me: what does your body say about your soul? Is not your soul poverty and filth and wretched contentment? Truly, man is a polluted stream. One must already be a sea to take in a polluted stream without becoming unclean. Behold, I teach you the overman: he is this sea, in him your great contempt can be submerged. What is the greatest thing you can experience? That is the hour of the great contempt. The hour in which even your happiness disgusts you, and likewise your reason and your virtue. The hour in which you say: 'What good is my happiness! It is but poverty and filth and wretched contentment. But my happiness itself should justify existence!' The hour in which you say: 'What good is my reason! Does it hunger for knowledge as the lion hungers for its food? It is but poverty and filth and wretched contentment!' The hour in which you say: 'What good is my virtue! It has not yet made me rage. How weary I am of my good and my evil! All that is but poverty and filth and wretched contentment!' The hour in which you say: 'What good is my justice! I do not see that I am fire and coal. Yet the just are fire and coal!' The hour in which you say: 'What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross upon which he who loves man is nailed? But my pity is not a crucifixion.' Have you spoken thus? Have you cried thus? Ah, that I might have heard you cry thus! Not your sins — but your self-satisfaction cries to heaven; your stinginess even in your sins cries to heaven! Where is the lightning that shall lick you with its tongue? Where is the madness that should be inoculated into you? Behold, I teach you the overman: he is this lightning, he is this madness! — When Zarathustra had spoken thus, one of the people cried out: "We have heard enough about the tightrope walker; now let us see him!" And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the tightrope walker, who thought the words concerned him, began his performance. == Four == But Zarathustra gazed at the people and was amazed. Then he spoke thus: Man is a rope, fastened between animal and overman — a rope over an abyss. A dangerous crossing, a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous shuddering and standing-still. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end; what can be loved in man is that he is a crossing and a going-down. [Note: Lu Xun renders 'Übergang und ein Untergang' as '又是' (and also is), losing Nietzsche's characteristic wordplay.] I love those who do not know how to live except as those who go down, for they are the crossers. I love the great despisers, for they are the great reverers, and arrows of longing for the other shore. I love those who do not first seek a reason behind the stars to go down and to be sacrificed, but who sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the earth may one day belong to the overman. I love him who lives only for knowledge, and who wants knowledge that the overman may one day live. And thus he wills his own going-down. I love him who works and invents, only to build the house for the overman and to prepare for him the earth, animals, and plants: for thus he wills his going-down. I love him who loves his virtue: for virtue is the will to go down and an arrow of longing. I love him who does not keep back a single drop of spirit for himself, but wants his spirit to belong entirely to his virtue: thus as spirit he crosses the bridge. I love him who makes of his virtue his inclination and his destiny: thus for the sake of his virtue he will live or will no longer live. I love him who does not want too many virtues. One virtue is more than two, because it is a stronger knot on which destiny hangs. I love him who is lavish with his spirit, who wants no thanks and gives no return: for he only gives and does not want to keep. I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favor, and who then asks: am I a dishonest gambler? — for he wants to perish. I love him who casts golden words before his deeds, and always does more than he promises: for he wills his going-down. I love him who justifies the future and redeems the past: for he wants to perish in the present. I love him who chastens his God because he loves his God: for he must perish by the wrath of his God. I love him whose soul is deep even when wounded, and who can perish from a small experience: thus he gladly crosses the bridge. I love him whose soul is so full that he forgets himself, and all things are in him: thus all things become his going-down. I love him who has a free spirit and a free heart: thus his head is but the entrails of his heart, and his heart drives him to go down. I love all those who are like heavy drops falling one by one from the dark cloud that hangs over man: they herald the coming of the lightning, and as heralds they perish. Behold, I am the herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop from the cloud: but this lightning is called the overman. — == Five == When Zarathustra had said these words, he looked again at the people and was silent. "There they stand," he said to his heart, "there they laugh: they do not understand me, I am not the mouth for these ears. Must one first shatter their ears so that they learn to hear with their eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and preachers of repentance? Or do they believe only the stammerer? They have something of which they are proud. What is it that makes them proud? They call it 'education' [Note: Lu Xun uses '教育' (jiaoyu, education), while Nietzsche uses 'Bildung' (culture/cultivation)]; it is what distinguishes them from the goatherds. Therefore they dislike hearing the word 'contempt' applied to themselves. Then I shall speak to their pride. Then I shall tell them of the most contemptible thing: but that is the last man." And thus Zarathustra spoke to the people: It is time for man to set himself a goal. It is time for man to plant the seed of his highest hope. His soil is still rich enough. But one day this soil will be poor and exhausted, and no tall tree will be able to grow from it. Alas! The time is coming when man will no longer shoot the arrow of his longing beyond man, and the string of his bow will have forgotten how to twang! I tell you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: you still have chaos in you. Alas! The time is coming when man will no longer give birth to a star. Alas! The time of the most contemptible man is coming, who can no longer despise himself. Behold! I show you the last man [Note: Lu Xun renders 'der letzte Mensch' as '末人' (moren), literally 'end-person' or 'final-person']. "What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?" — thus asks the last man, blinking. The earth has become small, and on it hops the last man, who makes everything small. His race is as ineradicable as the flea; the last man lives longest. "We have discovered happiness," say the last men, and they blink. They have left the places where it was hard to live: for one needs warmth. One still loves one's neighbor and rubs against him: for one needs warmth. Becoming sick and harboring suspicion are sinful to them: one walks carefully. A fool, whoever still stumbles over stones or men! A little poison now and then: that makes for pleasant dreams. And much poison in the end, for a pleasant death. One still works, for work is entertainment. But one takes care that the entertainment does not strain. One no longer becomes poor or rich: both are too burdensome. Who still wants to rule? Who still wants to obey? Both are too burdensome. No shepherd and one herd! Everybody wants the same, everybody is the same: whoever thinks differently goes voluntarily into the madhouse. "Formerly all the world was mad," say the most refined, and they blink. One is clever and knows everything that has ever happened: so there is no end of mockery. One still quarrels, but one soon makes up — otherwise it spoils the stomach. One has one's little pleasure for the day and one's little pleasure for the night: but one respects health. "We have discovered happiness," say the last men, and they blink. — Here ended the first speech of Zarathustra, which is also called "the Prologue": for at this point the shouting and merriment of the crowd interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra," they cried, "make us into these last men! We will make you a gift of the overman!" And all the people cheered and clucked their tongues. But Zarathustra grew sad, and said to his heart: "They do not understand me: I am not the mouth for these ears. Perhaps I have lived too long in the mountains, I have listened too much to the streams and trees: now I speak to them as to goatherds. My soul is unmoved and bright as the morning mountains. But they think I am cold, and a mocker making dreadful jests. Now they look at me and laugh: and as they laugh, they still hate me. There is ice in their laughter." == Six == But then something happened that made every mouth dumb and every eye wide. For the tightrope walker had begun his performance: he had stepped out of a small door and was walking on the rope, which was stretched between two towers, suspended above the marketplace and the crowd. But when he was at the midpoint of his way, the small door opened once more, and a brightly dressed fellow, like a buffoon, leapt out and followed the first with quick steps. "Forward, lame-foot," his terrible voice cried, "forward, lazy beast, smuggler, pale face! Do not let me tickle you with my heel! What are you doing between these towers? You belong inside the tower, you should be locked up — you are blocking the way for a better man!" — And with every word he came closer and closer: but when he was only one step behind him, something terrible happened that made every mouth dumb and every eye wide: — he uttered a shriek like a devil, and leaped over the man who was in his way. But when the other saw his rival win, he lost his head and the rope; he flung away his pole, and shot downward faster than the pole, a whirlwind of arms and legs, plunging into the depths. The marketplace and the crowd were like the sea when a storm drives the waves inward; they all surged and pushed in flight, and most of all where the body was about to crash down. But Zarathustra stood still, and the body fell right beside him, disfigured and broken, but not yet dead. After a while consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra kneeling beside him. "What are you doing here?" he said at last. "I knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he drags me to hell — will you prevent him?" "On my honor, friend," answered Zarathustra, "all that you speak of does not exist: there is no devil and no hell. Your soul will be dead even sooner than your body: now fear nothing more!" The man looked up distrustfully. "If you speak the truth," he said, "then if I lose my life I lose nothing. I am hardly more than an animal that has been taught to dance by blows and meager food." "Not so," said Zarathustra. "You have made danger your calling, and there is nothing contemptible in that. Now you perish of your calling: so I will bury you with my own hands." When Zarathustra had said this, the dying man answered no more; but he moved his hand, as if seeking Zarathustra's hand in thanks. == Seven == Meanwhile evening had come, and the marketplace was shrouded in darkness; the crowd dispersed, for even curiosity and terror grow weary. But Zarathustra sat on the ground beside the dead man, lost in thought: thus he forgot the time. But at last night came, and a cold wind blew over the solitary one. Then Zarathustra rose and said to his heart: "Truly, Zarathustra has made a fine catch today! He caught no man, but he did catch a corpse. Uncanny is human existence, and still without meaning: a buffoon can be fatal to it. I want to teach men the meaning of their existence: which is the overman, the lightning out of the dark cloud of man. But I am still far from them, my mind does not speak to their minds. To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse. Dark is the night, dark are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, you cold and stiff companion! I will carry you to the place where I shall bury you with my own hands." == Eight == When Zarathustra had said these things to his heart, he hoisted the corpse on his back and set out on his way. He had not yet gone a hundred steps when a man crept close to him and whispered in his ear — and behold! the one who spoke was the buffoon from the tower. "Leave this town, O Zarathustra," he said; "too many here hate you. The good and the just hate you, and they call you their enemy and their despiser; the believers of the true faith hate you, and they call you a danger to the multitude. It was your good luck that they laughed at you: and truly, you spoke like a buffoon. It was your good luck that you took up with the dead dog; when you debased yourself thus, you saved yourself for today. But leave this town — or tomorrow I shall leap over you, a living man over a dead one." And when he had said this, the man vanished; but Zarathustra continued on his way through the dark streets. At the town gate he met the gravediggers: they held their torches to his face, recognized Zarathustra, and mocked him greatly. "Zarathustra is carrying off the dead dog! Excellent — Zarathustra has become a gravedigger! For our hands are too clean for this roast. Does Zarathustra want to steal the devil's meal? Good then! And good appetite! If only the devil is not a better thief than Zarathustra! — He will steal both of them, he will eat both of them!" And they laughed among themselves and put their heads together. Zarathustra said nothing to this and went his way. When he had walked for two hours, past forests and swamps, he heard the hungry howling of wolves, and he himself grew hungry. So he stopped at a lonely house in which a light was burning. "Hunger attacks me," said Zarathustra, "like a robber. In the forests and swamps my hunger attacks me, and in the deep of night. My hunger has strange moods. It often comes to me only after a meal, and today it did not come all day: where has it been?" And so Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man appeared; he carried a lamp and asked: "Who comes to me and to my bad sleep?" "A living man and a dead man," said Zarathustra. "Give me food and drink. I forgot them during the day. He who feeds the hungry refreshes his own soul: thus speaks the wise man." The old man went away but came back at once and offered Zarathustra bread and wine. "This is a bad land for the hungry," he said; "that is why I live here. Animal and man come to me, the hermit. But bid your companion eat and drink too, he is wearier than you." Zarathustra answered: "My companion is dead; I shall hardly be able to persuade him." "That does not concern me," said the old man grumpily; "whoever knocks at my house must also take what I offer. Eat, and fare you well!" After that Zarathustra walked for another two hours, trusting to the road and the light of the stars: for he was an experienced night-walker and liked to look into the face of all who slept. But when the morning came, Zarathustra found himself in a deep forest, and no path was visible. He then placed the dead man in a hollow tree, at his head — for he wanted to protect him from the wolves — and lay down himself on the ground and moss. And at once he fell asleep, with a weary body but an unmoved soul. == Nine == Zarathustra slept a long time, and not only the dawn passed over his face but also the morning. But at last he opened his eyes: amazed, he looked into the forest and the stillness; amazed, he looked into himself. Then he rose quickly, like a seafarer who suddenly sees land, and he rejoiced: for he saw a new truth. And he spoke thus to his heart: "A light has dawned upon me: I need companions, and living ones — not dead companions and corpses, which I carry with me wherever I wish. I need living companions who follow me because they want to follow themselves — and to the place where I want to go! A light has dawned upon me: Zarathustra shall not speak to the crowd, but to companions! Zarathustra shall not be shepherd and dog to the herd! To lure many from the herd — for that I have come. The crowd and the herd shall be angry with me: Zarathustra wants to be called a robber by the shepherds. I say shepherds, but they call themselves the good and the just. I say shepherds, but they call themselves the believers of the true faith. Behold the good and the just! What do they hate most? Him who breaks their tablets of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker: — but he is the creator. Behold the believers of all faiths! What do they hate most? Him who breaks their tablets of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker: — but he is the creator. The creator seeks companions, not corpses, and not herds or believers either. The creator seeks fellow-creators, those who write new values on new tablets. The creator seeks companions, fellow-harvesters: for everything about him is ripe for the harvest. But he lacks a hundred sickles: so he plucks the ears and is vexed. The creator seeks companions, those who know how to whet their sickles. They will be called destroyers, despisers of good and evil. But they are the harvesters and celebrants. Zarathustra seeks companions, Zarathustra seeks fellow-harvesters and fellow-celebrants: what has he to do with herds and shepherds and corpses! And now, my first companion, rest in peace! I have buried you well in your hollow tree, I have protected you well from the wolves. But I part from you, the time has come. Between dawn and dawn a new truth has come to me. I shall not be shepherd, not gravedigger. Never again shall I speak to the crowd: this is the last time I have spoken to a corpse. I want to join the creators, the harvesters, the celebrants: I want to show them the rainbow and all the stairs of the overman. I shall sing my song to the solitary and to those in pairs; and whoever still has ears for unheard things, his heart shall be heavy with my happiness. I go to my goal, I walk my way; I shall leap over the hesitant and the slow. Thus let my going be their going-down!" == Ten == Zarathustra spoke these words to his heart as the sun stood at noon: then he looked questioningly into the sky — for he heard the sharp cry of a bird above him. And behold! An eagle was sweeping through the air in wide circles, and on it hung a serpent, not as prey, but as a friend: for the serpent had coiled tightly around the eagle's neck. "These are my animals!" said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart. "The proudest animal under the sun and the wisest animal under the sun — they have come out to scout. They want to find out whether Zarathustra is still alive. Truly, am I still alive? I found it more dangerous among men than among animals. Zarathustra walks dangerous paths. May my animals guide me!" When Zarathustra had said this, he recalled the words of the saint in the forest, sighed, and spoke thus to his heart: "Would that I were wiser! Would that I were wise from the ground up, like my serpent! But I ask the impossible: so I ask my pride to always go together with my wisdom! And if one day my wisdom should leave me — ah, it loves to fly away! — may my pride then fly together with my folly!" — Thus began Zarathustra's going-down. == Appendix: Translator's Note == [Note: Lu Xun's original text includes a marker for a translator's afterword at this point, but the afterword text itself is not included in this section.]
=== 第4节 ===	== Section 4 ==
太炎先生忽然在教育改進社年會的講壇上「勸治史學」以「保存國性」，真是慨乎言之。但他漏舉了一條益處，就是一治史學，就可以知道許多「古已有之」的事。 　　衣萍先生大概是不甚治史學的，所以將多用驚歎符號應該治罪的話，當作一個「幽默」。其意蓋若曰，如此責罰，當為世間之所無有者也。而不知「古已有之」矣。 　　我是毫不治史學的。所以於史學很生疏。但記得宋朝大鬧黨人的時候，也許是禁止元祐學術的時候罷，因為黨人中很有幾個是有名的詩人，便遷怒到詩上面去，政府出了一條命令，不准大家做詩，違者笞二百！而且我們應該注意，這是連內容的悲觀和樂觀都不問的，即使樂觀，也仍然答一百！ 　　那時大約確乎因為胡適之先生還沒有出世的緣故罷，所以詩上都沒有用驚歎符號，如果用上，那可就怕要笞一千了，如果用上而又在「唉」「呵呀」的下面，那一定就要笞一萬了，加上「縮小像細菌放大像炮彈」的罪名，至少也得笞十萬。衣萍先生所擬的區區打幾百關幾年，未免過於從輕發落，有姑容之嫌，但我知道他如果去做官，一定是一個很寬大的「民之父母」，只是想學心理學是不很相宜的。 　　然而做詩又怎麼開了禁呢？聽說是因為皇帝先做了一首，於是大家便又動手做起來了。 　　可惜中國已沒有皇帝了，只有並不縮小的炮彈在天空裡飛，那有誰來用這還未放大的炮彈呢？ 　　呵呀！還有皇帝的諸大帝國皇帝陛下呀，你做幾首詩，用些驚歎符號，使敝國的詩人不至於受罪罷！唉！！！這是奴隸的聲音，我防愛國者要這樣說。 　　誠然，這是對的，我在十三年之前，確乎是一個他族的奴隸，國性還保存著，所以「今尚有之」，而且因為我是不甚相信歷史的進化的，所以還怕未免「後仍有之」。舊性是總要流露的，現在有幾位上海的青年批評家，不是已經在那裡主張「取締文人」，不許用「花呀」「吾愛呀」了麼？但還沒有定出「笞令」來。 　　倘說這不定「笞令」，比宋朝就進化；那麼，我也就可以算從他族的奴隸進化到同族的奴隸，臣不勝屏營欣忭之至！	Master Taiyan has suddenly taken to "urging the study of history" in order to "preserve our national character" from the lectern of the Education Reform Society's annual meeting — truly a passionate exhortation. But he neglected to cite one additional benefit: that as soon as one studies history, one discovers many things that have "existed since antiquity." Mr. Yiping is presumably not much given to studying history, which is why he treats the notion that excessive use of exclamation marks should be punishable as a piece of "humor" — meaning, surely, that such a punishment must be something unheard-of in this world. Yet he does not know that it has "existed since antiquity." I myself do not study history at all, so I am quite unfamiliar with it. But I recall that during the Song dynasty's great purge of factionalists — perhaps it was the prohibition of Yuanyou scholarship — because several of the factionalists happened to be famous poets, the government's wrath extended to poetry itself, and a decree was issued forbidding everyone from writing poems, on pain of one hundred strokes! And we should note that this made no distinction as to whether the content was pessimistic or optimistic — even if optimistic, one still got one hundred strokes! At that time, probably because Mr. Hu Shizhi had not yet been born, no one used exclamation marks in poetry. Had they done so, one would fear the penalty might have been a thousand strokes; and had those marks been placed after "Alas!" or "Oh my!", the sentence would surely have been ten thousand strokes; add the charge of being "reduced like bacteria, enlarged like cannonballs," and the minimum would have been a hundred thousand. Mr. Yiping's proposed punishment of a mere few hundred strokes and a few years' imprisonment is rather too lenient, with a suspicion of indulgence. But I know that if he were to become an official, he would certainly be a very magnanimous "father and mother of the people" — only, wanting to study psychology would not suit him very well. But how did the ban on writing poetry come to be lifted? I am told it was because the emperor himself first wrote one, whereupon everyone else resumed writing too. Unfortunately, China no longer has an emperor — only unexplosive cannonballs flying through the sky. Who is there to deploy these as-yet-unmagnified cannonballs? Oh my! To the emperors of all those great empires that still possess an emperor, Your Imperial Majesties — please write a few poems, use some exclamation marks, and spare the poets of our humble country from punishment! Alas!!! This is the voice of a slave, I fear the patriots will say. Indeed, that is correct. Thirteen years ago, I was in truth a slave of another race, and the national character is still preserved, so it "still exists today"; and because I do not much believe in historical progress, I fear it may "continue to exist hereafter" as well. Old habits will always show through. Are not several young critics in Shanghai already advocating "the regulation of literary men" and forbidding the use of "O flowers!" and "my beloved!"? Though they have not yet prescribed a "flogging decree." If one says that this absence of a "flogging decree" represents progress compared to the Song dynasty, then I too may be considered to have progressed from being a slave of another race to being a slave of my own race — a prospect that fills this humble subject with trembling delight beyond measure!
=== 第5节 ===	== Section 5 ==
== 一 == 高遠地，高遠地在天空中翱翔着一隻蛺蝶。他自己得意着他的美和他的自由，而尤其是在享用那些橫在他下面的一切眺望。 『同到上面來，這里來！』他大聲叫喚，向了一直在他下面的，繞着地上的樹木飛舞着的他的弟兄們。 『阿，不的，我們吸蜜而且停在這底下！』 『倘使你們知道這里多少好看，一切都都在眼中呵！阿，來罷，來！』 『在那上面，是否也有花，可以吸養活我們的蜜的麼？』 『可以這里看見一切花，而且這享用……』 『你在那上面可有蜜麼？』 沒有，這是真的，蜜在那上面是沒有的！ 這反對住在下面的可憐的蛺蝶，乏了…… 然而他想要停在天空裏。 他以爲能夠俯視一切，一切都在眼中，很美。 然而蜜呢……蜜？沒有，蜜在那上面是沒有。 他衰弱了，這可憐的蛺蝶。他的翅子的鼓動只是遲鈍起來。他向下面走而且眼界只是減少…… 但是還努力…… 不，還不行，他低下去了！…… 『唉，你終于到這里來了，』弟兄們叫喊說。『我們對你怎麼說的呢？現在你來罷，從來吸蜜，像我們一樣，我們很知道的花裏！』 弟兄們這樣叫喊而且得意，以爲他們是對的，也不但因爲他們對于上面的美並沒有必要的緣故。 『來罷，並且像我們似的吸蜜！』 這蛺蝶只是低下去，……他還要……這里是一叢花卉……他到了這里麼？……他早不是低下去，……他落下去了！他落在花叢旁邊，在路上，在車道上…… 他在這里被一匹驢子踏爛了。 == 二 == 高遠地，高遠地在天空中翱翔着一隻蛺蝶。他自己得意着他的美和他的自由，而尤其是在享用那些橫在他下面的一切眺望。 他向着他的弟兄叫喚，教他們應該上來，然而他們反對了，因爲他們不肯離開了在下面的蜜。 他卻不願意在下面了，因爲他怕被得得的蹄子踏得稀爛。 這期間，他也如別的蛺蝶們，對于蜜有同樣的必要，他便飛到一坐山上去，那里是生着美麗的花，而且在驢子是過于高峻的。 而且他倘若望見，在下面的他的弟兄們中的一個，太走近了路上的轍迹，曾經踏爛過許多落下的蛺蝶們的地方去，他便盡了他的能力，用翅子的鼓動來警告。 然而這並沒有得到注意。他的弟兄們在下面毫沒有看見這山上的蛺蝶，因爲他們只對于蜜的採集在谷底裏忙，而不知道山上也生着花卉。 （譯自“Ideen”1862.） 【一九二四年十二月八日，京報副刊所載。】	== I == High up, high up in the sky a butterfly was soaring. He took pride in his beauty and his freedom, and especially in enjoying all the views that lay spread out beneath him. "Come up here, up here!" he called out loudly to his brothers, who were always below him, flitting about among the trees on the ground. "Oh no, we are sipping nectar and staying down here!" "If only you knew how beautiful it is up here, with everything before your eyes! Oh, come, come!" "Up there, are there also flowers with nectar that can nourish us?" "From up here one can see all the flowers, and this enjoyment..." "But do you have nectar up there?" No, that was true — there was no nectar up there! This objection silenced the poor butterfly below, who was growing weary... Yet he wanted to remain in the sky. He thought that being able to look down upon everything, with everything before his eyes, was very beautiful. But the nectar... nectar? No, there was no nectar up there. He grew weak, this poor butterfly. The beating of his wings only grew more sluggish. He descended, and his horizons only diminished... But still he struggled... No, it was no use — he sank lower and lower!... "Ah, so you've finally come down here," his brothers cried out. "What did we tell you? Now come, come sip nectar like us, from the flowers we know so well!" The brothers cried out like this and were pleased, thinking they were right, and not merely because they had no need for the beauty above. "Come, and sip nectar like us!" The butterfly only sank lower... he still wanted to... here was a cluster of flowers... had he reached it?... He was no longer merely sinking — he was falling! He fell beside the flower cluster, onto the road, onto the carriage track... There he was trampled to pulp by a donkey. == II == High up, high up in the sky a butterfly was soaring. He took pride in his beauty and his freedom, and especially in enjoying all the views that lay spread out beneath him. He called out to his brothers, urging them to come up, but they refused, for they would not leave the nectar below. He, however, did not wish to stay below, for he feared being trampled to pulp by clip-clopping hooves. In the meantime, having the same need for nectar as the other butterflies, he flew to a mountain where beautiful flowers grew, and which was too steep for any donkey. And whenever he caught sight of one of his brothers below venturing too close to the ruts in the road — the place where many a fallen butterfly had been trampled — he did his utmost to warn them with the beating of his wings. Yet this went unheeded. His brothers below did not notice the butterfly on the mountain at all, for they were busy gathering nectar in the valley floor and did not know that flowers also grew on the mountain. (Translated from "Ideen," 1862.) [Published on December 8, 1924, in the Beijing Newspaper Supplement.]
=== 第6节 ===	== Section 6 ==
孝觀先生： 　　我的無聊的小文，竟引出一篇大作，至於將記者先生打退，使其先「敬案」而後「道歉」，感甚佩甚。 　　我幼時並沒有見過《湧幢小品》；回想起來，所見的似乎是《西湖遊覽志》及《志餘》，明嘉靖中田汝成作。可惜這書我現在沒有了，所以無從復案。我想，在那裡面，或者還可以得到一點關於雷峰塔的材料罷。 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　魯迅。二十四日。 　　案：我在《論雷峰塔的倒掉》中，說這就是保俶塔，而伏園以為不然。鄭孝觀先生遂作《雷峰塔與保俶塔》一文，據《湧幢小品》等書，證明以這為保俶塔者蓋近是。文載二十四日副刊中，甚長，不能具引。 　　一九三五年二月十三日，補記。	Mr. Xiaoguan: My trivial little piece has unexpectedly elicited a major essay, to the point of driving the editor into retreat, making him first "respectfully note" and then "apologize" — I am most grateful and impressed. In my youth I had not seen the Yongchuang Xiaopin; thinking back, what I saw was apparently the Xihu Youlan Zhi and its supplement Zhi Yu, written by Tian Rucheng during the Jiajing reign of the Ming. Unfortunately I no longer have this book, so I cannot re-examine it. I imagine that in it one might still find some material regarding the Leifeng Pagoda. Lu Xun. The 24th. Note: In my essay "On the Collapse of the Leifeng Pagoda," I said that this was in fact the Baochu Pagoda, but Fuyuan disagreed. Mr. Zheng Xiaoguan then wrote an essay, "The Leifeng Pagoda and the Baochu Pagoda," citing the Yongchuang Xiaopin and other works to demonstrate that identifying it as the Baochu Pagoda is approximately correct. The essay was published in the supplement of the 24th and is quite long, so I cannot quote it in full. February 13, 1935, supplementary note.
=== 第7节 ===	== Section 7 ==
大前天第一次會見「詩孩」，談話之間，說到我可以對於《文學週刊》投一點什麼稿子。我暗想倘不是在文藝上有偉大的尊號如詩歌小說評論等，多少總得裝一些門面，使與尊號相當，而是隨隨便便近於雜感一類的東西，那總該容易的罷，於是即刻答應了。此後玩了兩天，食粟而已，到今晚才向書桌坐下來豫備寫字，不料連題目也想不出，提筆四顧，右邊一個書架，左邊一口衣箱，前面是牆壁，後面也是牆壁，都沒有給我少許靈感之意。我這才知道：大難已經臨頭了。 　　幸而因「詩孩」而聯想到詩，但不幸而我於詩又偏是外行，倘講些什麼「義法」之流，豈非「魯般門前掉大斧」。記得先前見過一位留學生，聽說是大有學問的。他對我們喜歡說洋話，使我不知所云，然而看見洋人卻常說中國話。這記憶忽然給我一種啟示，我就想在《文學週刊》上論打拳；至於詩呢？留待將來遇見拳師的時候再講。但正在略略躊躇之際，卻又聯想到較為妥當的，曾在《學燈》——不是上海出版的《學燈》——上見過的一篇春日一郎的文章來了，於是就將他的題目直抄下來：《詩歌之敵》。 　　那篇文章的開首說，無論什麼時候，總有「反詩歌黨」的。編成這一黨派的分子：一、是凡要感得專訴於想像力的或種藝術的魅力，最要緊的是精神的熾烈的擴大，而他們卻已完全不能擴大了的固執的智力主義者；二、是他們自己曾以媚態奉獻於藝術神女，但終於不成功，於是一變而攻擊詩人，以圖報復的著作者；三、是以為詩歌的熱烈的感情的奔迸，足以危害社會的道德與平和的那些懷著宗教精神的人們。但這自然是專就西洋而論。 　　詩歌不能憑仗了哲學和智力來認識，所以感情已經冰結的思想家，即對於詩人往往有謬誤的判斷和隔膜的揶揄。最顯著的例是洛克，他觀作詩，就和踢球相同。在科學方面發揚了偉大的天才的巴士凱爾，於詩美也一點不懂，曾以幾何學者的口吻斷結說：「詩者，非有少許穩定者也。」凡是科學底的人們，這樣的很不少，因為他們精細地研鑽著一點有限的視野，便決不能和博大的詩人的感得全人間世，而同時又領會天國之極樂和地獄之大苦惱的精神相通。近來的科學者雖然對於文藝稍稍加以重視了，但如意大利的倫勃羅梭一流總想在大藝術中發見瘋狂，奧國的佛羅特一流專一用解剖刀來分割文藝，冷靜到入了迷，至於不覺得自己的過度的穿鑿附會者，也還是屬於這一類。中國的有些學者，我不能妄測他們於科學究竟到了怎樣高深，但看他們或者至於詫異現在的青年何以要紹介被壓迫民族文學，或者至於用算盤來算定新詩的樂觀或悲觀，即以決定中國將來的運命，則頗使人疑是對於巴士凱爾的冷嘲。因為這時可以改篡他的話：「學者，非有少許穩定者也。」 　　但反詩歌黨的大將總要算柏拉圖。他是藝術否定論者，對於悲劇喜劇，都加攻擊，以為足以滅亡我們靈魂中崇高的理性，鼓舞劣等的情緒，凡有藝術，都是模仿的模仿，和「實在」尚隔三層；又以同一理由，排斥荷馬。在他的《理想國》中，因為詩歌有能鼓動民心的傾向，所以詩人是看作社會的危險人物的，所許可者，只有足供教育資料的作品，即對於神明及英雄的頌歌。這一端，和我們中國古今的道學先生的意見，相差似乎無幾。然而柏拉圖自己卻是一個詩人，著作之中，以詩人的感情來敘述的就常有；即《理想國》，也還是一部詩人的夢書。他在青年時，又曾委身於藝圃的開拓，待到自己知道勝不過無敵的荷馬，卻一轉而開始攻擊，仇視詩歌了。但自私的偏見，彷彿也不容易支持長久似的，他的高足弟子亞里士多德做了一部《詩學》，就將為奴的文藝從先生的手裡一把搶來，放在自由獨立的世界裡了。 　　第三種是中外古今觸目皆是的東西。如果我們能夠看見羅馬法皇宮中的禁書目錄，或者知道舊俄國教會裡所詛咒的人名，大概可以發見許多意料不到的事的罷，然而我現在所知道的卻都是耳食之談，所以竟沒有寫在紙上的勇氣。總之，在普通的社會上，歷來就罵殺了不少的詩人，則都有文藝史實來作證的了。中國的大驚小怪，也不下於過去的西洋，綽號似的造出許多惡名，都給文人負擔，尤其是抒情詩人。而中國詩人也每未免感得太淺太偏，走過宮人斜就做一首「無題」，看見樹丫叉就賦一篇「有感」。和這相應，道學先生也就神經過敏之極了：一見「無題」就心跳，遇「有感」則立刻滿臉發燒，甚至於必以學者自居，生怕將來的國史將他附入文苑傳。 　　說文學革命之後而文學已有轉機，我至今還未明白這話是否真實。但戲曲尚未萌芽，詩歌卻已奄奄一息了，即有幾個人偶然呻吟，也如冬花在嚴風中顫抖。聽說前輩老先生，還有後輩而少年老成的小先生，近來尤厭惡戀愛詩；可是說也奇怪，詠歎戀愛的詩歌果然少見了。從我似的外行人看起來，詩歌是本以發抒自己的熱情的，發訖即罷；但也願意有共鳴的心弦，則不論多少，有了也即罷；對於老先生的一顰蹙，殊無所用其慚惶。縱使稍稍帶些雜念，即所謂意在撩撥愛人或是「出風頭」之類，也並非大悖人情，所以正是毫不足怪，而且對於老先生的一顰蹙，即更無所用其慚惶。因為意在愛人，便和前輩老先生猶如風馬牛之不相及，倘因他們一搖頭而慌忙輟筆，使他高興，那倒像撩撥老先生，反而失敬了。 　　倘我們賞識美的事物，而以倫理學的眼光來論動機，必求其「無所為」，則第一先得與生物離絕。柳陰下聽黃鸝鳴，我們感得天地間春氣橫溢，見流螢明滅於叢草裡，使人頓懷秋心。然而鵬歌螢照是「為」什麼呢？毫不客氣，那都是所謂「不道德」的，都正在大「出風頭」，希圖覓得配偶。至於一切花，則簡直是植物的生殖機關了。雖然有許多披著美麗的外衣，而目的則專在受精，比人們的講神聖戀愛尤其露骨。即使清高如梅菊，也逃不出例外— —而可憐的陶潛林逋，卻都不明白那些動機。 　　一不小心，話又說得不甚馴良了，倘不急行檢點，怕難免真要拉到打拳。但離題一遠，也就很不容易勒轉，只好再舉一種近似的事，就此收場罷。 　　豢養文士彷彿是贊助文藝似的，而其實也是敵。宋玉司馬相如之流，就受著這樣的待遇，和後來的權門的「清客」略同，都是位在聲色狗馬之間的玩物。查理九世的言動，更將這事十分透徹地證明了的。他是愛好詩歌的，常給詩人一點酬報，使他們肯做一些好詩，而且時常說：「詩人就像賽跑的馬，所以應該給吃一點好東西。但不可使他們太肥；太肥，他們就不中用了。」這雖然對於胖子而想兼做詩人的，不算一個好消息，但也確有幾分真實在內。匈牙利最大的抒情詩人彼彖飛（A．Petöfi）有題B．Sz．夫人照像的詩，大旨說「聽說氖鼓愕惱煞蠔□腋＃蘯*希望不至於此，因為他是苦惱的夜鶯，而今沉默在幸福裡了。苛待他罷，使他因此常常唱出甜美的歌來。」也正是一樣的意思。但不要誤解，以為我是在提倡青年要做好詩，必須在幸福的家庭裡和令夫人天天打架。事情也不盡如此的。相反的例並不少，最顯著的是勃朗寧和他的夫人。 　　一九二五年一月一日。	The day before the day before yesterday, I met "The Poetry Child" for the first time, and during our conversation, it came up that I might contribute something to the Literary Weekly. I thought to myself: if it need not be something bearing one of those grand titles of the literary world—poetry, fiction, criticism, and the like—where one must always put on a certain front to live up to the noble designation, but could instead be something casual, something akin to random reflections, then surely it should be easy enough. So I agreed on the spot. After that I frittered away two days doing nothing but eating my grain, and it was not until this evening that I sat down at my desk to prepare to write. To my dismay, I could not even think of a topic. Pen in hand, I looked around: a bookshelf to my right, a clothes trunk to my left, a wall in front, and a wall behind—none of them showed the slightest inclination to grant me any inspiration. Only then did I realize: catastrophe was already upon me. Fortunately, "The Poetry Child" led my thoughts by association to poetry; but unfortunately, I happen to be a complete layman when it comes to verse. Were I to hold forth on matters of "principles and methods" and such, would that not be "brandishing a great axe before the gate of Lu Ban"? I recall once meeting a returned student who was said to be a man of great learning. He liked to speak to us in foreign languages, leaving me utterly bewildered, yet when he encountered foreigners he invariably spoke Chinese. This memory suddenly gave me an inspiration: I would write about boxing in the Literary Weekly; as for poetry—I would save that for when I happened to meet a boxing master. But just as I was hesitating slightly, a more suitable idea came to me by association: an article by Harubi Ichiro that I had once seen in the Xuedeng—not the Shanghai-published Xuedeng—and so I copied his title straight down: "Enemies of Poetry." That article begins by saying that no matter what the era, there is always an "Anti-Poetry Party." The members composing this faction are: first, the obstinate intellectualists who, in order to feel the charm of any art that appeals exclusively to the imagination—the most essential thing being a fervent expansion of the spirit—have already become completely incapable of such expansion; second, the writers who once offered themselves in fawning devotion to the goddess of art but ultimately failed, and so turned to attacking poets as a form of revenge; third, those people of religious spirit who believe that the passionate outpouring of emotion in poetry is sufficient to endanger the morals and peace of society. But this, of course, pertains exclusively to the West. Poetry cannot be apprehended through philosophy and intellect alone, and so thinkers whose emotions have already frozen solid often pass erroneous judgments and make alienated mockeries of poets. The most conspicuous example is Locke, who regarded writing poetry as no different from kicking a ball. Pascal, who displayed magnificent genius in the realm of science, understood nothing whatsoever of poetic beauty, and once declared in the manner of a geometrician: "Poetry is a thing of little solidity." Among people of a scientific bent, there are quite a few like this, for in meticulously drilling into one small, limited field of vision, they can never commune with the spirit of the great poet who grasps the whole of the human world and simultaneously comprehends both the supreme bliss of heaven and the profound anguish of hell. Although recent scientists have come to pay somewhat more attention to literature and art, those like the Italian Lombroso who always seek to find madness in great art, and those like the Austrian Freud who exclusively use the scalpel of dissection to carve up literature, so coolly absorbed that they fail to notice their own excessive forced interpretations—they too belong to this category. As for certain Chinese scholars, I cannot presume to guess how deep their scientific attainments actually go; but when one sees them expressing astonishment that today's youth should want to introduce the literature of oppressed peoples, or using an abacus to calculate whether new poetry is optimistic or pessimistic in order to determine the future fate of China, one is strongly inclined to suspect this is a cold mockery of Pascal. For at this point one could alter his words: "Scholars are things of little solidity." But the generalissimo of the Anti-Poetry Party must be counted as Plato. He was a negator of art who attacked both tragedy and comedy, considering them sufficient to destroy the lofty reason in our souls and to encourage base emotions. All art, he held, was imitation of imitation, still three removes from "Reality"; and on the same grounds he rejected Homer. In his Republic, because poetry has a tendency to stir the hearts of the people, the poet is regarded as a dangerous figure in society; the only works permitted are those suitable as educational material—hymns to gods and heroes. On this point, the difference from the views of China's Confucian moralists, past and present, seems negligible. Yet Plato himself was a poet; in his writings, passages narrated with a poet's feeling are frequent, and even the Republic is still a poet's dream-book. In his youth he had devoted himself to the cultivation of the garden of art, but once he realized he could not triumph over the invincible Homer, he reversed course and began to attack and despise poetry. But selfish prejudice, it seems, is also not easy to sustain for long: his most distinguished disciple Aristotle composed a Poetics, snatching enslaved literature out of his master's hands in one stroke and placing it in a world of freedom and independence. The third type is something seen everywhere, in China and abroad, in ancient times and modern. If we could see the Index of Forbidden Books in the palace of the Roman Pontiff, or know the names cursed in the churches of old Russia, we could probably discover many unexpected things; but what I know at present is all hearsay, so I simply lack the courage to commit it to paper. In short, that ordinary society has through the ages reviled and destroyed no small number of poets—this is fully attested by the historical facts of literary history. China's penchant for making mountains out of molehills is no less than that of the Western past; it fabricates many vile epithets, like nicknames, and loads them all upon men of letters, especially lyric poets. And Chinese poets, for their part, often cannot help feeling things too superficially and too narrowly: passing by Gongren Xie they compose a poem called "Untitled," and catching sight of a forked branch they produce a piece called "Reflections." Correspondingly, the Confucian moralists become hypersensitive in the extreme: one glimpse of "Untitled" and their hearts pound; encountering "Reflections" their faces immediately flush with fever; they even insist on styling themselves as scholars, terrified lest future national histories append them to the chapter on literary gardens. It is said that since the Literary Revolution, literature has taken a turn for the better; to this day I still do not understand whether this claim is true. But drama has not yet even sprouted, while poetry is already on its last breath; even when a few people occasionally groan, it is like winter flowers trembling in a harsh wind. I hear that the senior old gentlemen, as well as the junior but prematurely aged young gentlemen, have lately grown especially disgusted with love poetry; and strangely enough, poems singing of love have indeed become rare. From the perspective of a layman like me, poetry is fundamentally meant to express one's own passion—once expressed, that is all; but one also hopes for sympathetic heart-strings to resonate, and however many or few there are, once found, that too is all. There is no cause whatsoever for shame before the frown of the old gentlemen. Even if the poetry carries a slight tinge of ulterior motive—what is called intending to tantalize a lover or to "show off"—this is not greatly contrary to human nature, and so is utterly unremarkable. Moreover, before the frown of the old gentlemen, there is even less cause for shame. For if the intention is directed at a lover, it has as much to do with the senior old gentleman as a horse with a cow separated by wind—if one were to halt one's pen in a panic at their head-shaking, just to please them, that would actually be tantamount to flirting with the old gentleman, and would on the contrary be disrespectful. If we appreciate beautiful things but insist on judging motives through the lens of ethics, demanding that they be "without purpose," then the first thing we must do is sever ourselves from all living beings. Beneath the shade of willows we hear the oriole sing, and feel the spring air overflowing between heaven and earth; we see fireflies flickering among the thick grasses and are instantly moved to autumnal sentiments. But what is the singing of birds and the glowing of fireflies "for"? Without the slightest ceremony: it is all so-called "immoral," all an exercise in "showing off," all in the hope of finding a mate. As for all flowers, they are simply the reproductive organs of plants. Though many are draped in beautiful attire, their sole purpose is pollination—even more blatant than people's talk of sacred love. Even those as lofty and pure as plum blossoms and chrysanthemums cannot escape this rule—and poor Tao Qian and Lin Bu did not understand those motives at all. If I am not careful, my words have again become less than well-behaved; if I do not quickly exercise restraint, I fear I may truly end up dragged into a discussion of boxing. But having strayed so far from the topic, it is not easy to rein things back, so I will merely raise one more related matter and bring things to a close. Keeping literary men as retainers may seem like patronage of literature and art, but in reality it too is enmity. Song Yu, Sima Xiangru, and their ilk received precisely this sort of treatment, not unlike the "idle guests" of later powerful households—all playthings ranked among entertainments of music, beauty, dogs, and horses. The words and deeds of Charles IX demonstrated this with perfect thoroughness. He was fond of poetry and often gave poets a bit of recompense to induce them to write good verse, and he frequently said: "Poets are like racehorses, so they should be given good things to eat. But they must not be made too fat; too fat, and they are no longer any use." While this is not good news for those who are stout and aspire to be poets, it does contain more than a grain of truth. The greatest lyric poet of Hungary, Petofi (A. Petofi), has a poem inscribed on a photograph of Mrs. B. Sz., the gist of which says: "I hear that her husband is happy now; I hope it has not come to this, for he is the nightingale of sorrow, and now he has fallen silent in happiness. Treat him harshly, so that he may therefore constantly sing sweet songs." The meaning is exactly the same. But do not misunderstand and think I am advocating that if young people want to write good poetry, they must fight with their wives every day in their happy homes. Things are not entirely like that. There are plenty of contrary examples, the most conspicuous being the Brownings—Robert and his wife. January 1, 1925.
=== 第8节 ===	== Section 8 ==
王鑄先生： 　　我很感謝你遠道而至的信。 　　我看見廚川氏關於文學的著作的時候，已在地震之後，《苦悶的象徵》是第一部，以前竟沒有留心他。那書的末尾有他的學生山本修二氏的短跋，我翻譯時，就取跋文的話做了幾句序。跋的大意是說這書的前半部原在《改造》雜誌上發表過，待到地震後掘出遺稿來，卻還有後半，而並無總名，所以自己便依據登在《改造》雜志上的端緒，題為《苦悶的象徵》，付印了。 　　照此看來，那書的經歷已經大略可以明瞭。（１）作者本要做一部關於文學的書，—— 未題總名的，——先成了《創作論》和《鑒賞論》兩篇，便登在《改造》雜誌上；《學燈》上明權先生的譯文，當即從《改造》雜誌翻出。（２）此後他還在做下去，成了第三第四兩篇，但沒有發表，到他遭難之後，這才一起發表出來，所以前半是第二次公開，後半是初次。（３）四篇的稿子本是一部書，但作者自己並未定名，於是他的學生山本氏只好依了第一次公表時候的端緒，給他題為《苦悶的象徵》。至於怎樣的端緒，他卻並未說明，或者篇目之下，本有這類文字，也說不定的，但我沒有《改造》雜誌，所以無從查考。 　　就全體的結構看起來，大約四篇已算完具，所缺的不過是修飾補綴罷了。我翻譯的時候，聽得豐子愷先生也有譯本，現則聞已付印，為《文學研究會叢書》之一；上月看見《東方雜誌》第二十號，有仲雲先生譯的廚川氏一篇文章，就是《苦悶的象徵》的第三篇；現得先生來信，才又知道《學燈》上也早經登載過，這書之為我國人所愛重，居然可知。 　　現在我所譯的也已經付印，中國就有兩種全譯本了。魯迅。一月九日。	Dear Mr. Wang Zhu, I am most grateful for your letter sent from so far away. By the time I came across Kuriyagawa's works on literature, it was already after the earthquake. *Symbols of Anguish* was the first; before that I had paid him no attention at all. At the end of the book there is a short postscript by his student Yamamoto Shūji, and when I translated it, I drew on a few lines from that postscript for my preface. The gist of the postscript is this: the first half of the book had originally been published in the magazine *Kaizō*; after the earthquake, when they dug out the surviving manuscripts, they found a second half as well, but with no overall title. So Yamamoto, following the heading used for the portion published in *Kaizō*, titled the whole *Symbols of Anguish* and sent it to press. In light of this, the history of the book becomes largely clear. (1) The author had intended to write a book on literature — without having settled on an overall title — and first completed two essays, "On Creative Writing" and "On Appreciation," which were published in *Kaizō*; the translation by Mr. Mingquan that appeared in *Xuedeng* was presumably rendered from that *Kaizō* version. (2) Afterwards he continued working and completed a third and fourth essay, but these were not published until after his death in the disaster, so the first half appeared publicly for the second time while the second half appeared for the first. (3) The manuscripts of all four essays constituted a single book, but the author himself had never given it a title, so his student Yamamoto had no choice but to follow the heading used at the time of first publication and call it *Symbols of Anguish*. As for what exactly that heading was based on, he does not explain — perhaps there was some such wording beneath the chapter titles, though one cannot be certain. Since I do not have copies of *Kaizō*, I have no way to verify this. Judging from the overall structure, the four essays appear to form a complete work; what was lacking was merely final polishing. When I was translating it, I heard that Mr. Feng Zikai also had a translation underway; now I learn it has gone to press as one of the "Literary Research Society Series." Last month I saw in issue twenty of *The Eastern Miscellany* a piece by Mr. Zhongyun translating one of Kuriyagawa's essays — the third chapter of *Symbols of Anguish*. And now, with your letter, I learn that *Xuedeng* had already published an earlier version. The esteem in which this book is held by our countrymen is thus quite apparent. My own translation has also now gone to press, so China will have two complete translations. Lu Xun. January 9.
=== 第9节 ===	== Section 9 ==
我是一個講師，略近于教授。照江震亞先生的主張，似乎也是不當署名的。但我也曾用幾個假名發表過文章，後來卻有人詰責我逃避責任；況且這回又帶些攻擊態度，所以終於署名了。但所署的也不是真名字；但也近于真名字；仍有露出講師馬腳的弊病，無法可想，只好這樣罷。又爲避免糾紛起見，還得聲明一句，就是：我所指摘的中國古今人，乃是一部份，別的許多很好的古人不在內！然而這麼一說，我的雜感真成了最無聊的東西了，要面面顧到，是能夠這樣使自己變成無价值。 （一月十五日。） 【一九二五年一月十六日《京報副刊》所載。】	I am a lecturer — roughly equivalent to a professor. According to Mr. Jiang Zhenya's proposition, it would seem I too should not sign my name. But I have in the past published articles under several pseudonyms, only to be reproached by some for evading responsibility. Moreover, since this time my remarks carry something of an attacking posture, I have in the end signed my name — though even what I signed is not my real name; yet it is close enough to my real name that the flaw of exposing my lecturer's cloven hoof remains, and there is nothing to be done about it, so let it be. And to forestall any disputes, I must further declare: the Chinese ancients and moderns I have criticized are but a portion; many other perfectly fine ancients are not included! Yet the moment I say this, my miscellaneous jottings truly become the most tedious of things — trying to accommodate everyone is precisely how one renders oneself worthless. (January 15.) [Published in the *Jingbao Supplement*, January 16, 1925.]
=== 第10节 ===	== Section 10 ==
陶璇卿君是一個潛心研究了二十多年的畫家，為藝術上的修養起見，去年才到這暗赭色的北京來的。到現在，就是有攜來的和新制的作品二十餘種藏在他自己的臥室裡，誰也沒有知道，——但自然除了幾個他熟識的人們。 　　在那黯然埋藏著的作品中，卻滿顯出作者個人的主觀和情緒，尤可以看見他對於筆觸，色采和趣味，是怎樣的盡力與經心，而且，作者是夙擅中國畫的，於是固有的東方情調，又自然而然地從作品中滲出，融成特別的丰神了，然而又並不由於故意的。 　　將來，會當更進於神化之域罷，但現在他已經要回去了。幾個人惜其獨往獨來，因將那不多的作品，作一個小結構的短時期的展覽會，以供有意於此的人的一覽。但是，在京的點綴和離京的紀念，當然也都可以說得的罷。 　　一九二五年三月一六日，魯迅。	Mr. Tao Xuanqing is a painter who has devoted himself to quiet study for more than twenty years. In the interest of furthering his artistic cultivation, he came to this dull ochre city of Beijing only last year. By now he has over twenty works — some brought with him, some newly created — stored away in his own bedroom, unknown to anyone, save, naturally, a few people of his acquaintance. Among those works buried in obscurity, however, the author's personal vision and temperament are abundantly displayed. One can see, in particular, how he labors and devotes himself to brushwork, color, and sensibility. Moreover, the author has long excelled at Chinese painting, so that an inherent Eastern sentiment seeps naturally from the works, fusing into a distinctive spirit — yet not one arrived at by contrivance. In the future, he will surely advance further into the realm of transcendent mastery. But for now he is about to leave. A few friends, regretting that he has come and gone so quietly, are arranging a small, short exhibition of his limited works, so that those with an interest in such things may see them. But of course it may also be called an ornament to his time in the capital, and a memento of his departure. March 16, 1925, Lu Xun.
=== 第11节 ===	== Section 11 ==
柯先生 　　我對於你們一流人物，退讓得夠了。我那時的答話，就先不寫在「必讀書」欄內，還要一則曰「若干」，再則曰「參考」，三則曰「或」，以見我並無指導一切青年之意。我自問還不至於如此之昏，會不知道青年有各式各樣。那時的聊說幾句話，乃是但以寄幾個曾見和未見的或一種改革者，願他們知道自己並不孤獨而已。如先生者，倘不是「-{喂}-」的指名叫了我，我就毫沒有和你扳談的必要的。 　　照你大作的上文看來，你的所謂「……」，該是「賣國」。到我死掉為止，中國被賣與否未可知，即使被賣，賣的是否是我也未可知，這是未來的事，我無須對你說廢話。但有一節要請你明鑒：宋末，明末，送掉了國家的時候；清朝割台灣，旅順等地的時候，我都不在場；在場的也不如你所「嘗聽說」似的，「都是留學外國的博士碩士」；達爾文的書還未介紹，羅素也還未來華，而「老子，孔子，孟子，荀子輩」的著作卻早經行世了。錢能訓扶乩則有之，卻並沒有要廢中國文字，你雖然自以為「哈哈！我知道了」，其實是連近時近地的事都很不了了的。 　　你臨末，又說對於我的經驗，「真的百思不得其解」。那麼，你不是又將自己的判決取消了麼？判決一取消，你的大作就只剩了幾個「啊」「哈」「唉」「-{喂}-」了。這些聲音，可以嚇洋車伕，但是無力保存國粹的，或者倒反更丟國粹的臉。魯迅。	Mr. Ke, I have made quite enough concessions to people of your sort. My reply at the time was, to begin with, not written under the heading "Required Reading"; it further qualified itself with "a certain number," then "for reference," then "perhaps" — all to make clear that I had no pretension of instructing every young person alive. I trust I am not so dim as to be unaware that young people come in every variety. The few words I tossed off at the time were meant solely for a handful of reformers, some known to me and some not, so they might know they were not alone. As for you, sir — had you not called out to me with a "Hey!," I would have had no need whatsoever to bandy words with you. Judging from the earlier passage of your magnum opus, what you mean by "..." is presumably "selling out the country." Whether China will have been sold out by the time I die remains to be seen; even if it is, whether I am the one who sold it remains equally uncertain. These are matters of the future, and I need not waste words on you about them. But on one point I must beg your discernment: at the fall of the Song, at the fall of the Ming, when the nation was forfeited; when the Qing ceded Taiwan, Lüshun, and other territories — I was not present on any of those occasions. Nor were those who were present, as you "have heard it said," all "foreign-educated holders of doctoral and master's degrees." Darwin's works had not yet been introduced, Russell had not yet come to China, and yet the writings of "Laozi, Confucius, Mencius, Xunzi, and their ilk" had long since been in circulation. Qian Nengxun did indeed practice spirit-writing, yet never proposed to abolish the Chinese script. Though you fancy that "Ha ha! Now I know!," in reality you are quite ignorant of even recent events in recent places. At the end, you declare that regarding my experience you "truly cannot fathom it even after a hundred ponderings." Well then — have you not just rescinded your own verdict? Once the verdict is rescinded, all that remains of your magnum opus is a handful of "Ah"s, "Ha"s, "Alas"es, and "Hey"s. Such noises may frighten a rickshaw puller, but they are powerless to preserve the national heritage — or indeed may bring further disgrace upon it. Lu Xun.
=== 第12节 ===	== Section 12 ==
有所謂熊先生者，以似論似信的口吻，驚怪我的「淺薄無知識」和佩服我的膽量。我可是大佩服他的文章之長。現在只能略答幾句。 　　一、中國書都是好的，說不好即不懂；這話是老得生了銹的老兵器。講《易經》的就多用這方法：「易」，是玄妙的，你以為非者，就因為你不懂。我當然無憑來證明我能懂得任何中國書，和熊先生比賽；也沒有讀過什麼特別的奇書。但於你所舉的幾種，也曾略略一翻，只是似乎本子有些兩樣，例如我所見的《抱朴子》外篇，就不專論神仙的。楊朱的著作我未見；《列子》就有假托的嫌疑，而況他所稱引。我自愧淺薄，不敢據此來衡量楊朱先生的精神。 　　二、「行要學來輔助」，我知道的。但我說：要學，須多讀外國書。「只要行，不要讀書」，是你的改本，你雖然就此又發了一大段牢騷，我可是沒有再說廢話的必要了。但我不解青年何以就不准做代表，當主席，否則就是「出鋒頭」。莫非必須老頭子如趙爾巽者，才可以做代表當主席麼？三、我說，「多看外國書」，你卻推演為將來都說外國話，變成外國人了。你是熟精古書的，現在說話的時候就都用古文，並且變了古人，不是中華民國國民了麼？你也自己想想去。我希望你一想就通，這是只要有常識就行的。 　　四、你所謂「五胡中國化……滿人讀漢文，現在都讀成漢人了」這些話，大約就是因為懂得古書而來的。我偶翻幾本中國書時，也常覺得其中含有類似的精神，——或者就是足下之所謂「積極」。我或者「把根本忘了」也難說，但我還只願意和外國以賓主關係相通，不忍見再如五胡亂華以至滿洲入關那樣，先以主奴關係而後有所謂「同化」！假使我們還要依據「根本」的老例，那麼，大日本進來，被漢人同化，不中用了，大美國進來，被漢人同化，又不中用了……以至黑種紅種進來，都被漢人同化，都不中用了。此後沒有人再進來，歐美非澳和亞洲的一部都成空地，只有一大堆讀漢文的雜種擠在中國了。這是怎樣的美談！ 　　五、即如大作所說，讀外國書就都講外國話罷，但講外國話卻也不即變成外國人。漢人總是漢人，獨立的時候是國民，覆亡之後就是「亡國奴」，無論說的是那一種話。因為國的存亡是在政權，不在語言文字的。美國用英文，並非英國的隸屬；瑞士用德法文，也不被兩國所瓜分；比國用法文，沒有請法國人做皇帝。滿洲人是「讀漢文」的，但革命以前，是我們的征服者，以後，即五族共和，和我們共存同在，何嘗變了漢人。但正因為「讀漢文」，傳染上了「殭屍的樂觀」，所以不能如蒙古人那樣，來蹂躪一通之後就跑回去，只好和漢人一同恭候別族的進來，使他同化了。但假如進來的又像蒙古人那樣，豈不又折了很大的資本麼？ 　　大作又說我「大聲急呼」之後，不過幾年，青年就只能說外國話。我以為是不省人事之談。國語的統一鼓吹了這些年了，不必說一切青年，便是在學校的學生，可曾都忘卻了家鄉話？即使只能說外國話了，何以就「只能愛外國的國」？蔡松坡反對袁世凱，因為他們國語不同之故麼？滿人入關，因為漢人都能說滿洲話，愛了他們之故麼？清末革命，因為滿人都忽而不讀漢文了，所以我們就不愛他們了之故麼？淺顯的人事尚且不省，談什麼光榮，估什麼價值。 　　六、你也同別的一兩個反對論者一樣，很替我本身打算利害，照例是應該感謝的。我雖不學無術，而於相傳「處於才與不才之間」的不死不活或入世妙法，也還不無所知，但我不願意照辦。所謂「素負學者聲名」，「站在中國青年前面」這些榮名，都是你隨意給我加上的，現在既然覺得「淺薄無知識」了，當然就可以仍由你隨意革去。我自愧不能說些討人喜歡的話，尤其是合於你先生一流人的尊意的話。但你所推測的我的私意，是不對的，我還活著，不像楊朱墨翟們的死無對證，可以確定為只有你一個懂得。我也沒有做什麼《阿鼠傳》，只做過一篇《阿Ｑ正傳》。 　　到這裡，就答你篇末的詰問了：「既說『從來沒有留心過』」者，指「青年必讀書」，寫在本欄內；「何以果決地說這種話」者，以供若干讀者的參考，寫在「附記」內。雖然自歉句子不如古書之易懂，但也就可以不理你最後的要求。而且，也不待你們論定。縱使論定，不過空言，決不會就此通行天下，何況照例是永遠論不定，至多不過是「中雖有壞的，而亦有好的；西雖有好的，而亦有壞的」之類的微溫說而已。我雖至愚，亦何至呈書目於如先生者之前乎？ 　　臨末，我還要「果決地」說幾句：我以為如果外國人來滅中國，是只教你略能說幾句外國話，卻不至於勸你多讀外國書，因為那書是來滅的人們所讀的。但是還要獎勵你多讀中國書，孔子也還要更加崇奉，像元朝和清朝一樣。	A certain Mr. Xiong, in a tone hovering between argument and personal letter, has expressed astonishment at my "shallow ignorance" and admiration for my courage. I, for my part, greatly admire the length of his essay. For now, I can only reply briefly. 1. All Chinese books are good, and anyone who says otherwise simply doesn't understand them — this is an argument so old it has rusted like an ancient weapon. Exponents of the *Book of Changes* make frequent use of this method: the *Changes* is profound and mysterious; if you think otherwise, it is simply because you fail to comprehend it. Naturally I have no means of proving I can understand every Chinese book and competing with Mr. Xiong on that score; nor have I read any particularly rare volumes. But of the several titles you cite, I have in fact leafed through them — only my editions seem to differ somewhat from yours. The *Outer Chapters* of the *Baopuzi* that I have seen, for instance, are not exclusively about immortals. As for Yang Zhu's own writings, I have never seen them; the *Liezi* itself is suspected of being a forgery, to say nothing of what it purports to quote. I am ashamed of my shallowness and dare not rely on such sources to gauge Master Yang Zhu's spirit. 2. "Action needs the support of learning" — this I know. But what I said was: if you want to learn, you should read more foreign books. "Just act, don't read" is your own revised version of my words. Though you proceeded to unleash a long torrent of complaint on that basis, I have no need to add further idle words. But I fail to see why young people should be forbidden from serving as delegates or chairing meetings, on pain of being accused of "showing off." Must it be old men like Zhao Erxun who alone are qualified to serve as delegates and chair meetings? 3. I said "read more foreign books," and you extrapolated that in the future everyone would speak foreign languages and turn into foreigners. You are steeped in the classics — do you now speak entirely in classical Chinese whenever you open your mouth? Have you turned into an ancient and ceased to be a citizen of the Republic of China? Think it over yourself. I hope you will see the light at once; common sense alone suffices for this. 4. What you call "the Five Barbarians becoming Chinese ... the Manchus reading Chinese texts, having now all been read into becoming Han" — such talk, I presume, derives from your thorough understanding of the old books. When I occasionally leaf through a few Chinese books, I too often sense a similar spirit in them — perhaps this is what you call being "proactive." It may well be that I have "forgotten the fundamentals," as you suggest, but I should still prefer to engage with foreign countries on the basis of host and guest, rather than witness another repetition of the Five Barbarians overrunning China or the Manchu invasion — first a master-slave relationship, and only afterwards the so-called "assimilation"! If we continue to follow the old precedent of these "fundamentals," then Greater Japan comes in and gets assimilated by the Han and becomes useless; Greater America comes in and gets assimilated by the Han and becomes useless ... right down to the Blacks and the Red Indians coming in and all getting assimilated by the Han and all becoming useless. After that no one else comes in; Europe, America, Africa, Australia, and much of Asia are all empty land, and there is nothing left but a great heap of mongrels reading Chinese texts, all crammed into China. What a glorious tale that would be! 5. Suppose, as you argue, that reading foreign books would indeed lead everyone to speak foreign languages — but speaking a foreign language does not in itself make one a foreigner. A Han person is always a Han person: a citizen when the nation stands, a "subject of a conquered state" when it falls, regardless of what language is spoken. For the survival of a nation depends on political sovereignty, not on language or script. America uses English but is not a dependency of England; Switzerland uses German and French but is not carved up between the two countries; Belgium uses French but has not invited a Frenchman to be its emperor. The Manchus did "read Chinese texts," yet before the revolution they were our conquerors, and afterward, under the Republic of Five Races, they coexisted with us as equals — they never turned into Han people. But precisely because they "read Chinese texts," they contracted the "optimism of a corpse," and so unlike the Mongols — who could rampage through and then gallop back to where they came from — they had no choice but to sit alongside the Han and respectfully await the arrival of the next people to come and assimilate them. But suppose those who came next were, like the Mongols, disinclined to stay — would that not represent a considerable loss of capital? Your opus further claims that a few years after my "loud and urgent cries," young people will only be able to speak foreign languages. I consider this the talk of a man in a coma. The unification of the national language has been promoted for years now; never mind all young people — even among students in school, have any of them actually forgotten their native dialect? And even if they could only speak a foreign language, why should that mean they could "only love the foreign country"? Did Cai Songpo oppose Yuan Shikai because they spoke different dialects? Did the Manchus enter through Shanhai Pass because the Han could all speak Manchu and had come to love them? Was the revolution against the Qing at the end of the dynasty because the Manchus had all suddenly stopped reading Chinese texts, so that we ceased to love them? One who fails to grasp even such plain human affairs — what business has he talking about glory or estimating value? 6. Like one or two other opponents, you take great pains to calculate the advantages and disadvantages for my own person, and I ought by convention to be grateful. Though I lack learning and ability, I am not entirely unacquainted with the legendary art of "positioning oneself between talent and mediocrity" — that undying, half-alive method of getting along in the world — but I have no wish to follow it. The honorable titles of "long reputed as a scholar" and "standing before the youth of China" are ones you have attached to me of your own accord; now that you find me "shallow and ignorant," you may of course remove them just as freely. I am sorry that I cannot say things that please people, least of all things that accord with the views of gentlemen such as yourself. But your speculation about my private motives is wrong. I am still alive — not like Yang Zhu or Mozi, who are dead and cannot testify, so that you alone can claim to understand them. Nor have I written any "Biography of Ah Rat"; I have only written one piece called "The True Story of Ah Q." And here I come to your closing challenge: "Having said 'I have never paid attention to'" refers to "required reading for youth," and was written within the column itself; "how then can he speak so resolutely" — that was written in an "addendum," offered as a reference for whatever readers might care to see it. Though I confess my sentences are not as easy to understand as those in the old books, this should nonetheless allow me to ignore your final demand. Besides, I need not wait for the likes of you to render a verdict. Even if a verdict were reached, it would be nothing but empty words — it would hardly become the universal standard. And in any case, as a rule, no verdict is ever final; at best it amounts to some lukewarm proposition of the sort: "Among Chinese books there are bad ones, but also good ones; among Western books there are good ones, but also bad ones." Fool that I am, am I really so foolish as to present a reading list before the likes of you? In closing, I shall say a few more words "resolutely": I believe that if foreigners came to destroy China, they would merely teach you to stammer a few sentences in their language — they would certainly not encourage you to read more foreign books, for those books are what the conquerors themselves have read. But they would indeed reward you handsomely for reading more Chinese books, and Confucius would be venerated more than ever — just as under the Yuan and Qing dynasties.
=== 第13节 ===	== Section 13 ==
從趙雪陽先生的通信（三月三十一日本刊）裡，知道對於我那篇「青年必讀書」的答案曾有一位學者向學生發議論，以為我「讀得中國書非常的多。……如今偏不讓人家讀，…… 這是什麼意思呢！」 　　我讀確是讀過一點中國書，但沒有「非常的多」；也並不「偏不讓人家讀」。有誰要讀，當然隨便。只是倘若問我的意見，就是：要少——或者竟不——看中國書，多看外國書。這是這麼一個意思——我向來是不喝酒的，數年之前，帶些自暴自棄的氣味地喝起酒來了，當時倒也覺得有點舒服。先是小喝，繼而大喝，可是酒量愈增，食量就減下去了，我知道酒精已經害了腸胃。現在有時戒除，有時也還喝，正如還要翻翻中國書一樣。但是和青年談起飲食來，我總說：你不要喝酒。聽的人雖然知道我曾經縱酒，而都明白我的意思。 　　我即使自己出的是天然痘，決不因此反對牛痘；即使開了棺材鋪，也不來謳歌瘟疫的。 　　就是這麼一個意思。 　　還有一種順便而不相干的聲明。一個朋友告訴我，《晨報副刊》上有評玉君的文章，其中提起我在《民眾文藝》上所載的《戰士和蒼蠅》的話。其實我做那篇短文的本意，並不是說現在的文壇。所謂戰士者，是指中山先生和民國元年前後殉國而反受奴才們譏笑糟蹋的先烈；蒼蠅則當然是指奴才們。至於文壇上，我覺得現在似乎還沒有戰士，那些批評家雖然其中也難免有有名無實之輩，但還不至於可厭到像蒼蠅。現在一併寫出，庶幾乎免於誤會。	From the correspondence of Mr. Zhao Xueyang (published in this supplement on March 31), I learn that a certain scholar, in response to my "Required Reading for Youth" answer, held forth to his students, saying: "He has read an enormous quantity of Chinese books. ... And now he refuses to let others read them. ... What can he possibly mean by that!" I have indeed read some Chinese books, but not "an enormous quantity"; nor do I "refuse to let others read them." If anyone wants to read them, they are naturally free to do so. Only if you ask my opinion, it is this: read few — or perhaps none at all — Chinese books, and read more foreign ones. This is what I mean — I used to be a nondrinker; a few years ago, with something of a self-destructive air, I took to drink, and at first it did seem rather agreeable. I started with small amounts, progressed to large ones, but as my tolerance for alcohol increased, my appetite for food declined; I knew the alcohol had damaged my stomach. Nowadays I sometimes abstain, sometimes still drink — much as I still leaf through Chinese books. But when I talk to young people about eating and drinking, I always say: don't drink. My listeners, though aware that I once drank to excess, all understand what I mean. Even if I myself have had natural smallpox, I would never on that account oppose vaccination; even if I ran a coffin shop, I would not sing the praises of plague. That is exactly what I mean. And now a separate and unrelated declaration. A friend tells me that a review of Yu Jun has appeared in the *Chenbao Supplement*, which mentions the passage from my "The Warrior and the Flies" published in *Popular Literature*. In truth, when I wrote that short piece, I was not referring to the present literary scene. By "warrior" I meant Dr. Sun Yat-sen and those martyrs who gave their lives for the nation around the time of the Republic's founding, only to be mocked and defiled by lackeys; by "flies" I naturally meant those lackeys. As for the literary scene, I feel there are as yet no warriors there; though among the critics some may indeed be men of undeserved reputation, they are not yet so loathsome as to resemble flies. I write all this out now, so as to forestall any misunderstanding.
=== 第14节 ===	== Section 14 ==
俄國既經一九一七年十月的革命，遂入戰時共產主義時代，其時的急務是鐵和血，文藝簡直可以說在麻痺狀態中。但也有Imaginist（想像派）和Futurist（未來派）試行活動，一時執了文壇的牛耳。待到一九二一年，形勢就一變了，文藝頓有生氣，最興盛的是左翼未來派，後有機關雜誌曰《烈夫》——即連結Levy Front Iskusto的頭字的略語，意義是藝術的左翼戰線，——就是專一猛烈地宣傳Constructism（構成主義）的藝術和革命底內容的文學的。 　　但《烈夫》的發生，也很經過許多波瀾和變遷。一九○五年第一次革命的反動，是政府和工商階級的嚴酷的迫壓，於是特殊的藝術也出現了：象徵主義，神秘主義，變態性慾主義。又四五年，為改革這一般的趣味起見，印象派終於出而開火，在戰鬥狀態中者三整年，末後成為未來派，對於舊的生活組織更加以激烈的攻擊，第一次的雜誌在一九一四年出版，名曰《批社會趣味的嘴巴》！ 　　舊社會對於這一類改革者，自然用盡一切手段，給以罵詈和誣謗；政府也出而干涉，並禁雜誌的刊行；但資本家，卻其實毫未覺到這批頰的痛苦。然而未來派依然繼續奮鬥，至二月革命後，始分為左右兩派。右翼派與民主主義者共鳴了。左翼派則在十月革命時受了波爾雪維藝術的洗禮，於是編成左翼隊，守著新藝術的左翼戰線，以十月二十五日開始活動，這就是「烈夫」的起原。 　　但「烈夫」的正式除幕，——機關雜誌的發行，是在一九二三年二月一日；此後即動作日加活潑了。那主張的要旨，在推倒舊來的傳統，毀棄那欺騙國民的耽美派和古典派的已死的資產階級藝術，而建設起現今的新的活藝術來。所以他們自稱為藝術即生活的創造者，誕生日就是十月，在這日宣言自由的藝術；名之曰無產階級的革命藝術。 　　不獨文藝，中國至今於蘇俄的新文化都不瞭然，但間或有人欣幸他資本制度的復活。任國楨君獨能就俄國的雜誌中選譯文論三篇，使我們借此稍稍知道他們文壇上論辯的大概，實在是最為有益的事，——至少是對於留心世界文藝的人們。別有《蒲力汗諾夫與藝術問題》一篇，是用Marxism於文藝的研究的，因為可供讀者連類的參考，也就一併附上了。 　　一六二五年四月十二日之夜，魯迅記。	After the October Revolution of 1917, Russia entered the era of War Communism. The urgent demands of the time were iron and blood, and literature and art could truly be said to have been in a state of paralysis. Yet the Imaginists and Futurists attempted to stir into action and for a time seized the reins of the literary world. By 1921, the situation had changed entirely. Literature and art suddenly showed signs of life, and the most flourishing school was the Left-Wing Futurists. Their organ was a journal called *LEF* — an abbreviation formed from the initial letters of *Levy Front Iskusstv*, meaning "Left Front of the Arts" — devoted exclusively to the vigorous propagation of Constructivist art and literature of revolutionary content. Yet the emergence of *LEF* had itself passed through many storms and transformations. The reaction following the first revolution of 1905 — the ruthless oppression by the government and the merchant class — gave rise to a peculiar brand of art: Symbolism, Mysticism, perverse eroticism. Four or five years later, with a view to reforming this prevailing taste, the Impressionists finally opened fire, remaining in a state of combat for three full years, ultimately evolving into the Futurists, who launched even more violent attacks on the old social order. Their first journal appeared in 1914, bearing the title: *A Slap in the Face of Public Taste*! The old society naturally employed every means at its disposal against these reformers, heaping abuse and slander upon them; the government too intervened, banning the publication of their journals. But the capitalists, in truth, never felt the sting of that slap at all. The Futurists nevertheless continued their struggle, and only after the February Revolution did they split into left and right factions. The Right allied itself with the democrats. The Left, baptized in Bolshevik art during the October Revolution, formed ranks as a left-wing detachment guarding the Left Front of the new art. They commenced operations on October 25th — and this was the origin of "LEF." The formal unveiling of "LEF," however — the launch of its organ — came on February 1, 1923; from that point onward its activities grew ever more vigorous. The gist of their program was to overthrow the old traditions, to destroy the dead bourgeois art of the Aestheticist and Classicist schools that had deceived the people, and to build in its place a new, living art for the present age. They therefore called themselves creators of art-as-life, declared October their birthday, and on that day proclaimed the freedom of art, naming it: the revolutionary art of the proletariat. It is not literature and art alone — China to this day remains largely ignorant of Soviet Russia's new culture, though from time to time someone expresses delight at the supposed revival of its capitalist system. Mr. Ren Guozhen alone has been able to select and translate three critical essays from Russian journals, allowing us to gain at least a rough idea of the debates on their literary scene. This is truly a most beneficial undertaking — at the very least for those who follow world literature attentively. Additionally appended is an essay, "Plekhanov and the Question of Art," which applies Marxism to the study of literature and art, and is included here for the reader's related reference. Recorded by Lu Xun on the night of April 12, 1925.
=== 第15节 ===	== Section 15 ==
高歌兄： 　　來信收到了。 　　你的消息，長虹告訴過我幾句，大約四五句罷，但也可以說是知道大概了。 　　「以為自己搶人是好的，搶我就有點不樂意」，你以為這是變壞了的性質麼？我想這是不好不壞，平平常常。所以你終於還不能證明自己是壞人。看看許多中國人罷，反對搶人，說自己願意施捨；我們也毫不見他去搶，而他家裡有許許多多別人的東西。 　　迅四月二十三日	Brother Gaoge: Your letter has been received. As for your news, Changhong told me a few words about it — roughly four or five sentences — but that was enough to give me the general picture. "Thinking it fine to rob others, but feeling rather displeased when robbed oneself" — do you consider this evidence of a corrupted nature? I think it is neither good nor bad, but perfectly ordinary. So in the end, you still cannot prove that you are a bad person. Just look at any number of Chinese: they oppose robbery and claim to give willingly; and indeed, we never do see them robbing anyone — yet their homes are filled to the brim with other people's belongings. Xun, April 23rd
=== 第16节 ===	== Section 16 ==
蘊儒兄： 　　得到來信了。我極快慰於開封將有許多罵人的嘴張開來，並且祝你們「打將前去」的勝利。 　　我想，罵人是中國極普通的事，可惜大家只知道罵而沒有知道何以該罵，誰該罵，所以不行。現在我們須得指出其可罵之道，而又繼之以罵。那麼，就很有意思了，於是就可以由罵而生出罵以上的事情來的罷。 　　（下略。） 　　迅	Brother Yunru: I have received your letter. It gives me the greatest satisfaction to learn that many cursing mouths are about to open wide in Kaifeng, and I wish you every success in your campaign to "fight your way forward." I think that cursing is an exceedingly common affair in China. The pity is that everyone only knows how to curse without knowing *why* one should curse, or *whom* one should curse — and so it comes to nothing. What we must do now is point out precisely what is deserving of curses, and then follow up with the cursing itself. That way, it becomes truly interesting, and from cursing, perhaps, things greater than cursing may arise. (The rest is omitted.) Xun
=== 第17节 ===	== Section 17 ==
培良兄： 　　我想，河南真該有一個新一點的日報了；倘進行順利，就好。我們的《莽原》於明天出版，統觀全稿，殊覺未能滿足。但我也不知道是真不佳呢，還是我的希望太奢。 　　「琴心」的疑案揭穿了，這人就是歐陽蘭。以這樣手段為自己辯護，實在可鄙；而且「聽說雪紋的文章也是他做的」。想起孫伏園當日被紅信封綠信紙迷昏，深信一定是「一個新起來的女作家」的事來，不覺發一大笑。 　　《莽原》第一期上，發了《檳榔集》兩篇。第三篇斥朱湘的，我想可以刪去，而移第四為第三。因為朱湘似乎也已掉下去，沒人提他了——雖然是中國的濟慈。我想你一定很忙，但仍極希望你常常有作品寄來。 　　迅〔四月二十三日〕	Brother Peiliang: I do think Henan truly needs a somewhat more modern daily paper; if things go smoothly, so much the better. Our *Mangyuan* will be published tomorrow. Looking over the manuscripts as a whole, I feel rather unsatisfied — though I cannot tell whether they are genuinely mediocre or whether my expectations are simply too extravagant. The mystery of "Qinxin" has been solved: the person is Ouyang Lan. To use such methods to defend oneself is truly contemptible — and moreover, "it is said that Xuewen's articles were also written by him." Recalling how Sun Fuyuan was once so dazzled by red envelopes and green letter-paper that he was firmly convinced it must be "a newly emerging woman writer" — I cannot help bursting into a great laugh. In the first issue of *Mangyuan*, two pieces from the *Betel Nut Collection* have been published. The third piece, the one attacking Zhu Xiang, I think could be deleted, with the fourth moved up to take its place. For Zhu Xiang seems to have already fallen from sight, and no one mentions him anymore — though he is China's Keats. I imagine you must be very busy, yet I very much hope you will keep sending your work. Xun [April 23rd]
=== 第18节 ===	== Section 18 ==
伏園兄： 　　今天接到向培良兄的一封信，其中的有幾段，是希望公表的，現在就粘在下面—— 　　「我來開封後，覺得開封學生智識不大和時代相稱，風氣也錮蔽，很想盡一點力，而不料竟有《晨報》造謠生事，作糟蹋女生之新聞！ 　　《晨報》二十日所載開封軍士，在鐵塔姦污女生之事，我可以下列二事證明其全屬子虛。 　　一：鐵塔地處城北，隔中州大學及省會不及一里，既有女生登臨，自非絕荒僻。軍士奸污婦女，我們貴國本是常事，不必諱言，但絕不能在平時，在城中，在不甚荒僻之地行之。況且我看開封散兵並不很多，軍紀也不十分混亂。 　　二：《晨報》載軍士用刺刀割開女生之衣服，但現在並無逃兵，外出兵士，非公幹不得帶刺刀。說是行這事的是外出公幹的兵士，我想誰也不肯信的。 　　其實，在我們貴國，殺了滿城人民，燒了幾十村房子，兵大爺高興時隨便干干，並不算什麼大不了的事。但是，號為有名的報紙，卻不應該這樣無風作浪。本來女子在中國並算不了人，新聞記者隨便提起筆來寫一兩件奸案逃案，或者女學生拆白等等，以娛讀者耳目，早已視若當然，我也不過就耳目之所及，說說罷了。報館為銷行計，特約訪員為稿費計，都是所謂飯的問題，神聖不可侵犯的。我其奈之何？」 　　其實，開封的女學生也太不應該了。她們只應該在深閨繡房，到學校裡已經十分放肆，還要「出校散步，大動其登臨之興」，怪不得《晨報》的訪員要警告她們一下了，說：「你看，只要一出門，就有兵士要來姦污你們了！趕快回去，躲在學校裡，不妥，還是躲到深閨繡房裡去罷。」 　　其實，中國本來是撒謊國和造謠國的聯邦，這些新聞並不足怪。即在北京，也層出不窮：什麼「南下窪的大老妖」，什麼「借屍還魂」，什麼「拍花」，等等。非「用刺刀割開」他們的魂靈，用淨水來好好地洗一洗，這病症是醫不好的。 　　但他究竟是好意，所以我便將它寄奉了。排了進去，想不至於像我去年那篇打油詩《我的失戀》一般，躬逢總主筆先生白眼，賜以驅除，而且至於打破你的飯碗的罷。但占去了你所賞識的琴心女士的「阿呀體」詩文的紙面，卻實在不勝抱歉之至，尚祈恕之。不宣。請了。 　　魯迅。四月二十七日於灰棚。	Brother Fuyuan: Today I received a letter from Brother Xiang Peiliang containing several paragraphs that he hopes to make public. I paste them below — "Since coming to Kaifeng, I have found the students here rather lacking in knowledge suited to the times and the intellectual atmosphere rather stifling. I very much wanted to do my part, but little did I expect the *Morning Post* to fabricate stories and publish news about the ruination of female students! The *Morning Post* of the 20th reported that soldiers in Kaifeng had violated female students at the Iron Pagoda. I can prove this entirely fictitious on the following two grounds: First: The Iron Pagoda lies in the north of the city, less than a *li* from Zhongzhou University and the provincial capital. If female students were climbing it, it can hardly be a place of utter desolation. Soldiers violating women is, of course, a commonplace affair in our esteemed country — there is no need to conceal the fact — but it simply cannot happen in peacetime, in the middle of a city, in a place that is not especially remote. Moreover, I observe that there are not very many stray soldiers in Kaifeng, and military discipline is not particularly chaotic. Second: The *Morning Post* claims the soldiers cut open the students' clothing with bayonets. But at present there are no deserters, and soldiers leaving their posts may not carry bayonets unless on official duty. That soldiers on official duty would commit such an act — I think no one would believe." In truth, in our esteemed country, slaughtering an entire city's populace, burning dozens of villages — when the soldier-lords are in the mood, they do as they please; none of this is considered anything extraordinary. However, newspapers of supposed repute should not be making waves where there is no wind. In China, women were never really counted as human beings to begin with. Journalists casually picking up their pens to write up some rape case or elopement scandal, or perhaps some story about female students running swindles to amuse their readers' eyes and ears — this has long been taken for granted; I am merely commenting on what I happen to see and hear. The newspapers do it for circulation, the special correspondents do it for payment — these are all matters of the so-called rice bowl, sacred and inviolable. What can I possibly do about it? In truth, the female students of Kaifeng are also quite inexcusable. They should remain in the inner chambers and embroidery rooms. Going to school is already wildly impudent, and then they must "leave campus to stroll about, indulging their grand enthusiasm for climbing to high places" — no wonder the *Morning Post*'s correspondent felt compelled to issue them a warning: "You see? The moment you step outside, soldiers are going to come and violate you! Hurry back inside, hide in the school — no, that won't do either, hide yourselves back in the inner chambers and embroidery rooms." In truth, China has always been a federation of the Land of Lies and the Land of Rumors; such news stories are hardly surprising. Even in Beijing they emerge in endless succession: the "Great Demon of Nanxiawa," or "the dead possessing the living," or "the kidnapper's magic powder," and so on. Unless we "cut open" their very souls with bayonets and give them a thorough washing with clean water, this malady is incurable. But his intentions are, after all, good, and so I am sending it along. Set it in type and include it — I trust it will not, like my doggerel "My Lost Love" of last year, have the honor of encountering the chief editor's disdainful eye and being expelled, going so far as to cost you your rice bowl. That it will occupy space otherwise reserved for the "Oh my!" style poetry and prose of the Miss Qinxin whom you so admire — for this, I am truly and deeply sorry. No more for now. I bid you farewell. Lu Xun. April 27th, at the Ash Shed.
=== 第19节 ===	== Section 19 ==
《民眾文藝》雖說是民眾文藝，但到現在印行的為止，卻沒有真的民眾的作品，執筆的都還是所謂「讀書人」。民眾不識字的多，怎會有作品，一生的喜怒哀樂，都帶到黃泉裏去了。 　　但我竟有了介紹這一類難得的文藝的光榮。這是一個被獲的「搶犯」做的，我無庸說出他的姓名，也不想籍此發什麼議論。總之，那篇的開首是說不識字之苦，但怕未必是真話，因為那文章是說給教他識字的先生看的；其次，是說社會如何欺侮他，使他生計如何失敗；其次，似乎說他的兒子也未必能比他更有多大的希望。但關於搶劫的事，卻一字不提。 　　原文本有圈點，今都仍舊；錯字也不少，則將猜測出來的本字用括弧注在下面。 　　四月七日，附記於沒有雅號的屋子裏。 　　我們不認識字的。吃了好多苦。光緒二十九年。八月十二日。我進京來。賣豬。走平字們（則門）外。我說大廟堂們口（門口）。多坐一下。大家都見我笑。人家說我事（是）個王八但（蛋）。我就不之到（知道）。人上頭寫折（著）。清真裏白四（禮拜寺）。我就不之到（知道）。人打罵。後來我就打豬。白（把）豬都打。不吃東西了。西城郭九豬店。家裏。人家給。一百八十大洋元。不賣。我說進京來賣。後來賣了。一百四十元錢。家裏都說我不好。後來我的。曰（岳）母。他只有一個女。他沒有學生（案謂兒子）。他就給我錢。給我一百五十大洋元。他的女。就說買地。買了十一母（畝）地。（原註：一個六母一個五母洪縣元年十。三月二十四日）白（把）六個母地文曰（又白？）丟了。後來他又給錢。給了二百大洋。我萬（同？）他說。做個小買賣。（原註：他說好我也說好。你就給錢。）他就（案脫一字）了一百大洋元。我上集買賣（麥）子。買了十石（擔）。我就賣白面（麫）。長新店。有個小買賣。他吃白面。吃來吃去吃了。一千四百三十七斤。（原註：中華民國六年賣白面）算一算。五十二元七毛。到了年下。一個錢也沒有。長新店。人家後來。白都給了。露嬌。張十石頭。他吃的。白面錢。他沒有給錢。三十六元五毛。他的女說。你白（把）錢都丟了。你一個字也不認的。他說我沒有處（？）後來。我們家裏的。他說等到。他的兒子大了。你看一看。我的學生大了。九歲。上學。他就萬（同？）我一個樣的。	Though *Folk Literature* calls itself folk literature, none of the issues printed so far contain any genuine work by common folk. All who hold the pen are still so-called "educated men." The common people are mostly illiterate — how could they produce literary works? A lifetime's joys and sorrows, anger and happiness, they carry with them to the grave. Yet I have had the honor of introducing this rare specimen of such literature. It was written by an arrested "robbery convict." I need not reveal his name, nor do I intend to draw any conclusions from it. Suffice it to say that the piece begins by speaking of the hardships of illiteracy — though this may not be entirely sincere, since the text was written for the teacher who taught him to read. Next, it tells how society cheated and bullied him, how his livelihood collapsed; and then, it seems to say that his son may not have much more hope than he did. But of the robbery itself — not a single word. The original text had punctuation marks, which are all preserved here; there are also quite a few wrong characters, and where I have guessed the intended character, I note it in parentheses below. Appended on April 7th, in a room without an elegant name. We don't know how to read. Suffered a great deal for it. In the twenty-ninth year of Guangxu. The twelfth day of the eighth month. I came to the capital. To sell pigs. I walked outside Pingze (i.e. Pingzemen) Gate. I said let me sit a while longer at the entrance to the Big Temple. Everyone laughed at me. People said I was a stupid eg (egg, i.e. a fool). I just didn't no (know). Up above somebody had wrote (written): Mosque (lit. "Qingzhen libai si," with wrong characters). I just didn't no (know). People hit and cursed me. Later I beat the pigs. Beat (made) the pigs stop eating. Xicheng Guo Jiu's pig shop. People at home offered me. One hundred and eighty silver dollars. Wouldn't sell. I said I was going to the capital to sell. Later I sold them. For one hundred and forty dollars. People at home all said I was no good. Later my. Mother-in-law (written: "Yue mu"). She only has one daughter. She has no students (meaning: sons). So she gave me money. Gave me one hundred and fifty silver dollars. Her daughter. Said to buy land. Bought eleven mu (acres, written: "mu" with wrong character) of land. (Original note: one plot of six mu and one of five mu, in the first year of the Republic, the twenty-fourth day of the third month.) Lost (written: "gave away") the six mu of land again. Later she gave money again. Gave two hundred silver dollars. I said (written with wrong character) to her. Let me do a little business. (Original note: She said good, I also said good. You just give the money.) She then — (a character is missing here) — one hundred silver dollars. I went to market to buy wheat (written: "mai" with wrong character). Bought ten *dan*. I started selling flour (written: "bai mian"). At Changxindian. There's a little business there. He ate the flour. Ate and ate and ate. One thousand four hundred and thirty-seven *jin*. (Original note: sold flour in the sixth year of the Republic.) Adding it up. Fifty-two dollars and seventy cents. Come New Year's. Not a single cent left. Changxindian. People there later. Gave (paid for) it all. Lujiao. Zhang Shishitou. What he ate. The flour money. He didn't pay. Thirty-six dollars and fifty cents. Her daughter says. You lost (threw away) all the money. You don't recognize (know) a single character. He says I have no way out (written with wrong character). Later. Our family's (i.e. my wife). She says wait until. Her son is grown. You'll see. My student (meaning: son) is grown now. Nine years old. Going to school. He'll turn out to be just the same (written with wrong character) as me.
=== 第20节 ===	== Section 20 ==
時常看見些訃文，死的不是「清封什麼大夫」便是「清封什麼人」。我才知道中華民國國民一經死掉，就又去降了清朝了。 　　時常看見些某封翁某太夫人幾十歲的徵詩啟，兒子總是闊人或留學生。我才知道一有這樣的兒子，自己就像「中秋無月」「花下獨酌大醉」一樣，變成做詩的題目了。	One frequently sees obituary notices in which the deceased is invariably styled "Imperially Enfeoffed Grand Master of Such-and-Such" or "Imperially Enfeoffed Lady of Such-and-Such." Only then did I realize that the citizens of the Republic of China, the moment they breathe their last, go and submit once more to the Qing dynasty. One also frequently sees announcements soliciting poems for the birthday celebration of some Venerable Elder or Grand Matriarch of sixty or seventy years, whose sons are invariably men of wealth or returned students from abroad. Only then did I realize that once you have such a son, you yourself become—like "Mid-Autumn Without a Moon" or "Drinking Alone Beneath the Blossoms Until Greatly Inebriated"—nothing more than a topic for the composition of verse.
=== 第21节 ===	== Section 21 ==
我不知道事實如何，從小說上看起來，上海洋場上惡虔婆的逼勒良家婦女，都有一定的程序：凍餓，吊打。那結果，除被虐殺或自殺之外，是沒有一個不討饒從命的；於是乎她就為所欲為，造成黑暗的世界。 　　這一次楊蔭榆的對付反抗她的女子師範大學學生們，聽說是先以率警毆打，繼以斷絕飲食的，但我卻還不為奇，以為還是她從哥侖比亞大學學來的教育的新法，待到看見今天報上說楊氏致書學生家長，使再填入學願書，「不交者以不願再入學校論」，這才恍然大悟，發生無限的哀感，知道新婦女究竟還是老婦女，新方法究竟還是老方法，去光明非常遼遠了。 　　女師大的學生，不是各省的學生麼？那麼故鄉就多在遠處，家長們怎麼知道自己的女兒的境遇呢？怎麼知道這就是威逼之後的勒令討饒乞命的一幕呢？自然，她們可以將實情告訴家長的；然而楊蔭榆已經以校長之尊，用了含胡的話向家長們撒下網羅了。 　　為了「品性」二字問題，曾有六個教員發過宣言，證明楊氏的誣妄。這似乎很觸著她的致命傷了，「據接近楊氏者言」，她說「風潮內幕，現已暴露，前如北大教員OO諸人之宣言，……近如所謂『市民』之演說。……」（六日《晨報》）直到現在，還以誣蔑學生的老手段，來誣蔑教員們。但仔細看來，是無足怪的，因為誣蔑是她的教育法的根源，誰去搖動它，自然就要得到被誣蔑的惡報。 　　最奇怪的是楊蔭榆請警廳派警的信，「此次因解決風潮改組各班學生誠恐某校男生來校援助懇請准予八月一日照派保安警察三四十名來校借資防護」云云，發信日是七月三十一日。入校在八月初，而她已經在七月底做著「男生來幫女生」的夢，並且將如此夢話，敘入公文，倘非腦裡有些什麼貴恙，大約總該不至於此的罷。我並不想心理學者似的來解剖思想，也不想道學先生似的來誅心，但以為自己先設立一個夢境，而即以這夢境來誣人，倘是無意的，未免可笑，倘是有意，便是可惡，卑劣；「學笈重洋，教鞭十載」，都白糟蹋了。 　　我真不解何以一定是男生來幫女生。因為同類麼？那麼，請男巡警來幫的，莫非是女巡警？給女校長代筆的，莫非是男校長麼？ 　　「對於學生品性學業，務求注重實際」，這實在是很可佩服的。但將自己夜夢裡所做的事，都誣栽在別人身上，卻未免和實際相差太遠了。可憐的家長，怎麼知道你的孩子遇到了這樣的女人呢！ 　　我說她是夢話，還是忠厚之辭；否則，楊蔭榆便一錢不值；更不必說一群躲在黑幕裡的一班無名的蛆蟲！八月六日。	I do not know the facts of the matter, but judging from what one reads in novels, the vicious madams of Shanghai's foreign concessions have a well-established procedure for coercing respectable women: starvation, then beatings. The result, barring those tortured to death or driven to suicide, is that not a single one fails to beg for mercy and submit. And so the madam does as she pleases, creating her world of darkness. This time, Yang Yinyu's method of dealing with the students of the Women's Normal University who opposed her was, I hear, first to have police beat them, then to cut off their food supply. But I was not yet surprised, thinking this was still merely some new pedagogical method she had brought back from Columbia University. It was only when I saw in today's paper that Yang had written to the students' parents demanding they resubmit enrollment applications, with "those who do not submit being regarded as unwilling to continue at the school," that I suddenly understood, and was seized by boundless grief: the new woman is, after all, still the old woman; the new method is, after all, still the old method; and the distance from any light is very great indeed. Are the students of the Women's Normal University not from provinces across the country? Then most of their homes are far away -- how are their parents to know the circumstances their daughters face? How are they to know this is the scene of forced capitulation and groveling for mercy that follows the coercion? Naturally, the students could inform their parents of the truth; but Yang Yinyu, in her dignity as university president, has already cast her net over the parents with ambiguous language. On the question of "moral character," six faculty members once issued a public statement proving Yang's slander. This seems to have struck a mortal nerve, for "according to those close to Yang," she said: "The inner workings of the disturbance have now been exposed; first there was the declaration by Peking University faculty members such as OO, ... and more recently the speeches of so-called 'citizens' ..." (Chenbao, the 6th). Even now she uses the old tactic of slandering students to slander the faculty as well. But on closer examination, this is nothing to wonder at, for slander is the very root of her pedagogical method; anyone who dares shake it will naturally receive the retribution of being slandered in turn. Most extraordinary of all is Yang Yinyu's letter requesting the police bureau to dispatch officers: "In view of the reorganization of classes to resolve the disturbance, and fearing that male students from a certain school may come to render aid, I earnestly request that thirty to forty security police be dispatched to the school on August 1st to provide protection," and so on. The letter was dated July 31st. The entry into the school was in early August, yet she was already at the end of July dreaming of "male students coming to help female students," and moreover inserted such dream-talk into an official document. Unless there is some malady in her brain, it surely should not have come to this. I have no wish to dissect her thoughts like a psychologist, nor to punish her intentions like a Neo-Confucian moralist, but I do think that to first fabricate a dream-scenario and then use that dream-scenario to slander others -- if done unconsciously, it is laughable; if done deliberately, it is despicable and base. Her "studies across the ocean, ten years wielding the teaching rod" have all been squandered in vain. I truly cannot fathom why it must necessarily be male students coming to help female students. Because they are of the same kind? In that case, the male police officers who came to help -- were they perhaps female police officers? And the person ghostwriting for the female president -- was that perhaps a male president? "With regard to student moral character and academic work, we must attend to practical realities" -- this is indeed most admirable. But to take the things one fabricates in one's own nighttime dreams and pin them on others is rather too far removed from practical reality. Poor parents -- how could you know your children have encountered such a woman! When I call her words dream-talk, I am still being charitable. Otherwise, Yang Yinyu would be utterly worthless -- to say nothing of the swarm of nameless maggots lurking behind the dark curtain! August 6th.
=== 第22节 ===	== Section 22 ==
中山先生逝世後無論幾週年，本用不著什麼紀念的文章。只要這先前未曾有的中華民國存在，就是他的豐碑，就是他的紀念。 　　凡是自承為民國的國民，誰有不記得創造民國的戰士，而且是第一人的？但我們大多數的國民實在特別沉靜，真是喜怒哀樂不形於色，而況吐露他們的熱力和熱情。因此就更應該紀念了；因此也更可見那時革命有怎樣的艱難，更足以加增這紀念的意義。 　　記得去年逝世後不很久，甚至於就有幾個論客說些風涼話。是憎惡中華民國呢，是所謂「責備賢者」呢，是賣弄自己的聰明呢，我不得而知。但無論如何，中山先生的一生歷史具在，站出世間來就是革命，失敗了還是革命；中華民國成立之後，也沒有滿足過，沒有安逸過，仍然繼續著進向近於完全的革命的工作。直到臨終之際，他說道：革命尚未成功，同志仍須努力！ 　　那時新聞上有一條瑣載，不下於他一生革命事業地感動過我，據說當西醫已經束手的時候，有人主張服中國藥了；但中山先生不贊成，以為中國的藥品固然也有有效的，診斷的知識卻缺如。不能診斷，如何用藥？毋須服。人當瀕危之際，大抵是什麼也肯嘗試的，而他對於自己的生命，也仍有這樣分明的理智和堅定的意志。 　　他是一個全體，永遠的革命者。無論所做的那一件，全都是革命。無論後人如何吹求他，冷落他，他終於全都是革命。為什麼呢？托洛斯基曾經說明過什麼是革命藝術。是：即使主題不談革命，而有從革命所發生的新事物藏在裡面的意識一貫著者是；否則，即使以革命為主題，也不是革命藝術。中山先生逝世已經一年了，「革命尚未成功」，僅在這樣的環境中作一個紀念。然而這紀念所顯示，也還是他終於永遠帶領著新的革命者前行，一同努力於進向近於完全的革命的工作。 　　三月十日晨。 　　本篇最初發表於一九二六年三月十二日北京《國民新報》的「孫中山先生逝世周年紀念特刊」。	No matter how many years have passed since the death of Dr. Sun Yat-sen, there is, in truth, no need for commemorative essays. So long as this Republic of China -- which never existed before -- endures, it is his monument, it is his memorial. Every citizen who acknowledges himself a citizen of the Republic -- who among them does not remember the warrior who created it, and who was moreover the first among them? Yet the great majority of our citizens are remarkably placid, truly concealing joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness beneath an impassive countenance, let alone giving expression to their ardor and passion. This makes commemoration all the more necessary; and it also shows how arduous the revolution was in those days, which deepens the significance of this memorial all the more. I recall that not long after his death last year, there were even a few commentators making snide remarks. Was it from hatred of the Republic of China? Was it that so-called "holding the worthy to higher standards"? Was it a display of their own cleverness? I cannot tell. But in any case, Dr. Sun's lifelong record is there for all to see: from the moment he stepped into the world, it was revolution; when he failed, it was still revolution. Even after the Republic of China was established, he was never satisfied, never at ease, but continued ceaselessly working toward a revolution approaching completion. Until the very moment of his death, he said: "The revolution is not yet accomplished; comrades must still exert themselves!" At that time there was a brief item in the news that moved me no less than his entire revolutionary career. It was reported that when Western medicine had already proven powerless, someone proposed trying Chinese medicine. But Dr. Sun did not approve, saying that while Chinese medicinal substances might indeed contain effective remedies, the knowledge of diagnosis was utterly lacking. Without diagnosis, how could one prescribe? There was no need to take it. When a man is on the verge of death, he is generally willing to try anything, yet even with regard to his own life, he still maintained such clear reason and firm resolve. He was a complete, an eternal revolutionary. Whatever he did -- all of it was revolution. No matter how posterity may cavil at him or neglect him, he remains, in the end, entirely a revolutionary. Why? Trotsky once explained what revolutionary art is: even if the subject does not speak of revolution, so long as there runs through it a consciousness of new things born from revolution, it is revolutionary art; otherwise, even if revolution is the subject, it is not revolutionary art. It has now been a year since Dr. Sun's death. "The revolution is not yet accomplished," and we compose this memorial under just such circumstances. Yet what this memorial reveals is still this: that he continues, in the end, to lead new revolutionaries forward forever, striving together toward a revolution approaching completion. Morning of March 10th. This essay was first published on March 12, 1926, in the "Special Supplement Commemorating the First Anniversary of the Death of Mr. Sun Yat-sen" of the Beijing Guomin Xinbao.
=== 第23节 ===	== Section 23 ==
《何典》的出世，至少也該有四十七年了，有光緒五年的《申報館書目續集》可證。我知道那名目，卻只在前兩三年，向來也曾訪求，但到底得不到。現在半農加以校點，先示我印成的樣本，這實在使我很喜歡。只是必須寫一點序，卻正如阿Ｑ之畫圓圈，我的手不免有些發抖。我是最不擅長於此道的，雖然老朋友的事，也還是不會捧場，寫出洋洋大文，俾於書，於店，於人，有什麼涓埃之助。 　　我看了樣本，以為校勘有時稍迂，空格令人氣悶，半農的士大夫氣似乎還太多。至於書呢？那是，談鬼物正像人間，用新典一如古典。三家村的達人穿了赤膊大衫向大成至聖先師拱手，甚而至於翻觔斗，嚇得「子曰店」的老闆昏厥過去；但到站直之後，究竟都還是長衫朋友。不過這一個觔斗，在那時，敢於翻的人的魄力，可總要算是極大的了。 　　成語和死古典又不同，多是現世相的神髓，隨手拈掇，自然使文字分外精神，又即從成語中，另外抽出思緒：既然從世相的種子出，開的也一定是世相的花。於是作者便在死的鬼畫符的鬼打牆中，展示了活的人間相，或者也可以說是將活的人間相，都看作了死的鬼畫符和鬼打牆。便是信口開河的地方，也常能令人彷彿有會於心，禁不住不很為難的苦笑。夠了。並非博士般角色，何敢開頭？難違舊友的面情，又該動手。應酬不免，圓滑有方；只作短文，庶無大過云爾。中華民國十五年五月二十五日，魯迅謹撰。	The appearance of He Dian in the world must date back at least forty-seven years, as can be verified by the Supplementary Catalogue of the Shenbao Press from the fifth year of Guangxu. I came to know of its title only two or three years ago. I had made inquiries before, but never managed to obtain a copy. Now Bannong has punctuated and annotated it, and first showed me the printed proof, which truly delighted me. The only trouble is that I must write a preface, which -- rather like Ah Q drawing a circle -- makes my hand tremble somewhat. I am supremely inept at this sort of thing; even for an old friend's work, I still cannot bring myself to extol it lavishly, producing an essay of grand proportions that might render some trifling service to the book, the publisher, or the man. Having examined the proof, I find the textual collation at times a touch pedantic, the blank spaces stifling, and Bannong's scholarly airs still somewhat excessive. As for the book itself -- well, its talk of ghosts is precisely like talk of men; its use of new allusions is just like its use of old. A village sage dons an open-chested jacket and makes a bow to the Most Holy Teacher of Perfect Accomplishment, and even turns a somersault, scaring the proprietor of the "Confucius Says Shop" into a dead faint. But once they all stand upright again, they are, after all, still the long-gown set. Yet that single somersault -- the audacity of those who dared to turn it in those days -- that courage must be reckoned very great indeed. Idioms are different from dead classical allusions; most are the very marrow of the world as it is, and picking them up at will naturally lends a text extra vigor. Moreover, from these idioms, further threads of thought are drawn: since they spring from the seeds of worldly life, the flowers they bloom must also be flowers of worldly life. Thus the author, amid dead spectral scribblings and spectral walls of obstruction, unfolds the living panorama of the human world -- or perhaps one might say he sees the entire living panorama of the human world as dead spectral scribblings and spectral walls of obstruction. Even the passages of idle chatter often give one the sense of some tacit understanding, and one cannot help but break into a smile that does not come altogether easily. Enough. Being no doctoral figure, how dare I open the proceedings? Yet it is hard to refuse an old friend's entreaty, and I must put pen to paper. Since social obligations are unavoidable and there are methods for being tactful: I shall write only a short piece, so as to minimize any great offense. May 25th, the fifteenth year of the Republic of China. Respectfully composed by Lu Xun.
=== 第24节 ===	== Section 24 ==
俄國在一九一七年三月的革命，算不得一個大風暴；到十月，才是一個大風暴，怒吼著，震盪著，枯朽的都拉雜崩壞，連樂師畫家都茫然失措，詩人也沉默了。 　　就詩人而言，他們因為禁不起這連底的大變動，或者脫出國界，便死亡，如安得列夫；或者在德法做僑民，如梅壘什珂夫斯奇，巴理芒德；或者雖然並未脫走，卻比較的失了生動，如阿爾志跋綏夫。但也有還是生動的，如勃留梭夫和戈理奇，勃洛克。 　　但是，俄國詩壇上先前那樣盛大的象徵派的衰退，卻並不只是革命之賜；從一九一一年以來，外受未來派的襲擊，內有實感派，神秘底虛無派，集合底主我派們的分離，就已跨進了崩潰時期了。至於十月的大革命，那自然，也是額外的一個沉重的打擊。 　　梅壘什珂夫斯奇們既然作了僑民，就常以痛罵蘇俄為事；別的作家雖然還有創作，然而不過是寫些「什麼」，顏色很黯淡，衰弱了。象徵派詩人中，收穫最多的，就只有勃洛克。 　　勃洛克名亞歷山大，早就有一篇很簡單的自敘傳——「一八八○年生在彼得堡。先學於古典中學，畢業後進了彼得堡大學的言語科。一九○四年才作《美的女人之歌》這抒情詩，一九○七年又出抒情詩兩本，曰《意外的歡喜》，曰《雪的假面》。抒情悲劇《小遊覽所的主人》，《廣場的王》，《未知之女》，不過才脫稿。現在擔當著《梭羅忒亞盧拿》的批評欄，也和別的幾種新聞雜誌關係著。」 　　此後，他的著作還很多：《報復》，《文集》，《黃金時代》，《從心中湧出》，《夕照是燒盡了》，《水已經睡著》，《運命之歌》。當革命時，將最強烈的刺戟給與俄國詩壇的，是《十二個》。 　　他死時是四十二歲，在一九二一年。 　　從一九○四年發表了最初的象徵詩集《美的女人之歌》起，勃洛克便被稱為現代都會詩人的第一人了。他之為都會詩人的特色，是在用空想，即詩底幻想的眼，照見都會中的日常生活，將那朦朧的印象，加以象徵化。將精氣吹入所描寫的事象裡，使它蘇生；也就是在庸俗的生活，塵囂的市街中，發見詩歌底要素。所以勃洛克所擅長者，是在取卑俗，熱鬧，雜沓的材料，造成一篇神秘底寫實的詩歌。 　　中國沒有這樣的都會詩人。我們有館閣詩人，山林詩人，花月詩人……；沒有都會詩人。 　　能在雜沓的都會裡看見詩者，也將在動搖的革命中看見詩。所以勃洛克做出《十二個》，而且因此「在十月革命的舞台上登場了」。但他的能上革命的舞台，也不只因為他是都會詩人；乃是，如托羅茲基言，因為他「向著我們這邊突進了。突進而受傷了」。 　　《十二個》於是便成了十月革命的重要作品，還要永久地流傳。 　　舊的詩人沉默，失措，逃走了，新的詩人還未彈他的奇穎的琴。勃洛克獨在革命的俄國中，傾聽「咆哮獰猛，吐著長太息的破壞的音樂」。他聽到黑夜白雪間的風，老女人的哀怨，教士和富翁和太太的彷徨，會議中的講嫖錢，復仇的歌和槍聲，卡基卡的血。然而他又聽到癩皮狗似的舊世界：他向著革命這邊突進了。 　　然而他究竟不是新興的革命詩人，於是雖然突進，卻終於受傷，他在十二個之前，看見了戴著白玫瑰花圈的耶穌基督。 　　但這正是俄國十月革命「時代的最重要的作品」。 　　呼喚血和火的，詠歎酒和女人的，賞味幽林和秋月的，都要真的神往的心，否則一樣是空洞。人多是「生命之川」之中的一滴，承著過去，向著未來，倘不是真的特出到異乎尋常的，便都不免並含著向前和反顧。詩《十二個》裡就可以看見這樣的心：他向前，所以向革命突進了，然而反顧，於是受傷。 　　篇末出現的耶穌基督，彷彿可有兩種的解釋：一是他也贊同，一是還須靠他得救。但無論如何，總還以後解為近是。故十月革命中的這大作品《十二個》，也還不是革命的詩。然而也不是空洞的。 　　這詩的體式在中國很異樣；但我以為很能表現著俄國那時（！）的神情；細看起來，也許會感到那大震撼，大咆哮的氣息。可惜翻譯最不易。我們曾經有過一篇從英文的重譯本；因為還不妨有一種別譯，胡成才君便又從原文譯出了。不過詩是只能有一篇的，即使以俄文改寫俄文，尚且決不可能，更何況用了別一國的文字。然而我們也只能如此。至於意義，卻是先由伊發爾先生校勘過的；後來，我和韋素園君又酌改了幾個字。 　　前面的《勃洛克論》是我譯添的，是《文學與革命》（Literatura i Revolutzia）的第三章，從茂森唯士氏的日本文譯本重譯；韋素園君又給對校原文，增改了許多。 　　在中國人的心目中，大概還以為托羅茲基是一個喑嗚叱吒的革命家和武人，但看他這篇，便知道他也是一個深解文藝的批評者。他在俄國，所得的俸錢，還是稿費多。但倘若不深知他們文壇的情形，似乎不易懂；我的翻譯的拙澀，自然也是一個重大的原因。 　　書面和卷中的四張畫，是瑪修丁（V.Masiutin）所作的。他是版畫的名家。這幾幅畫，即曾被稱為藝術底版畫的典型；原本是木刻。卷頭的勃洛克的畫像，也不凡，但是從《新俄羅斯文學的曙光期》轉載的，不知道是誰作。 　　俄國版畫的興盛，先前是因為照相版的衰頹和革命中沒有細緻的紙張，倘要插圖，自然只得應用筆路分明的線畫。然而只要人民有活氣，這也就發達起來，在一九二二年弗羅連斯的萬國書籍展覽會中，就得了非常的讚美了。 　　一九二六年七月二十一日，魯迅記於北京。	Russia's revolution of March 1917 could hardly be called a great tempest. It was not until October that the true storm came, roaring and shaking everything; all that was rotten and decrepit collapsed in a heap. Even musicians and painters were bewildered and at a loss; the poets, too, fell silent. Speaking of the poets: unable to withstand this upheaval from the very foundations, some crossed the border and died, like Andreyev; some became emigres in Germany or France, like Merezhkovsky and Balmont; some, though they did not flee, became comparatively lifeless, like Artsybashev. But there were also those who remained vital, like Bryusov, Gorky, and Blok. However, the decline of Symbolism, which had flourished so magnificently on the Russian poetic stage, was not solely a gift of the revolution. From 1911 onward, assailed from without by the Futurists, and fragmented from within by the Acmeists, mystical nihilists, and various Ego-Futurist factions, it had already entered a period of disintegration. As for the October Revolution -- that, naturally, was an additional heavy blow. The Merezhkovskys, having become emigres, busied themselves with incessant denunciations of Soviet Russia. Other writers still produced work, but it was merely writing about "something or other," in dim colors, enfeebled. Among the Symbolist poets, the one with the richest harvest was Blok alone. Blok, whose given name was Alexander, had once written a very brief autobiography: "Born in Petersburg in 1880. First attended a classical gymnasium, then after graduation entered the Faculty of Letters at the University of Petersburg. In 1904, composed the lyric poetry collection Verses About the Beautiful Lady; in 1907, published two more volumes of lyric verse, The Unexpected Joy and The Snow Mask. The lyric tragedies The Puppet Show, The King in the Square, and The Unknown Woman have only just been completed. Currently in charge of the criticism column of Zolotoe Runo, and also involved with several other journals and newspapers." After that, his works were still numerous: Retribution, Collected Works, The Golden Age, Welling from the Heart, The Sunset Has Burned Out, The Water Has Fallen Asleep, and The Song of Fate. During the revolution, the work that delivered the most powerful shock to the Russian poetic world was The Twelve. He was forty-two when he died, in 1921. From 1904, when he published his first Symbolist collection Verses About the Beautiful Lady, Blok was hailed as the foremost poet of the modern city. His distinction as an urban poet lay in using fantasy -- the eye of poetic imagination -- to perceive daily life in the metropolis, and giving those hazy impressions symbolic form. He breathed spirit into the phenomena he described, bringing them to life; that is to say, he discovered the elements of poetry in vulgar existence and the dust and clamor of city streets. What Blok excelled at, therefore, was taking base, bustling, chaotic material and fashioning it into poetry of mystical realism. China has no such urban poet. We have palace poets, mountain-and-forest poets, flower-and-moonlight poets... but no urban poet. One who can perceive poetry in the tumult of the city will also perceive poetry in the upheaval of revolution. Thus Blok wrote The Twelve, and thereby "entered upon the stage of the October Revolution." But his ability to mount the revolutionary stage was not merely because he was an urban poet; it was, as Trotsky said, because he "charged toward our side. He charged and was wounded." The Twelve thus became the major work of the October Revolution, destined to be transmitted forever. The old poets fell silent, were at a loss, fled. The new poets had not yet struck the strings of their extraordinary lyres. Blok alone, in revolutionary Russia, listened to "the savage, roaring music of destruction, breathing long sighs." He heard the wind between the dark night and white snow, the lament of the old woman, the bewilderment of the priest, the rich man, and the lady, the talk of whoring money in the council, the song of vengeance and the sound of gunfire, Katka's blood. And yet he also heard the old world like a mangy dog: he had charged toward the side of revolution. Yet he was, after all, not a poet of the newly risen revolution, and so, though he charged, he was in the end wounded. Before the twelve, he beheld Jesus Christ wearing a wreath of white roses. But this is precisely "the most important work of the era" of the Russian October Revolution. Those who invoke blood and fire, those who hymn wine and women, those who savor secluded groves and autumn moonlight -- all require a heart that truly yearns, or else it is equally hollow. Most men are but a single drop in "the river of life," carrying the past, facing the future; unless they are so truly extraordinary as to be exceptional, they inevitably contain both forward striving and backward glancing. In the poem The Twelve one can see just such a heart: he looked forward, and so charged toward the revolution; yet he looked back, and so was wounded. The appearance of Jesus Christ at the poem's end seems to admit of two interpretations: one, that He too approves; the other, that salvation must still depend upon Him. But in any case, the latter interpretation is probably closer to the truth. Therefore this great work of the October Revolution, The Twelve, is also not yet revolutionary poetry. And yet neither is it hollow. The form of this poem seems very strange in China; but I believe it captures remarkably well the spirit of Russia at that time (!). On close reading, one may perhaps sense the breath of that great upheaval, that great roar. It is a pity that translation is supremely difficult. We once had a retranslation from an English version; since there was no harm in having an alternative translation, Mr. Hu Chengcai has now translated it directly from the original. But a poem can exist only once; even if one were to rewrite Russian in Russian, it would be absolutely impossible, let alone using the language of another country. Yet this is all we can do. As for the meaning, it was first collated by Mr. Ivanov, and afterward, Wei Suyuan and I made a few minor amendments. The preceding "On Blok" is something I added in translation, being the third chapter of Literature and Revolution (Literatura i Revolutzia), retranslated from Morimoto's Japanese version. Wei Suyuan then checked it against the original and made many additions and corrections. In the minds of the Chinese, Trotsky is probably still regarded as a thundering revolutionary and warrior, but reading this essay of his, one sees that he is also a critic with deep understanding of literature and art. In Russia, his income from royalties exceeded his salary. But without thorough knowledge of the Russian literary scene, his work may be difficult to understand; my own clumsy and stilted translation is naturally another significant reason. The cover and the four illustrations in the volume are by Masiutin (V. Masiutin). He is a renowned printmaker. These illustrations have been called exemplary works of artistic printmaking; the originals are woodcuts. The portrait of Blok at the beginning of the volume is also remarkable, but it is reproduced from The Dawn of New Russian Literature, and the artist is unknown. The flourishing of Russian printmaking was initially due to the decline of photographic reproduction and the lack of fine paper during the revolution; if illustrations were wanted, one naturally had to employ line drawings with clear strokes. Yet as long as the people have vitality, this art too will develop. At the International Book Exhibition in Florence in 1922, Russian prints received extraordinary praise. July 21, 1926. Recorded by Lu Xun in Beijing.
=== 第25节 ===	== Section 25 ==
俄國大改革之後，我就看見些遊覽者的各種評論。或者說貴人怎樣慘苦，簡直不像人間；或者說平民究竟抬了頭，後來一定有希望。或褒或貶，結論往往正相反。我想，這大概都是對的。貴人自然總要較為苦惱，平民也自然比先前抬了頭。遊覽的人各照自己的傾向，說了一面的話。近來雖聽說俄國怎樣善於宣傳，但在北京的報紙上，所見的卻相反，大抵是要竭力寫出內部的黑暗和殘酷來。這一定是很足使禮教之邦的人民驚心動魄的罷。但倘若讀過專制時代的俄國所產生的文章，就會明白即使那些話全是真的，也毫不足怪。俄皇的皮鞭和絞架，拷問和西伯利亞，是不能造出對於怨敵也極仁愛的人民的。 　　以前的俄國的英雄們，實在以種種方式用了他們的血，使同志感奮，使好心腸人墮淚，使劊子手有功，使閒漢得消遣。總是有益於人們，尤其是有益於暴君，酷吏，閒人們的時候多；饜足他們的凶心，供給他們的談助。將這些寫在紙上，血色早已輕淡得遠了；如但兼珂的慷慨，托爾斯多的慈悲，是多麼柔和的心。但當時還是不准印行。這做文章，這不准印，也還是使凶心得饜足，談助得加添。英雄的血，始終是無味的國土裡的人生的鹽，而且大抵是給閒人們作生活的鹽，這倒實在是很可詫異的。 　　這書裡面的梭斐亞的人格還要使人感動，戈理基筆下的人生也還活躍著，但大半也都要成為流水帳簿罷。然而翻翻過去的血的流水帳簿，原也未始不能夠推見將來，只要不將那帳目來作消遣。 　　有些人到現在還在為俄國的上等人鳴不平，以為革命的光明的標語，實際倒成了黑暗。這恐怕也是真的。改革的標語一定是較光明的；做這書中所收的幾篇文章的時代，改革者大概就很想普給一切人們以一律的光明。但他們被拷問，被幽禁，被流放，被殺戮了。要給，也不能。這已經都寫在帳上，一翻就明白。假使遏絕革新，屠戮改革者的人物，改革後也就同浴改革的光明，那所處的倒是最穩妥的地位。然而已經都寫在帳上了，因此用血的方式，到後來便不同，先前似的時代在他們已經過去。 　　中國是否會有平民的時代，自然無從斷定。然而，總之，平民總未必會捨命改革以後，倒給上等人安排魚翅席，是顯而易見的，因為上等人從來就沒有給他們安排過雜合面。只要翻翻這一本書，大略便明白別人的自由是怎樣掙來的前因，並且看看後果，即使將來地位失墜，也就不至於妄鳴不平，較之失意而學佛，切實得多多了。所以，我想，這幾篇文章在中國還是很有好處的。 　　一九二六年十一月十四日風雨之夜，魯迅記於廈門。	After Russia's great transformation, I began seeing various commentaries by visitors. Some said the nobles suffered terribly -- that it was practically inhuman. Others said the common people had finally raised their heads, and the future was surely promising. Whether in praise or censure, the conclusions were often diametrically opposed. I think both are probably right. The nobles naturally had more cause for misery, and the common people had naturally raised their heads higher than before. The visitors, each following their own inclinations, told one side of the story. Recently, we hear that Russia is remarkably skilled at propaganda, but what one sees in Beijing's newspapers is just the opposite: the effort is largely devoted to depicting internal darkness and cruelty in the most vivid terms. This must be very alarming and horrifying to the citizens of a land governed by ritual propriety. But if one has read the literature produced by Russia under autocratic rule, one will understand that even if all those reports are true, there is nothing in them to wonder at. The Tsar's knout and gallows, his torture chambers and Siberia, were not the means to produce a people of supreme benevolence toward even their enemies. The heroes of old Russia truly used their blood in various ways -- to inspire their comrades, to move the tender-hearted to tears, to furnish the executioners with meritorious service, to provide the idle with entertainment. They were, on the whole, beneficial to others -- and especially beneficial to tyrants, cruel officials, and idlers, and for the greater part of the time at that: sating their bloodlust, supplying material for their gossip. Written down on paper, the color of the blood had long since faded; the gallantry of a Decembrist, the compassion of a Tolstoy -- how gentle their hearts! Yet at the time, even this was not allowed to be published. This writing, this banning of publication, also served to satiate bloodlust and to add to gossip. The blood of heroes has ever been the salt of human existence in this flavorless land, and for the most part, salt to season the lives of the idle. That this should be so is truly a thing to marvel at. The character of Sophia in this book will still move people, and the lives depicted under Gorky's pen still pulsate with vitality, but most of it will probably be reduced to mere ledger entries as well. Yet to leaf through the blood-stained ledger of the past is not without use in foreseeing the future, as long as one does not treat those accounts as entertainment. Some people to this day still cry injustice on behalf of Russia's upper classes, arguing that the bright slogans of revolution have in practice produced only darkness. This is probably true as well. The slogans of reform are certainly brighter than the reality. In the era when the essays collected in this book were written, the reformers probably very much wished to bestow an equal measure of light upon all people. But they were tortured, imprisoned, exiled, slaughtered. Even if they wished to give, they could not. This has all been written down in the ledger; one need only turn the pages to understand. If those who suppressed reform and slaughtered reformers could, after the reform, bask equally in its light, theirs would be the most secure position of all. But it has all been written down in the ledger, and therefore the manner of the bloodshed was different later on: the kind of era they had known was already past for them. Whether China will ever have an era of the common people, it is naturally impossible to say with certainty. But in any case, the common people would surely not sacrifice their lives for reform only to then arrange shark-fin banquets for the upper classes. That much is obvious enough -- for the upper classes have never once arranged so much as a meal of mixed-flour noodles for them. One need only leaf through this book to gain a general understanding of how others' freedom was won, its antecedents and consequences, so that even should one's position decline in the future, one will not cry injustice without reason -- which is far more practical than turning to Buddhism after suffering disappointment. And so I think these essays are still of great benefit in China. November 14, 1926, on a stormy night. Recorded by Lu Xun in Xiamen.
=== 第26节 ===	== Section 26 ==
今天我所講的題目是「老調子已經唱完」：初看似乎有些離奇，其實是並不奇怪的。 　　凡老的，舊的，都已經完了！這也應該如此。雖然這一句話實在對不起一般老前輩，可是我也沒有別的法子。中國人有一種矛盾思想，即是：要子孫生存，而自己也想活得很長久，永遠不死；及至知道沒法可想，非死不可了，卻希望自己的屍身永遠不腐爛。但是，想一想罷，如果從有人類以來的人們都不死，地面上早已擠得密密的，現在的我們早已無地可容了；如果從有人類以來的人們的屍身都不爛，豈不是地面上的死屍早已堆得比魚店裡的魚還要多，連掘井，造房子的空地都沒有了麼？所以，我想，凡是老的，舊的，實在倒不如高高興興的死去的好。 　　在文學上，也一樣，凡是老的和舊的，都已經唱完，或將要唱完。舉一個最近的例來說，就是俄國。他們當俄皇專制的時代，有許多作家很同情於民眾，叫出許多慘痛的聲音，後來他們又看見民眾有缺點，便失望起來，不很能怎樣歌唱，待到革命以後，文學上便沒有什麼大作品了。只有幾個舊文學家跑到外國去，作了幾篇作品，但也不見得出色，因為他們已經失掉了先前的環境了，不再能照先前似的開口。 　　在這時候，他們的本國是應該有新的聲音出現的，但是我們還沒有很聽到。我想，他們將來是一定要有聲音的。因為俄國是活的，雖然暫時沒有聲音，但他究竟有改造環境的能力，所以將來一定也會有新的聲音出現。 　　再說歐美的幾個國度罷。他們的文藝是早有些老舊了，待到世界大戰時候，才發生了一種戰爭文學。戰爭一完結，環境也改變了，老調子無從再唱，所以現在文學上也有些寂寞。將來的情形如何，我們實在不能豫測。但我相信，他們是一定也會有新的聲音的。 　　現在來想一想我們中國是怎樣。中國的文章是最沒有變化的，調子是最老的，裡面的思想是最舊的。但是，很奇怪，卻和別國不一樣。那些老調子，還是沒有唱完。 　　這是什麼緣故呢？有人說，我們中國是有一種「特別國情」。——中國人是否真是這樣「特別」，我是不知道，不過我聽得有人說，中國人是這樣。——倘使這話是真的，那麼，據我看來，這所以特別的原因，大概有兩樣。 　　第一，是因為中國人沒記性，因為沒記性，所以昨天聽過的話，今天忘記了，明天再聽到，還是覺得很新鮮。做事也是如此，昨天做壞了的事，今天忘記了，明天做起來，也還是「仍舊貫」的老調子。 　　第二，是個人的老調子還未唱完，國家卻已經滅亡了好幾次了。何以呢？我想，凡有老舊的調子，一到有一個時候，是都應該唱完的，凡是有良心，有覺悟的人，到一個時候，自然知道老調子不該再唱，將它拋棄。但是，一般以自己為中心的人們，卻決不肯以民眾為主體，而專圖自己的便利，總是三翻四復的唱不完。於是，自己的老調子固然唱不完，而國家卻已被唱完了。 　　宋朝的讀書人講道學，講理學，尊孔子，千篇一律。雖然有幾個革新的人們，如王安石等等，行過新法，但不得大家的贊同，失敗了。從此大家又唱老調子，和社會沒有關係的老調子，一直到宋朝的滅亡。 　　宋朝唱完了，進來做皇帝的是蒙古人——元朝。那麼，宋朝的老調子也該隨著宋朝完結了罷，不，元朝人起初雖然看不起中國人，後來卻覺得我們的老調子，倒也新奇，漸漸生了羨慕，因此元人也跟著唱起我們的調子來了，一直到滅亡。 　　這個時候，起來的是明太祖。元朝的老調子，到此應該唱完了罷，可是也還沒有唱完。明太祖又覺得還有些意趣，就又教大家接著唱下去。什麼八股咧，道學咧，和社會，百姓都不相干，就只向著那條過去的舊路走，一直到明亡。 　　清朝又是外國人。中國的老調子，在新來的外國主人的眼裡又見得新鮮了，於是又唱下去。還是八股，考試，做古文，看古書。但是清朝完結，已經有十六年了，這是大家都知道的。他們到後來，倒也略略有些覺悟，曾經想從外國學一點新法來補救，然而已經太遲，來不及了。 　　老調子將中國唱完，完了好幾次，而它卻仍然可以唱下去。因此就發生一點小議論。有人說：「可見中國的老調子實在好，正不妨唱下去。試看元朝的蒙古人，清朝的滿洲人，不是都被我們同化了麼？照此看來，則將來無論何國，中國都會這樣地將他們同化的。」原來我們中國就如生著傳染病的病人一般，自己生了病，還會將病傳到別人身上去，這倒是一種特別的本領。 　　殊不知這種意見，在現在是非常錯誤的。我們為甚麼能夠同化蒙古人和滿洲人呢？是因為他們的文化比我們的低得多。倘使別人的文化和我們的相敵或更進步，那結果便要大不相同了。他們倘比我們更聰明，這時候，我們不但不能同化他們，反要被他們利用了我們的腐敗文化，來治理我們這腐敗民族。他們對於中國人，是毫不愛惜的，當然任憑你腐敗下去。現在聽說又很有別國人在尊重中國的舊文化了，那裡是真在尊重呢，不過是利用！ 　　從前西洋有一個國度，國名忘記了，要在非洲造一條鐵路。頑固的非洲土人很反對，他們便利用了他們的神話來哄騙他們道：「你們古代有一個神仙，曾從地面造一道橋到天上。 　　現在我們所造的鐵路，簡直就和你們的古聖人的用意一樣。」非洲人不勝佩服，高興，鐵路就造起來。——中國人是向來排斥外人的，然而現在卻漸漸有人跑到他那裡去唱老調子了，還說道：「孔夫子也說過，『道不行，乘桴浮於海。』所以外人倒是好的。」外國人也說道：「你家聖人的話實在不錯。」 　　倘照這樣下去，中國的前途怎樣呢？別的地方我不知道，只好用上海來類推。上海是：最有權勢的是一群外國人，接近他們的是一圈中國的商人和所謂讀書的人，圈子外面是許多中國的苦人，就是下等奴才。將來呢，倘使還要唱著老調子，那麼，上海的情狀會擴大到全國，苦人會多起來。因為現在是不像元朝清朝時候，我們可以靠著老調子將他們唱完，只好反而唱完自己了。這就因為，現在的外國人，不比蒙古人和滿洲人一樣，他們的文化並不在我們之下。 　　那麼，怎麼好呢？我想，唯一的方法，首先是拋棄了老調子。舊文章，舊思想，都已經和現社會毫無關係了，從前孔子周遊列國的時代，所坐的是牛車。現在我們還坐牛車麼？從前堯舜的時候，吃東西用泥碗，現在我們所用的是甚麼？所以，生在現今的時代，捧著古書是完全沒有用處的了。 　　但是，有些讀書人說，我們看這些古東西，倒並不覺得於中國怎樣有害，又何必這樣決絕地拋棄呢？是的。然而古老東西的可怕就正在這裡。倘使我們覺得有害，我們便能警戒了，正因為並不覺得怎樣有害，我們這才總是覺不出這致死的毛病來。因為這是「軟刀子」。這「軟刀子」的名目，也不是我發明的，明朝有一個讀書人，叫做賈鳧西的，鼓詞裡曾經說起紂王，道：「幾年家軟刀子割頭不覺死，只等得太白旗懸才知道命有差。」我們的老調子，也就是一把軟刀子。 　　中國人倘被別人用鋼刀來割，是覺得痛的，還有法子想；倘是軟刀子，那可真是「割頭不覺死」，一定要完。 　　我們中國被別人用兵器來打，早有過好多次了。例如，蒙古人滿洲人用弓箭，還有別國人用槍炮。用槍炮來打的後幾次，我已經出了世了，但是年紀青。我彷彿記得那時大家倒還覺得一點苦痛的，也曾經想有些抵抗，有些改革。用槍炮來打我們的時候，聽說是因為我們野蠻；現在，倒不大遇見有槍炮來打我們了，大約是因為我們文明了罷。現在也的確常常有人說，中國的文化好得很，應該保存。那證據，是外國人也常在讚美。這就是軟刀子。用鋼刀，我們也許還會覺得的，於是就改用軟刀子。我想：叫我們用自己的老調子唱完我們自己的時候，是已經要到了。 　　中國的文化，我可是實在不知道在那裡。所謂文化之類，和現在的民眾有甚麼關係，甚麼益處呢？近來外國人也時常說，中國人禮儀好，中國人餚饌好。中國人也附和著。但這些事和民眾有甚麼關係？車伕先就沒有錢來做禮服，南北的大多數的農民最好的食物是雜糧。有什麼關係？ 　　中國的文化，都是侍奉主子的文化，是用很多的人的痛苦換來的。無論中國人，外國人，凡是稱讚中國文化的，都只是以主子自居的一部份。 　　以前，外國人所作的書籍，多是嘲罵中國的腐敗；到了現在，不大嘲罵了，或者反而稱贊中國的文化了。常聽到他們說：「我在中國住得很舒服呵！」這就是中國人已經漸漸把自己的幸福送給外國人享受的證據。所以他們愈讚美，我們中國將來的苦痛要愈深的！ 　　這就是說：保存舊文化，是要中國人永遠做侍奉主子的材料，苦下去，苦下去。雖是現在的闊人富翁，他們的子孫也不能逃。我曾經做過一篇雜感，大意是說：「凡稱讚中國舊文化的，多是住在租界或安穩地方的富人，因為他們有錢，沒有受到國內戰爭的痛苦，所以發出這樣的讚賞來。殊不知將來他們的子孫，營業要比現在的苦人更其賤，去開的礦洞，也要比現在的苦人更其深。」這就是說，將來還是要窮的，不過遲一點。但是先窮的苦人，開了較淺的礦，他們的後人，卻須開更深的礦了。我的話並沒有人注意。他們還是唱著老調子，唱到租界去，唱到外國去。但從此以後，不能像元朝清朝一樣，唱完別人了，他們是要唱完了自己。 　　這怎麼辦呢？我想，第一，是先請他們從洋樓，臥室，書房裡踱出來，看一看身邊怎麼樣，再看一看社會怎麼樣，世界怎麼樣。然後自己想一想，想得了方法，就做一點。「跨出房門，是危險的。」自然，唱老調子的先生們又要說。然而，做人是總有些危險的，如果躲在房裡，就一定長壽，白鬍子的老先生應該非常多；但是我們所見的有多少呢？他們也還是常常早死，雖然不危險，他們也糊塗死了。 　　要不危險，我倒曾經發見了一個很合式的地方。這地方，就是：牢獄。人坐在監，牢裡便不至於再搗亂，犯罪了；救火機關也完全，不怕失火；也不怕盜劫，到牢獄裡去搶東西的強盜是從來沒有的。坐監是實在最安穩。 　　但是，坐監卻獨獨缺少一件事，這就是：自由。所以，貪安穩就沒有自由，要自由就總要歷些危險。只有這兩條路。那一條好，是明明白白的，不必待我來說了。 　　現在我還要謝諸位今天到來的盛意。	The topic of my talk today is "The Old Tune Has Been Sung Out." At first glance this may seem a trifle strange, but in truth there is nothing strange about it at all. Everything old, everything antiquated, is finished! And so it should be. Though this statement may offend certain venerable elders, I have no other way of putting it. The Chinese harbor a contradictory wish: they want their descendants to survive, yet they themselves also wish to live very long, to never die; and when they realize there is no help for it and die they must, they hope their corpses will never decay. But consider: if no one since the dawn of humanity had ever died, the earth's surface would long ago have been packed solid, and there would be no room left for any of us; if no corpse since the dawn of humanity had ever rotted, would not the dead bodies have piled up higher than the fish in a fishmonger's, leaving no ground even for sinking wells or building houses? Therefore, I believe, everything old and antiquated would really do better to die cheerfully. In literature it is just the same: everything old and antiquated has already been sung out, or is about to be. Take the most recent example: Russia. Under the Tsar's despotism, many writers sympathized deeply with the common people and uttered cries of anguish. Later, when they perceived the people's shortcomings, they grew disillusioned and could no longer sing as before. After the Revolution, literature produced no great works. A few old writers fled abroad and wrote some pieces, but these were nothing remarkable either, for they had lost their former environment and could no longer open their mouths as they once had. At such a time, new voices ought to have appeared in their homeland, but we have not yet heard much. I believe they will certainly have voices in time, because Russia is alive. Though temporarily silent, she possesses the capacity to transform her environment, and therefore will surely produce new voices in the future. Now consider the nations of Europe and America. Their literature had long been somewhat old and stale. It was not until the Great War that a war literature arose. Once the war ended, the environment changed again; the old tune could no longer be sung, and so literature too has fallen somewhat quiet. What the future holds we truly cannot predict. But I believe they too will certainly produce new voices. Now let us think about our own China. Chinese writing is the most unchanging, its tune the most antiquated, the thought within it the most obsolete. And yet—how strange—unlike other countries, that old tune has still not been sung out. Why is this? Some say we Chinese have "special national conditions." Whether the Chinese are truly so "special" I do not know, though I have heard people say so. If it is true, then as I see it, the reasons for this specialness are roughly two. First, it is because the Chinese have no memory. Having no memory, what they heard yesterday they forget today, and when they hear it again tomorrow it still strikes them as perfectly fresh. The same applies to their actions: what they bungled yesterday they forget today, and when they set about it again tomorrow it is still the same "business as usual" old tune. Second, individual old tunes have not yet been sung out, but the nation has already perished several times over. How so? I believe that all old and antiquated tunes ought, at a certain point, to be sung out. Anyone with a conscience, anyone with awareness, will at a certain point naturally recognize that the old tune should no longer be sung and will discard it. But those self-centered people who refuse to take the populace as their subject, who pursue only their own convenience, keep flipping and flopping and singing on without end. And so their own old tune remains unfinished, while the nation has already been sung to its finish. The scholars of the Song dynasty preached Neo-Confucianism, preached the School of Principle, venerated Confucius—a thousand essays all alike. Though there were a few reformers, such as Wang Anshi, who implemented new policies, they failed to win general approval. Thereafter everyone sang the old tune once more—an old tune with no connection to society—straight through to the fall of the Song. When the Song was sung out, the ones who came in as emperors were the Mongols—the Yuan dynasty. Surely the Song's old tune should have ended with the Song? No. Although the Yuan rulers at first looked down upon the Chinese, they gradually found our old tune rather novel and began to admire it. So the Yuan people too took up our tune and sang it all the way to their own downfall. Next came the founding Emperor of the Ming. The Yuan's old tune ought to have been sung out at this point, but it still had not been. The Ming founder found it still had some interest and ordered everyone to keep on singing. The eight-legged essay, Neo-Confucian moralizing—none of it had anything to do with society or the common people. They simply marched down that same old road, straight through to the fall of the Ming. The Qing dynasty was once again ruled by foreigners. China's old tune looked fresh again in the eyes of the new foreign masters, and so on it went. Still the eight-legged essay, the examinations, writing in classical prose, reading classical books. But the Qing ended—that was sixteen years ago now, as everyone knows. Toward the end, they did have a slight awakening and tried to learn some new methods from abroad to save themselves, but it was already too late. The old tune has sung China out, finished it off several times over, and yet it can still be sung on. This gives rise to a small argument. Some say: "This proves China's old tune is truly excellent, and there is no reason not to keep singing it. Look—were not the Mongols of the Yuan and the Manchus of the Qing all assimilated by us? At this rate, no matter what nation comes along in the future, China will assimilate them just the same." So it turns out our China is like a patient with a contagious disease—sick ourselves, yet able to pass the disease on to others. Quite a special talent, that. What such people fail to realize is that this view is utterly wrong in the present day. Why were we able to assimilate the Mongols and the Manchus? Because their cultures were far lower than ours. If others' cultures are on a par with ours or more advanced, the result will be very different indeed. If they are cleverer than we, then not only can we not assimilate them—on the contrary, they will make use of our decayed culture to govern our decayed nation. They have not the slightest affection for the Chinese and will naturally let you go on rotting. Nowadays one hears that foreigners are again showing respect for China's old culture. Are they truly respectful? They are merely making use of it! Once upon a time, a Western nation—I have forgotten which—wanted to build a railway in Africa. The obstinate African natives were strongly opposed. So the builders exploited their mythology to hoodwink them, saying: "In ancient times one of your gods once built a bridge from the earth to the sky. The railway we are building is exactly in the spirit of your ancient sage." The Africans were overcome with admiration and delight, and the railway was built.—The Chinese have always rejected foreigners, yet now people are gradually going over there to sing the old tune for them, even saying: "Confucius himself said, 'If the Way does not prevail, I shall put to sea on a raft.' So foreigners are really quite fine." And the foreigners reply: "What your sage said is absolutely right." If things go on this way, what will become of China's future? I do not know about other places, so I can only extrapolate from Shanghai. In Shanghai, those with the most power are a group of foreigners; circling close to them is a ring of Chinese merchants and so-called educated people; outside the circle are the multitude of Chinese poor—the lowest-grade slaves. And the future? If the old tune keeps being sung, Shanghai's situation will spread to the entire country, and the poor will multiply. For this is no longer the Yuan or the Qing; we can no longer sing others to their finish with our old tune—we can only sing ourselves to our finish. And that is because the foreigners of today are not like the Mongols and the Manchus; their culture is by no means below ours. What then is to be done? I believe the only method is, first of all, to cast off the old tune. Old literature, old thought—these have absolutely no connection with present-day society. In the time when Confucius traveled from state to state, he rode in an ox-cart. Do we still ride in ox-carts? In the age of Yao and Shun, people ate from clay bowls. What do we eat from now? Therefore, living in the present age and clutching ancient books is utterly useless. But certain scholars say: "We look at these old things and really do not see how they harm China. Why must we so resolutely cast them away?" Precisely so. And the terror of old things lies right here. If we felt them to be harmful, we would be on our guard. It is precisely because we do not feel them to be particularly harmful that we can never diagnose this fatal disease. For it is a "soft knife." This name "soft knife" is not my invention either. A Ming dynasty scholar called Jia Fuxi once said in a drum ballad about King Zhou of Shang: "For years the soft knife has been cutting off heads without anyone noticing death; only when the white flag of surrender is hung up do they realize their fate has gone awry." Our old tune is just such a soft knife. If a Chinese person is cut with a steel blade, he feels the pain and can still think of something to do. But if it is a soft knife—then truly "heads are cut off without anyone noticing death," and the end is certain. We Chinese have been attacked by others with weapons many times before. The Mongols and Manchus, for instance, used bows and arrows; and people of other countries used guns and cannon. I was already born by the time of the last few attacks with guns and cannon, though I was young. I seem to recall that people did feel some pain then and made some attempts at resistance and reform. When they attacked us with guns and cannon, it was said to be because we were barbarous. Nowadays we are not so often attacked with guns and cannon—presumably because we have become civilized. And indeed, people constantly say now that China's culture is splendid and ought to be preserved. The proof? Foreigners are always praising it. That is the soft knife. With a steel blade we might still feel something, so they switch to the soft knife. I think the moment when we are made to use our own old tune to sing ourselves out is nearly upon us. As for China's culture—I truly do not know where it resides. What does so-called culture and the like have to do with the common people? What good does it do them? Lately foreigners often say that the Chinese have fine manners, that Chinese cuisine is superb. And the Chinese chime in. But what do these things have to do with the common people? The rickshaw puller cannot even afford a suit of formal clothes. The best food for the great majority of farmers, north and south, is coarse grain. What connection is there? China's culture is entirely a culture of serving masters, purchased at the cost of the suffering of a great many people. Whether Chinese or foreign, all who praise Chinese culture are merely those who consider themselves masters. In the past, books written by foreigners mostly mocked and reviled China's corruption. Nowadays they no longer mock so much; some even praise China's culture. One often hears them say: "I live very comfortably in China!" This is proof that the Chinese are gradually handing over their own happiness for foreigners to enjoy. So the more they praise us, the deeper our suffering will be in the future! What this means is: preserving old culture is to ensure that the Chinese remain forever the raw material for serving masters, to go on suffering, suffering, suffering. Even the rich and wealthy of today—their descendants cannot escape. I once wrote a miscellaneous reflection, the gist of which was: "All who praise China's old culture are mostly the rich, living in the concessions or in secure places. Because they have money and have not suffered from the domestic wars, they can issue such praise. What they fail to realize is that in the future their descendants will have to take up occupations even more menial than those of today's poor, and the mines they go down to dig will be even deeper than those of today's poor." What I meant was: they too will be impoverished eventually, only a little later. But the poor who are impoverished first, having dug the shallower mines, will leave their descendants to dig deeper ones. No one paid any attention to my words. They kept singing the old tune—singing it into the concessions, singing it abroad. But from now on, it will not be like the Yuan or Qing dynasties: they will not be singing others to their finish. They will be singing themselves to their finish. What is to be done about this? I think, first of all, we should ask them to step out of their foreign-style mansions, their bedrooms, their studies, and take a look at what is around them, then take a look at what society is like, what the world is like. Then think for themselves, and if they find a method, do something about it. "Stepping outside is dangerous," the gentlemen who sing the old tune will of course say once more. But living always involves some danger. If staying in one's room guaranteed long life, white-bearded old gentlemen ought to be extraordinarily numerous. But how many do we actually see? They too die early often enough—and though they face no danger, they die in a muddle all the same. If one wants to avoid danger, I have actually discovered a very suitable place. That place is: prison. Once a man is in jail, he is unlikely to make further trouble or commit crimes; the firefighting equipment is fully adequate, so there is no fear of fire; and there is no fear of robbery either—a bandit who breaks into a prison to steal things has never been heard of. Sitting in prison is truly the safest thing. But sitting in prison lacks precisely one thing, and that is: freedom. Therefore, if you covet safety, you will have no freedom; if you want freedom, you will always have to pass through some danger. There are only these two paths. Which is the better one is perfectly obvious, and there is no need for me to say it. Now I must also thank you all for the kindness of coming here today.
=== 第27节 ===	== Section 27 ==
《遊仙窟》今惟日本有之，是舊鈔本，藏於昌平學；題寧州襄樂縣尉張文成作。文成者，張鷟之字；題署著字，古人亦常有，如晉常璩撰《華陽國志》，其一卷亦云常道將集矣。張鷟，深州陸渾人；兩《唐書》皆附見《張薦傳》，云以調露初登進士第，為岐王府參軍，屢試皆甲科，大有文譽，調長安尉遷鴻臚丞。證聖中，天官劉奇以為御史；性躁卞，儻蕩無檢，姚崇尤惡之；開元初，御史李全交劾鷟訕短時政，貶嶺南，旋得內徙，終司門員外郎。《順宗實錄》亦謂鷟博學工文詞，七登文學科。《大唐新語》則云，後轉洛陽尉，故有《詠燕詩》，其末章云，「變石身猶重，銜泥力尚微，從來赴甲第，兩起一雙飛。」時人無不諷詠。《唐書》雖稱其文下筆立成，大行一時，後進莫不傳記，日本新羅使至，必出金寶購之，而又訾為浮艷少理致，論者亦率詆誚蕪穢。鷟書之傳於今者，尚有《朝野僉載》及《龍筋鳳髓判》，誠亦多詆誚浮艷之辭。《遊仙窟》為傳奇，又多俳調，故史志皆不載；清楊守敬作《日本訪書志》，始著於錄，而貶之一如《唐書》之言。日本則初頗珍秘，以為異書；嘗有注，似亦唐時人作。河世寧曾取其中之詩十餘首入《全唐詩逸》，鮑氏刊之《知不足齋叢書》中；今矛塵將具印之，而全文始復歸華土。不特當時之習俗如酬對舞詠，時語如䁠䀨嫈嫇，可資博識；即其始以駢儷之語作傳奇，前於陳球之《燕山外史》者千載，亦為治文學史者所不能廢矣。 　　中華民國十六年七月七日，魯迅識。	The *Youxianku* [Record of a Journey to the Fairy Grotto] today survives only in Japan, in an old manuscript copy preserved at the Shōhei Academy. It is attributed to Zhang Wencheng, District Magistrate of Xiangle in Ningzhou. Wencheng was the courtesy name of Zhang Zhuo; using one's courtesy name in attributions was common practice among the ancients—just as the Jin dynasty's Chang Qu, in his *Huayang Guozhi*, signed one volume as "collected by Chang Daojiang." Zhang Zhuo was a native of Luhun in Shenzhou. Both the *Old* and *New Tang History* include his biography appended to that of Zhang Jian, recording that he passed the *jinshi* examination in the Tiaolu reign period, served as adjutant in the household of the Prince of Qi, achieved top marks in examination after examination, and won great literary renown. He was appointed Magistrate of Chang'an and promoted to Vice Director of the Court of Diplomatic Reception. During the Zhengshen period, the Minister of Personnel Liu Qi recommended him as Censor. He was impetuous and reckless by nature, wild and without restraint. Yao Chong particularly detested him. In the early Kaiyuan years, the Censor Li Quanjiao impeached Zhang Zhuo for slandering current policies, and he was banished to Lingnan, though he was soon permitted to return northward, and eventually died as Vice Director of the Bureau of Gates. The *Veritable Records of Emperor Shunzong* likewise describe Zhang Zhuo as broadly learned and skilled in literary composition, having passed the literary examination seven times. The *Datang Xinyu* adds that he was later transferred to the post of Luoyang Magistrate, which occasioned his "Poem on the Swallow," whose final stanza runs: "Heavy as a transformed stone, my body; / feeble still, carrying mud in my beak; / since ever I frequented noble mansions, / rising together, a pair in flight." In his day no one failed to recite these lines. Although the *Tang History* praises his writing as flowing effortlessly from the brush, enormously popular in its time, so that no younger writer failed to transcribe and transmit it, and notes that when envoys from Japan and Silla arrived they invariably paid in gold and treasures to purchase his works—yet it also disparages his style as florid and frivolous, lacking in substance. Critics have likewise been generally scornful, denouncing it as tawdry. Of Zhang Zhuo's writings that have come down to us, there survive also the *Chaoye Qianzai* [Comprehensive Record of Court and Country] and the *Longjin Fengsui Pan* [Judgments on Dragon Sinews and Phoenix Marrow], and these too are indeed full of florid frivolities and scornful denunciations. The *Youxianku*, being a work of *chuanqi* fiction heavily laced with jesting and banter, is recorded in none of the official bibliographies. It was not until the Qing dynasty that Yang Shoujing, in his *Catalogue of Books Seen in Japan*, first entered it, dismissing it in terms identical to those of the *Tang History*. In Japan, by contrast, the work was initially treasured as a rare text. It was even annotated, apparently also by a Tang-era hand. He Shining once selected more than ten of its poems for inclusion in his *Supplement to the Complete Tang Poems*, which Bao's press published within the *Zhi Buzu Zhai Congshu* series. Now Mr. Maochen is about to print the full text, and the complete work will at last return to Chinese soil. Not only are the customs of the time—such as the exchanges of poetry and dance—and the contemporary colloquialisms, like *dingning* [ogling] and *yingming* [charming], valuable for broadening one's knowledge; the very fact that it pioneered the use of parallel prose for *chuanqi* fiction, antedating Chen Qiu's *Yanshan Waishi* by a full millennium, makes it indispensable to students of literary history. Lu Xun's note, the seventh day of the seventh month of the sixteenth year of the Republic of China [July 7, 1927].
=== 第28节 ===	== Section 28 ==
中國古人所發明，而現在用以做爆竹和看風水的火藥和指南針，傳到歐洲，他們就應用在鎗礮和航海上，給本師吃了許多虧。還有一件小公案，因為沒有害，倒幾乎忘卻了。那便是木刻。 　　雖然還沒有十分的確證，但歐洲的木刻，已經很有幾個人都說是從中國學去的，其時是十四世紀初，即一三二〇年頃。那先驅者，大約是印著極粗的木版圖畫的紙牌；這類紙牌，我們至今在鄉下還可看見。然而這博徒的道具，卻走進歐洲大陸，成了他們文明的利器的印刷術的祖師了。 　　木版畫恐怕也是這樣傳去的；十五世紀初德國已有木版的聖母像，原畫尚存比利時的勃呂舍勒博物館中，但至今還未發見過更早的印本。十六世紀初，是木刻的大家調壘爾（A.Dürer）和荷勒巴因（H.Holbein）出現了，而調壘爾尤有名，後世幾乎將他當作木版畫的始祖。到十七八世紀，都沿着他們的波流。 　　木版畫之用，單幅而外，是作書籍的插圖。然則巧緻的銅版圖術一出，這就突然中衰，也正是必然之勢。惟英國輸入銅版術較晚，還在保存舊法，且視此為義務和光榮。一七七一年，以初用木口雕刻，即所謂『白線彫版法』而出現的，是畢維克（Th.Bewich）。這新法進入歐洲大陸，又成了木刻復興的動機。 　　但精巧的彫鐫，後又漸偏于別種版式的模仿，如擬水彩畫，蝕銅版，網銅版等，或則將照相移在木面上，再加繡彫，技術固然極精熟了，但已成為複製底木版。至十九世紀中葉，遂大轉變，而創作的木刻興。 　　所謂創作底木刻者，不模仿，不複刻，作者捏刀向木，直刻下去。——記得宋人，大約是蘇東坡罷，有請人畫梅詩，有句云：『我有一匹好東絹，請君放筆為直幹！』這放刀直幹，便是創作底版畫首先所必須，和繪畫的不同，就在以刀代筆，以木代紙或布。中國的刻圖，雖是所謂『繡梓』，也早已望塵莫及，那精神，惟以鐵筆刻石章者，彷彿近之。 　　因為是創作底，所以風韻技巧，因人不同，已和複製木刻離開，成了純正的藝術，現今的畫家，幾乎是大半要試作的了。 　　在這里所介紹的，便都是現今作家的作品；但只這幾枚，還不足以見種種的作風，倘為事情所許，我們逐漸來輸運罷。木刻的回國，想來決不至于像別兩樣的給本師吃苦的。 　　一九二九年一月二十日，魯迅記于上海。 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〔《藝苑朝華》第一期，第一輯所載。〕	Gunpowder and the compass, invented by the ancient Chinese and now used for making firecrackers and practicing geomancy, were transmitted to Europe, where they were applied to guns and cannon and ocean navigation—and our erstwhile pupils gave the old master no end of trouble. There remains one more small case to settle, which, being harmless, has been all but forgotten. That is the woodcut. Though no absolutely conclusive proof has yet emerged, a good number of scholars in Europe have maintained that the European woodcut was learned from China, around the early fourteenth century—approximately 1320. The precursors were probably playing cards printed from very crude woodblocks. Such cards can still be seen in the Chinese countryside today. Yet these gamblers' implements traveled onto the European continent and became the ancestor of their printing press—that engine of civilization. Woodblock prints were presumably transmitted in the same fashion. By the early fifteenth century, Germany already possessed a woodblock image of the Virgin Mary; the original print survives in the museum in Brussels, Belgium, though no earlier printed example has yet been discovered. In the early sixteenth century, the great masters of woodcutting—Dürer and Holbein—appeared, and Dürer was especially famous; later generations all but regarded him as the founder of the woodcut. The art continued in their current through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Besides single prints, the woodcut served as book illustration. But when the refined art of copper engraving appeared, the woodcut suddenly declined—an inevitable development. Only England, where copper engraving was imported relatively late, continued to preserve the old technique, regarding this as both a duty and an honor. In 1771, Thomas Bewick appeared, the first to use wood-end engraving—the so-called "white-line method." When this new technique crossed to the European continent, it became the catalyst for the revival of the woodcut. Yet the increasingly refined engraving gradually deviated toward the imitation of other printing methods—watercolor, etching, photogravure, and so on—or else a photograph was transferred onto the woodblock and then carved with exquisite skill. The technique was of course supremely accomplished, but the woodcut had become merely reproductive. By the mid-nineteenth century came the great turning point: the rise of the creative woodcut. What is meant by the "creative" woodcut? No imitation, no reproduction: the artist grasps the knife and cuts directly into the wood.—I recall a Song dynasty figure, probably Su Dongpo, who wrote a poem commissioning someone to paint plum blossoms, with the line: "I have a bolt of fine eastern silk; / pray set your brush free for the straight trunk!" This "setting the knife free for the straight trunk" is precisely what the creative print requires above all else. What distinguishes it from painting is simply that the knife replaces the brush, and wood replaces paper or canvas. Chinese woodblock illustration, though known as "embroidered engraving," has long since been left far behind. In spirit, only those who carve seal-stones with an iron stylus come close. Because it is creative, the style and technique vary from artist to artist. The creative woodcut has separated itself from reproductive woodcutting and become a pure art form; today nearly every painter tries his hand at it. What is introduced here is entirely the work of contemporary artists. But these few pieces alone are not enough to display the full range of styles. If circumstances permit, we shall import more by and by. Surely the woodcut's return home will not—like those other two inventions—cause the old master any grief. Recorded by Lu Xun in Shanghai, January 20, 1929. [Published in *Yiyuan Zhaohua* (Art Garden Morning Flowers), First Series, Volume One.]
=== 第29节 ===	== Section 29 ==
本集中的十二幅木刻，都是從英國的《The Bookman》，《The Studio》，　《The Wook-cut of To-day》（Edited by G.Holme）中選取的，這裡也一併摘錄幾句解說。惠勃（C.C.Webb）是英國現代著名的藝術家，從一九二二年以來，都在畢明翰（Birmingham）中央學校教授美術。第一幅《高架橋》是圓滿的大圖畫，用一種獨創的方法所刻，幾乎可以數出他雕刻的筆數來。統觀全體，則是精美的發光的白色標記，在一方純淨的黑色地子上。《農家的後園》，刀法也多相同。《金魚》更可以見惠勃的作風，新近在Studio上，曾大為George Sheringham所稱許。 　　司提芬·蓬（Stephen Bone）的一幅，是George Bourne的《A Farmer's Life》的插圖之一。論者謂英國南部諸州的木刻家無出作者之右，散文得此，而妙想愈明雲。達格力秀（E. Fitch Daglish）是倫敦動物學會會員，木刻也有名，尤宜於作動植物書中的插畫，能顯示最嚴正的自然主義和纖巧敏慧的裝飾的感情。《田鳧》是E. M. Nicholson的《Birds in England》中插畫之一；《淡水鱸魚》是Izzak Walton and Charles Cotton的《The Compleate Angler》中的。觀這兩幅，便可知木刻術怎樣有裨於科學了。 　　哈曼·普耳（Herman Paul），法國人，原是作石版畫的,後改木刻,後又轉通俗（Popular）畫。曾說「藝術是一種不斷的解放」，於是便簡單化了。本集中的兩幅，已很可窺見他後來的作風。前一幅是Rabelais著書中的插畫，正當大雨時；後一幅是裝飾André Marty的詩集《La Doctrine des Prenx》（《勇士的教義》）的，那詩的大意是—— ::看殘廢的身體和面部的機輪， ::染毒的瘡疤紅了面容， ::少有勇氣與醜陋的人們，傳聞 ::以千辛萬苦獲得了好的名聲。 　　迪綏爾多黎（Benvenuto Disertori），意大利人，是多才的藝術家，善於刻石，蝕銅，但木刻更為他的特色。《La Musa del Loreto》是一幅具有律動的圖像，那印象之自然，就如本來在木上所創生的一般。 　　麥格努斯·拉該蘭支（S. Magnus-Lagercranz）夫人是瑞典的雕刻家，尤其擅長花卉。她的最重要的工作，是一冊瑞典詩人Atterbom的詩集《群芳》的插圖。 　　富耳斯（C. B. Falls）在美國，有最為多才的藝術家之稱。他於諸藝術無不嘗試，而又無不成功。集中的《島上的廟》，是他自己選出的得意的作品。 　　華惠克（Edward Worwick）也是美國的木刻家。《會見》是裝飾與想像的版畫，含有強烈的中古風味的。書面和首葉的兩種小品，是法國畫家拉圖（Alfred La-tour）之作，自《The Wood-cut of To-day》中取來，目錄上未列，附記於此。 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〔一九二九年一月二十六日《藝苑朝花》所載。〕	The twelve woodcuts in this collection are all selected from the British publications *The Bookman*, *The Studio*, and *The Woodcut of To-day* (edited by G. Holme). A few explanatory notes are also excerpted here. C. C. Webb is a celebrated modern British artist who has been teaching art at the Birmingham Central School since 1922. The first piece, *The Viaduct*, is a consummate large-scale picture, carved by a distinctive original method; one can almost count each individual stroke of his chisel. Viewed as a whole, it presents a pattern of exquisite luminous white markings on a field of pure black. In *The Farmyard*, the knife-work is largely similar. *Goldfish* reveals Webb's characteristic style more fully; it was recently given high praise by George Sheringham in *The Studio*. Stephen Bone's piece is one of the illustrations for George Bourne's *A Farmer's Life*. Critics have said that among the woodcut artists of England's southern counties, none surpasses him, and that prose, complemented by such images, only grows more vivid in its imagination. E. Fitch Daglish is a Fellow of the Zoological Society of London and also a distinguished woodcut artist, especially skilled at illustrating books of natural history, combining the most rigorous naturalism with a delicately perceptive decorative sensibility. *The Lapwing* is one of the illustrations for E. M. Nicholson's *Birds in England*; *The Freshwater Perch* is from Izaak Walton and Charles Cotton's *The Compleat Angler*. Looking at these two prints, one can readily see how the art of woodcutting may serve science. Herman Paul is French. He originally made lithographs, then turned to woodcuts, and later moved into popular art. He once said, "Art is a continuous emancipation," and accordingly simplified his style. The two pieces in this collection already reveal his later manner quite clearly. The first is an illustration for a work by Rabelais, depicting a moment of heavy rain; the second decorates André Marty's collection of poems *La Doctrine des Preux* (*The Creed of the Valiant*). The gist of the poem runs: > Behold the ruined body and the face's engine, > poisoned sores redden the countenance, > men of little courage and great ugliness, rumor says, > have through a thousand hardships won a good name. Benvenuto Disertori, an Italian, is a versatile artist skilled in lithography and etching, but woodcutting is his true hallmark. *La Musa del Loreto* is a figure imbued with rhythmic movement; the impression is so natural that the image seems born from the wood itself. Madame S. Magnus-Lagercranz is a Swedish engraver who excels especially in floral subjects. Her most important work is a set of illustrations for the collection *Flowers* by the Swedish poet Atterbom. C. B. Falls is considered one of the most versatile artists in America. He has tried his hand at every art form and succeeded in each. *The Island Temple* in this collection is a piece he himself selected as his most accomplished work. Edward Warwick is also an American woodcut artist. *The Meeting* is a decorative and imaginative print suffused with a strong medieval flavor. The two small pieces on the cover and frontispiece are by the French artist Alfred Latour, taken from *The Woodcut of To-day*; they are not listed in the table of contents and are noted here as an addendum. [Published in *Yiyuan Zhaohua* (Art Garden Morning Flowers), January 26, 1929.]
=== 第30节 ===	== Section 30 ==
中國的新的文藝的一時的轉變和流行，有時那主權是簡直大半操于外國書籍販賣者之手的。來一批書，便給一點影響。“Modern Library”中的A.V.Beardsley畫集一入中國，那鋒利的刺戟力，就激動了多年沉靜的神經，Beardsley的線究竟又太強烈了，這時適有蕗谷虹兒的版畫運來中國，是用幽婉之筆，來調和了Beardsley的鋒芒，這尤合中國現代青年的心，所以他的模仿就至今不絕。 　　但可惜的是將他的形和線任意的破壞——不過不經比較，是看不出底細來的。現在就從他的畫譜《睡蓮之夢》中選取六圖，《悲涼的微笑》中五圖，《我的畫集》中一圖，大約都是可顯現他的特色之作，雖然中國的複製，不能高明，然而究竟較可以窺見他的真面目了。 　　至於作者的特色之所在，就讓他自己來說罷—— 　　　『我的藝術，以纖細為生命，同時以解剖刀一般的銳利的鋒芒為力量。 　　　『我所引的描線，必需小蛇似的敏捷和白魚似的銳敏。 　　　『我所畫的東西，單是「如生」之類的現實的姿態，是不夠的。 　　　『于悲涼，則畫彷徨湖畔的孤星的水妖（Nymph），于歡樂，則畫在春林深處，和地祇（Pan）相謔的月光的水妖罷。 　　　『描水性，則選多夢的處女，且備以女王之格，注以星姬之愛罷。 　　　『描男性，則願探求神話，拉出亞波羅（Apallo）來，給穿上漂泊的旅鞋去。 　　　『描幼兒，則加以天使的羽翼，還于此被上五色的文綾。 　　　『而為了孕育這些愛的幻想的模特兒們，我的思想，則不可不如深夜之暗黑，清水之澄明。」（《悲涼的微笑》自序） 　　這可以說，大概都說盡了。然而從這些美點的別一面看，也就令人所以評他為傾向少年男女讀者的作家的原因。 　　作者現在是往歐洲留學去了，前塗正長，這不過是一時期的陳迹，現在又作為中國幾個作家的秘密寶庫的一部份，陳在讀者的眼前，就算一面小鏡子，——要說得堂皇一些，那就是，這纔或者能使我們逐漸認真起來，先會有小小的真的創作。 　　從第一到十一圖，都有短短的詩文的，也就逐圖譯出，附在各圖前面了，但有幾篇是古文，為譯者所未曾研究，所以有些錯誤，也說不定的。首頁的小圖也出《我的畫集》中，原題曰『瞳』，是作者所愛描的大到超於現實的眸子。 　　　　　　　　　　　　　一九二九年一月二十四日，魯迅在上海記。 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〔《藝宛朝華》第一期第二輯所載〕	The temporary shifts and vogues in China's new literature and art are at times almost entirely governed by foreign booksellers. When a batch of books arrives, it brings a measure of influence with it. When the A. V. Beardsley album in the "Modern Library" entered China, its keen, piercing force galvanized nerves that had been dormant for years. Yet Beardsley's line was in the end too intense. Just at this juncture, the prints of Tsugutani Kōji were brought to China, and his tender, melancholy brush tempered Beardsley's cutting edge. This suited the hearts of modern Chinese youth even better, and so imitation of his work persists to this day. The pity is that his forms and lines have been willfully mangled—though one cannot detect the damage without comparison. We have now selected six plates from his album *Dream of the Water Lily*, five from *A Desolate Smile*, and one from *My Album of Paintings*. These are all, roughly speaking, works that reveal his distinctive qualities. Although Chinese reproduction cannot be of the highest quality, one can at least catch a more authentic glimpse of his true face through them. As for what constitutes the artist's distinctive qualities, let us allow him to speak for himself: "My art takes delicacy as its life, and at the same time wields the keen edge of a scalpel as its strength. "The lines I draw must be as swift as a small serpent and as alert as a silverfish. "For what I paint, mere lifelike 'realism' is not enough. "For sorrow, I would paint the lone star-nymph wandering by the lakeside; for joy, a moonlit nymph sporting with Pan deep in the spring forest. "To portray the feminine, I choose the dreaming maiden, investing her with the bearing of a queen and infusing the love of a star-princess. "To portray the masculine, I would delve into myth, haul out Apollo, and fit him with the sandals of a wanderer. "To portray the child, I give it the wings of an angel, and over these I drape many-colored damask. "And in order to nurture these models of love's fantasy, my thought must be as dark as the deep of night, as clear as limpid water." (Preface to *A Desolate Smile*) This may be said to cover practically everything. Yet viewed from the other side of these same virtues, one sees precisely why critics have judged him a writer who appeals primarily to adolescent boys and girls. The artist has now gone to Europe to study. His road ahead is long, and these are but the vestiges of one period, now displayed before the Chinese reader as a portion of the secret treasury of a few Chinese artists—a small mirror, if you will. Or, to put it more grandly: perhaps this will gradually make us more earnest, so that we may at last produce small but genuine works of our own creation. From the first to the eleventh plate, each is accompanied by a brief poem or text, which I have translated and placed before the respective image. Several of these, however, are in classical prose, a field I have not studied, so some errors are not impossible. The small figure on the title page is also from *My Album of Paintings*; the original is titled "The Pupil"—one of those eyes, enlarged beyond reality, that the artist so loves to draw. Recorded by Lu Xun in Shanghai, January 24, 1929. [Published in *Yiyuan Zhaohua* (Art Garden Morning Flowers), First Series, Volume Two.]
=== 第31节 ===	== Section 31 ==
《朝花》六期上登過一篇短篇的瑙威作家哈謨生，去年日本出版的《國際文化》上，將他算作左翼的作家，但看他幾種作品，如《維多利亞》和《飢餓》裏面，貴族的處所卻不少。 　　不過他在先前，很流行於俄國。二十年前罷，有名的雜誌《Nieva》上，早就附印他那時為止的全集了。大約他那尼采和陀思妥夫斯基氣息，正能得到讀者的共鳴。十月革命後的論文中，也有時還在提起他，可見他的作品在俄國影響之深，至今還沒有忘卻。 　　他的許多作品，除上述兩種和《在童話國裏》——俄國的遊記——之外，我都沒有讀過。去年，在日本片山正雄作的《哈謨生傳》裏，看見他關於託爾斯泰和伊孛生的意見，又值這兩個文豪的誕生百年紀念，原是想紹介的，但因為太零碎，終於放下了。今年搬屋理書，又看見了這本傳記，便於三閒時譯在下面。 　　那是在他三十歲時之作《神秘》裏面的，作中的人物那該爾的人生觀和文藝論，自然也就可以看作作者哈謨生的意見和批評。他跺著腳罵託爾斯泰—— 　　　　「總之，叫作託爾斯泰的漢子，是現代的最為活動底的蠢才，……那教義，比起救世軍的唱Ｈalleluiah（上帝讚美歌——譯者）來，毫沒有兩樣。我並不覺得託爾斯泰的精神比蒲斯大將（那時救世軍的主將——譯者）深。兩個都是宣教者，卻不是思想家。是買賣現成的貨色的，是弘布原有的思想的，是給人民廉價採辦思想的，於是掌著這世間的舵。但是，諸君，倘做買賣，就得算算利息，而託爾斯泰卻每做一回買賣，就大折其本……不知沉默的那多嘴的品行，要將愉快的人世弄得鐵盤一般平坦的那努力，老嬉客似的那道德的嘮叨，像煞雄偉一般不識高低地胡說的那堅決的道德，一想到他，雖是別人的事，臉也要紅起來……。」 　　說也奇怪，這簡直好像是在中國的一切革命底和遵命底的批評家的暗瘡上開刀。至於對同鄉的文壇上的先輩伊孛生——尤其是後半期的作品——是這樣說—— 　　　　「伊孛生是思想家。通俗的講談和真的思索之間，放一點小小的區別，豈不好麼？誠然，伊孛生是有名人物呀。也不妨盡講伊孛生的勇氣，講到人耳朵裏起繭罷。然而，論理底勇氣和實行底勇氣之間，捨了私慾的不羈獨立的革命底勇猛心和家庭底的煽動底勇氣之間，莫非不見得有放點小小的區別的必要麼？其一，是在人生上發著光芒，其一，不過是在戲園裏使看客咋舌……要謀叛的漢子，不帶軟皮手套來捏鋼筆桿這一點事，是總應該做的，不應該是能做文章的一個小畸人，不應該僅是為德國人的文章上的一個概念，應該是名曰人生這一個熱鬧場裏的活動底人物。伊孛生的革命底勇氣，大約是確不至於陷其人於危地的。箱船之下，敷設水雷之類的事，比起活的，燃燒似的實行來，是貧弱的桌子上的空論罷了。諸君聽見過撕開苧麻的聲音麼？嘻嘻嘻，是多麼盛大的聲音呵。」 　　這於革命文學和革命，革命文學家和革命家之別，說得很露骨，至於遵命文學，那就不在話下了。也許因為這一點，所以他倒是左翼底罷，並不全在他曾經做過各種的苦工。 　　最頌揚的，是伊孛生早先文壇上的敵對，而後來成了兒女親家的畢倫存（Ｂ.Björuson）。他說他活動著，飛躍著，有生命。無論勝敗之際，都貫注著個性和精神。是有著靈感和神底閃光的瑙威惟一的詩人。但我回憶起看過的短篇小說來，卻並沒有看哈謨生作品那樣的深的感印。在中國大約並沒有什麼譯本，只記得有一篇名叫《父親》的，至少翻過了五回。 　　哈謨生的作品我們也沒有什麼譯本。五四運動時候，在北京的青年出了一種期刊叫《新潮》，後來有一本《新著紹介號》，豫告上似乎是說羅家倫先生要紹介《新地》（New Erde）。這便是哈謨生做的，雖然不過是一種傾向小說，寫些文士的生活，但也大可以借來照照中國人。所可惜的是這一篇紹介至今沒有印出罷了。 　　(三月三日，於上海。) 　　一九二九年三月十四日朝花旬刊第十一期所載。	In the sixth issue of *Morning Flowers* we published a short piece about the Norwegian writer Hamsun. Last year, Japan's *International Culture* classified him as a left-wing writer, but judging from several of his works, such as *Victoria* and *Hunger*, there is no shortage of aristocratic leanings in them. He was, however, very popular in Russia in earlier days. About twenty years ago, the celebrated magazine *Niva* had already published his collected works up to that date as a supplement. Presumably it was his Nietzschean and Dostoevskian atmosphere that found a resonance in readers there. Even in the critical essays after the October Revolution, he is still mentioned from time to time, which shows how deep the influence of his works in Russia has been—not forgotten to this day. Of his many works, apart from the two mentioned above and *In Fairyland*—a travelogue of Russia—I have read none. Last year, in a biography of Hamsun written by the Japanese Katayama Masao, I came across his views on Tolstoy and Ibsen. It being the centenary of both these literary giants, I had meant to introduce these passages, but they were too fragmentary, and I finally abandoned the idea. This year, while moving house and sorting books, I came upon the biography again, and in my three-idle-moments I translate the following. The passage is from his work *Mysteries*, written when he was thirty. The views on life and literature expressed by the character Nagel can naturally be taken as those of the author Hamsun himself. He stamps his foot and curses Tolstoy: "In short, the fellow called Tolstoy is the most actively stupid man of our time... His doctrine is not a whit different from the Salvation Army singing Hallelujah. I do not find Tolstoy's mind any deeper than that of General Booth [then commander of the Salvation Army]. Both are preachers, but neither is a thinker. They peddle ready-made goods, disseminate received ideas, supply the people with cut-rate thinking, and thereby steer the rudder of this world. But, gentlemen, if one does business, one must reckon one's interest, and Tolstoy loses his capital on every single transaction... That garrulous respectability that does not know how to be silent, that effort to flatten the cheerful world as flat as an iron pan, that moral nagging like an old gadabout, that willful moral grandeur that blusters on without knowing high from low—one blushes to think of him, even though it is someone else's affair..." Strange to say, this reads almost as if it were lancing the boil of every "revolutionary" and every "obedient" critic in China. As for his views on his compatriot and literary elder Ibsen—especially the latter half of Ibsen's career—he says: "Ibsen is a thinker. Might it not be well to draw a small distinction between popular sermonizing and genuine thinking? Certainly, Ibsen is a famous man. And one may go on talking about Ibsen's courage until calluses form in one's listeners' ears. Yet between logical courage and practical courage, between the free and independent revolutionary daring that has renounced self-interest and the domestic, agitational kind of courage—does one not see the need for a small distinction? The one shines forth in life itself; the other merely makes the audience gasp in the theater... A man who means to rebel ought at least to manage the small feat of not grasping his steel pen with kid gloves. He should not be merely a queer little fellow who can write, not merely one more concept in a German essay; he should be a living, active figure in the hubbub called human life. Ibsen's revolutionary courage is presumably not the kind that would ever land its owner in peril. Laying torpedoes under the hulls of ships—compared with living, blazing action, that is merely the feeble table-talk of the study. Have you ever heard the sound of hemp being torn apart, gentlemen? Heh heh heh—what a grand noise it makes." This lays bare, quite bluntly, the difference between revolutionary literature and revolution, between the revolutionary writer and the revolutionary. As for "obedient" literature, that goes without saying. Perhaps it is partly for this reason that Hamsun may be called left-wing after all—and not solely because he once performed various kinds of hard labor. The figure he praises most highly is Bjornson, Ibsen's literary adversary of old who later became his in-law. Hamsun says Bjornson is active, soaring, alive. In victory or defeat, he is always infused with personality and spirit. He is the one poet in Norway possessed of inspiration and divine sparks. But when I recall the short stories I have read, none left as deep an impression as Hamsun's own works. In China there are probably few if any translations of Bjornson. I can only recall one story called "The Father," which has been translated at least five times. We have few translations of Hamsun's works either. During the May Fourth Movement, young people in Beijing put out a periodical called *The New Tide*, and later there was a "New Books Review" issue, in whose preview Luo Jialun was said to be planning an introduction to *New Earth*. This is a novel by Hamsun. Though merely a roman à thèse about the lives of literary men, it could well serve as a mirror for the Chinese. The pity is that this introduction has never been published to this day. (March 3, in Shanghai.) Published in the eleventh issue of *Morning Flowers Biweekly*, March 14, 1929.
=== 第32节 ===	== Section 32 ==
我們進小學校時，看見教本上的幾個小圖畫，倒也覺得很可觀，但到後來初見外國文讀本上的插畫，卻驚異於牠的精工，先前所見的就幾乎不能比擬了。還有英文字典裏的小畫，也細巧得出奇。凡那些，就是先回說過的「木口彫刻」。 　　西洋木版的材料，固然有種種，而用於刻精圖者大概是柘木。同是柘木，因鋸法兩樣，而所得的板片，也就不同。順木紋直鋸，如箱板或桌面板的是一種，將木紋橫斷，如砧板的又是一種。前一種較柔，彫刻之際，可以揮鑿自如，但不宜於細密，倘細，是很容易碎裂的。後一種是木絲之端，攢聚起來的板片，所以堅，宜於刻細，這便是「木口彫刻」。這種彫刻，有時便不稱wood-cut，而別稱為wood-engraving了。中國先前刻木一細，便曰「繡梓」，是可以作這譯語的。和這相對，在箱板式的板片上所刻的，則謂之「木面彫刻」。 　　但我們這里所紹介的，並非教科書上那樣的木刻，因為那是意在逼真，在精細，臨刻之際，有一張圖畫作為底子的，既有底子，便是以刀擬筆，是依樣而非獨創，所以僅僅是「復刻板畫」。至於「創作板畫」，是並無別的粉本的，乃是畫家執了鐵筆，在木版上作畫，本集中的達格力秀的兩幅，永瀨義郎的一幅，便是其例。自然也可以逼真，也可以精細，然而這些之外有美，有力；仔細看去，雖在複製的畫幅上，總還可以看出一點「有力之美」來。 　　但這「力之美」大約一時未必能和我們的眼睛相宜。流行的裝飾畫上，現在已經多是削肩的美人，枯瘦的佛子，解散了的構成派繪畫了。 　　有精力彌滿的作家和觀者，才會生出「力」的藝術來。「放筆直幹」的圖畫，恐怕難以生存於頹唐，小巧的社會裏的。 　　附帶說幾句，前回所引的詩，是將作者記錯了。季黻來信道：「我有一匹好采絹……」系出於杜甫《戲韋偃爲雙松圖》，末了的數句，是「重之不減錦繡段，已令拂拭光凌亂，請君放筆為直幹」。並非蘇東坡詩。 　　（一九二九年三月十日） 　 【《藝苑朝華》第一期第三輯所載。】	When we entered primary school, we saw a few small illustrations in our textbooks and thought them quite fine. But when later we first encountered the illustrations in foreign-language readers, we were astonished at their exquisite craftsmanship — what we had seen before could scarcely compare. The small pictures in English dictionaries, too, were remarkably delicate. All of these were examples of what was discussed earlier: "end-grain wood engraving." The materials for Western woodblocks are of course various, but for fine engraving, boxwood is generally used. Even with boxwood, because there are two ways of sawing, the resulting blocks differ. Sawn lengthwise along the grain, like a plank for a chest or tabletop, yields one kind; sawn crosswise against the grain, like a chopping block, yields another. The first is softer — when carving, the chisel moves freely, but it is unsuitable for fine detail, since fine lines easily splinter. The second kind consists of the tips of wood fibers packed tightly together, making it hard and fit for fine work: this is "end-grain wood engraving." This type of engraving is sometimes distinguished from the term "wood-cut" and called instead "wood-engraving." In China, when woodblock carving reached a high degree of fineness, it was called "embroidered block" (xiuzi) — a term that could well serve as a translation. By contrast, carving done on plank-sawn blocks is called "plank-face wood carving." But what we are introducing here is not the kind of woodcut found in textbooks, for those aim at verisimilitude and precision: when they are carved, there is a painting underneath as a model. Since there is a model, the knife merely imitates the brush — it copies rather than creates, and so these are merely "reproductive block prints." As for "creative block prints," there is no separate original at all: the artist takes up an iron stylus and draws directly on the woodblock. The two works by Daglish and the one by Nagase Yoshirō in this collection are examples. Naturally, creative prints too may achieve verisimilitude and precision, yet beyond these qualities they possess beauty and power. If one looks carefully, even in reproduced prints one can still discern a hint of this "beauty of power." But this "beauty of power" is probably not immediately agreeable to our eyes. In the fashionable decorative paintings of today, we already see mostly narrow-shouldered beauties, emaciated bodhisattvas, and the dissolved forms of Constructivist painting. Only when there are artists and viewers brimming with vitality can an art of "power" come into being. Paintings that "let the brush run and paint the trunk straight" can hardly survive in a decadent, petty society. A note in passing: the poem quoted last time was wrongly attributed. Ji Fu has written to say that "I have a bolt of fine patterned silk..." comes from Du Fu's "Playfully Addressing Wei Yan on His Painting of Twin Pines." The final lines read: "It is no less precious than a roll of brocade; / Already wiped clean, its lustre gleams in splendid confusion. / I beg you, sir, let your brush run free and paint the trunk straight." It is not a poem by Su Dongpo. (March 10, 1929) [Published in the third fascicle of the first series of *Yiyuan Zhaohua* (Art Garden: Morning Blossoms).]
=== 第33节 ===	== Section 33 ==
本集中的十二幅木刻大都是從英國的《The Woodcut of To-day》《The Studio》，《The Smaller Beasts》中選取的，這裡也一併摘錄幾句解說。 　　格斯金（Arthur J. Gaskin），英國人。他不是一個始簡單後精細的藝術家。他早懂得立體的黑色之濃淡關係。這幅《大雪》的淒涼和小屋底景致是很動人的。雪景可以這樣比其他種種方法更有力地表現，這是木刻藝術的新發見。《童話》也具有和《大雪》同樣的風格。 　　傑平（Robert Gibbings）早是英國木刻家中一個最豐富而多方面的作家。他對於黑白的觀念常是意味深長而且獨創的。E．Powys Mathers的《紅的智慧》插畫在光耀的黑白相對中有東方的艷麗和精巧的白線底律動。他的令人快樂的《閒坐》，顯示他在有意味的形式裡黑白對照的氣質。 　　達格力秀（Eric Fitch Daglish）在我們的《近代木刻選集》（１）裡已曾敘述了。《伯勞》見J. H. Fabre的《Animal Life in Field and Garden》中。《海狸》見達格力秀自撰的Animal in Black and White叢書第二卷《The Smaller Beasts》中。 　　凱亥勒（Émile Charles Carlègle）原籍瑞士，現入法國籍。木刻於他是種直接的表現的媒介物，如繪畫，蝕銅之於他人。他配列光和影，指明顏色的濃淡；他的作品顫動著生命。他沒有什麼美學理論，他以為凡是有趣味的東西能使生命美麗。 　　奧力克（Emil Orlik）是最早將日本的木刻方法傳到德國去的人。但他卻將他自己本國的種種方法融合起來刻木的。 　　陀蒲晉司基（M. Dobuzinski）的《窗》，我們可以想像無論何人站在那裡，如那個人站著的，張望外面的雨天，想念將要遇見些什麼。俄國人是很想到站在這個窗下的人的。 　　左拉舒（William Zorach）是俄國種的美國人。他注意於有趣的在黑底子上的白塊，不斤斤於用意的深奧。《游泳的女人》由游泳的眼光看來，是有些眩目的。這看去像油漆布雕刻，不大像木刻。游泳是美國木刻家所好的題材，各人用各人的手法創造不同的風格。 　　永瀨義郎，曾在日本東京美術學校學過雕塑，後來頗盡力於版畫，著《給學版畫的人》一卷。《沉鐘》便是其中的插畫之一，算作「木口雕刻」的作例，更經有名的刻手菊地武嗣復刻的。現在又經複製，但還可推見黑白配列的妙處。	Most of the twelve woodcuts in this collection were selected from the British publications *The Woodcut of To-day*, *The Studio*, and *The Smaller Beasts*. A few explanatory notes are also excerpted here. Arthur J. Gaskin is an Englishman. He is not an artist who began simply and later grew refined. He understood early the tonal relations of solid black. The bleakness of this "Heavy Snow" and the vista of the little cottage are deeply moving. That a snow scene can be rendered more powerfully in this way than by any other method is a new discovery in the art of woodcut. "Fairy Tale" shares the same style as "Heavy Snow." Robert Gibbings was early on one of the most prolific and versatile of English woodcut artists. His conception of black and white is always richly suggestive and original. The illustrations for E. Powys Mathers' *Red Wisdom* display, amid the radiance of black-white contrast, an oriental splendor and an exquisite rhythm of white lines. His delightful "Sitting Idle" demonstrates his temperament for black-and-white contrast within meaningful form. Eric Fitch Daglish has already been discussed in our *Selected Modern Woodcuts* (1). "The Shrike" appears in J. H. Fabre's *Animal Life in Field and Garden*. "The Beaver" appears in the second volume of Daglish's own *Animal in Black and White* series, *The Smaller Beasts*. Émile Charles Carlègle is of Swiss origin and has since taken French nationality. Woodcutting is for him a direct medium of expression, as painting or etching is for others. He arranges light and shadow, indicating gradations of color; his works vibrate with life. He has no aesthetic theory — he believes that whatever is interesting can make life beautiful. Emil Orlik was the first to bring Japanese woodcutting methods to Germany. Yet he blended the various techniques of his own country into his wood engravings. In M. Dobuzinski's "The Window," we can imagine anyone standing there, as that figure stands, gazing out at the rainy day, wondering what he is about to encounter. A Russian is very much inclined to think of the person standing at that window. William Zorach is a Russian-born American. He is interested in the play of white masses against a black ground, without overly striving for profundity of meaning. "The Swimming Woman," seen from the swimmer's perspective, is somewhat dazzling. It looks more like linoleum-cut than woodcut. Swimming is a favorite subject of American woodcut artists; each uses his own technique to create a different style. Nagase Yoshirō studied sculpture at the Tokyo School of Fine Arts in Japan, then devoted himself energetically to printmaking and wrote a volume titled *For Those Who Study Printmaking*. "The Sunken Bell" is one of its illustrations, serving as an example of "end-grain wood engraving," further reproduced by the renowned engraver Kikuchi Taketsugu. Though reproduced yet again here, one can still perceive the subtle mastery of the arrangement of black and white.
=== 第34节 ===	== Section 34 ==
比亞茲萊（Aubrey Beardsley 1872—1898）生存只有二十六年，他是死於肺病的。生命雖然如此短促，卻沒有一個藝術家，作黑白畫的藝術家，獲得比他更為普遍的名譽；也沒有一個藝術家影響現代藝術如他這樣的廣闊。比亞茲萊少時的生活底第一個影響是音樂，他真正的嗜好是文學。除了在美術學校兩月之外，他沒有藝術的訓練。他的成功完全是由自習獲得的。 　　以《阿賽王之死》的插畫他才涉足文壇。隨後他為《The Studio》作插畫，又為《黃書》（《The Yelloｗ Book》）的藝術編輯。他是由《黃書》而來，由《The Savoy》而去的。無可避免地，時代要他活在世上。這九十年代就是世人所稱的世紀末（fin desiècle）。他是這年代底獨特的情調底唯一的表現者。九十年代底不安的，好考究的，傲慢的情調呼他出來的。 　　比亞茲萊是個諷刺家，他只能如Baudelaire描寫地獄，沒有指出一點現代的天堂底反映。這是因為他愛美而美的墮落才困制他；這是因為他如此極端地自覺美德而敗德才有取得之理由。有時他的作品達到純粹的美，但這是惡魔的美，而常有罪惡底自覺，罪惡首受美而變形又復被美所暴露。 　　視為一個純然的裝飾藝術家，比亞茲萊是無匹的。他把世上一切不一致的事物聚在一堆，以他自己的模型來使他們織成一致。但比亞茲萊不是一個插畫家。沒有一本書的插畫至於最好的地步——不是因為較偉大而是不相稱，甚且不相干。他失敗於插畫者，因為他的藝術是抽像的裝飾；它缺乏關係性底律動——恰如他自身缺乏在他前後十年間底關係性。他埋葬在他的時期裡有如他的畫吸收在它自己的堅定的線裡。比亞茲萊不是印象主義者，如Ｍanet或Renoir，畫他所「看見」的事物；他不是幻想家，如Ｗilliaｍ Blake，畫他所「夢想」的事物；他是個有理智的人，如Ｇeorge Frederick Ｗatts，畫他所「思想」的事物。雖然無日不和藥爐為伴，他還能駕御神經和情感。他的理智是如此的強健。 　　比亞茲萊受他人影響卻也不少，不過這影響於他是吸收而不是被吸收。他時時能受影響，這也是他獨特的地方之一。Burne-Jones有助於他在他作《阿賽王之死》的插畫的時候；日本的藝術，尤其是英泉的作品，助成他脫離在《The Rape of theＬock》底Eisen和Saint-Aubin所顯示給他的影響。但Burne-Jones底狂喜的疲弱的靈性變為怪誕的睥睨的肉慾——若有疲弱的，罪惡的疲弱的話。日本底凝凍的實在性變為西方的熱情底焦灼的影像表現在黑白底銳利而清楚的影和曲線中，暗示即在彩虹的東方也未曾夢想到的色調。 　　他的作品，因為翻印了《Salaｍè》的插畫，還因為我們本國時行藝術家的摘取，似乎連風韻也頗為一般所熟識了。但他的裝飾畫，卻未經誠實地介紹過。現在就選印這十二幅，略供愛好比亞茲萊者看看他未經撕剝的遺容，並摘取Arthur Syｍons和Ｈolbrook Jackson的話，算作說明他的特色的小引。 　　一九二九年四月二十日，朝華社識。	Aubrey Beardsley (1872–1898) lived only twenty-six years; he died of consumption. Though his life was so brief, no artist — no artist in black and white — has won a more universal fame than he; nor has any artist influenced modern art so broadly. The first influence on Beardsley's early life was music; his true passion was literature. Apart from two months at an art school, he had no artistic training. His success was entirely self-taught. It was with the illustrations for *Le Morte d'Arthur* that he first set foot in the literary world. He then made illustrations for *The Studio* and became the art editor of *The Yellow Book*. He came in through *The Yellow Book* and went out through *The Savoy*. Inevitably, the age demanded that he live in the world. These 1890s were what the world calls the fin de siècle. He was the sole embodiment of the unique sensibility of that decade. The restless, fastidious, insolent mood of the Nineties called him forth. Beardsley was a satirist. He could only depict hell, as Baudelaire did, without pointing to any reflection of a modern paradise. This was because he loved beauty, and it was beauty's degradation that constrained him; this was because he was so acutely conscious of virtue that vice found its rationale. At times his work attains pure beauty, but it is a demonic beauty, constantly shadowed by the consciousness of sin — sin received by beauty and deformed, then exposed again by beauty. Considered as a purely decorative artist, Beardsley is without peer. He gathered all the world's incongruous things into a heap and wove them into unity using his own mold. But Beardsley was not an illustrator. No book of his illustrations reaches the summit — not because they are too great, but because they are incommensurate, even irrelevant. He failed as an illustrator because his art was abstract decoration; it lacked relational rhythm — just as he himself lacked any relation to the decade before or after his own. He is buried in his period as his drawings are absorbed into their own resolute lines. Beardsley was not an Impressionist like Manet or Renoir, painting what he "saw"; he was not a visionary like William Blake, painting what he "dreamed"; he was a man of intellect like George Frederick Watts, painting what he "thought." Though not a day passed without his keeping company with the medicine pot, he could still command nerve and emotion. Such was the strength of his intellect. Beardsley was considerably influenced by others, yet these influences were absorbed by him rather than absorbing him. That he could constantly receive influence was itself one of his distinctive traits. Burne-Jones aided him in his illustrations for *Le Morte d'Arthur*; Japanese art, especially the work of Keisai Eisen, helped him break free from the influence of Eisen and Saint-Aubin that had manifested in *The Rape of the Lock*. But Burne-Jones's ecstatic, languorous spirituality was transformed into grotesque, disdainful carnality — if there be such a thing as languid, sinful languor. The frozen reality of Japan became the scorching imagery of Western passion expressed in the sharp, clear shadows and curves of black and white, suggesting tones that even the rainbow-rich East had never dreamed of. His works, because of the reprinting of the *Salomé* illustrations and because of our own fashionable artists' borrowings, seem to have become somewhat familiar, even in their charm. But his decorative works have never been honestly introduced. So now we select and print these twelve pieces, to give lovers of Beardsley a glimpse of his visage undefiled, and excerpt the words of Arthur Symons and Holbrook Jackson as a brief introduction to his distinctive qualities. April 20, 1929 — The Zhaohua Society.
=== 第35节 ===	== Section 35 ==
大約三十年前，丹麥批評家喬治•勃兰兑斯(Georg Brandes)游帝制俄国，作《印象記》，驚為「黑土」。果然，他的觀察證實了。從這「黑土」中，陸續長育了文化的奇花和喬木，使西歐人士震驚，首先為文學和音樂，稍後是舞蹈，還有繪畫。 　　但在十九世紀末，俄國的繪畫是還在西歐美術的影響之下的，一味追隨，很少獨創，然而握美術界的霸權，是為學院派（Acadeｍisｍus）。至九十年代，「移動展覽會派」出現了，對於學院派的古典主義，力加掊擊，斥模仿，崇獨立，終至收美術於自己的掌中，以鼓吹其見解和理想。然而排外則易傾於慕古，慕古必不免於退嬰，所以後來，藝術遂見衰落，而祖述法國色彩畫家綏珊的一派（Cezannist）興。同時，西南歐的立體派和未來派，也傳入而且盛行於俄國。 　　十月革命時，是左派（立體派及未來派）全盛的時代，因為在破壞舊制——革命這一點上，和社會革命者是相同的，但問所向的目的，這兩派卻並無答案。尤其致命的是雖屬新奇，而為民眾所不解，所以當破壞之後，漸入建設，要求有益於勞農大眾的平民易解的美術時，這兩派就不得不被排斥了。其時所需要的是寫實一流，於是右派遂起而佔了暫時的勝利。但保守之徒，新力是究竟沒有的，所以不多久，就又以自己的作品證明了自己的破滅。 　　這時候，是對於美術和社會底建設相結合的要求，左右兩派，同歸失敗，但左翼中實已先就起了分崩，離合之後，別生一派曰「產業派」，以產業主義和機械文明之名，否定純粹美術，製作目的，專在工藝上的功利。更經和別派的鬥爭，反對者的離去，終成了以泰忒林（Tatlin）和羅直兼珂（Rodschenko）為中心的「構成派」（Konstructivisｍus）。他們的主張不在Koｍposition而在Konstruktion，不在描寫而在組織，不在創造而在建設。羅直兼珂說，「美術家的任務，非色和形的抽像底認識，而在解決具體底事物的構成上的任何的課題。」這就是說，構成主義上並無永久不變的法則，依著其時的環境而將各個新課題，從新加以解決，便是它的本領。既是現代人，便當以現代的產業底事業為光榮，所以產業上的創造，便是近代天才者的表現。汽船，鐵橋，工廠，飛機，各有其美，既嚴肅，亦堂皇。於是構成派畫家遂往往不描物形，但作幾何學底圖案，比立體派更進一層了。如本集所收Krinskｙ的三幅中的前兩幅，便可作顯明的標準。Ｇastev是主張善用時間，別樹一幟的，本集只收了一幅。 　　又因為革命所需要，有宣傳，教化，裝飾和普及，所以在這時代，版畫——木刻，石版，插畫，裝畫，蝕銅版——就非常發達了。左翼作家之不甘離開純粹美術者，頗遁入版畫中，如瑪修丁（有《十二個》中的插畫四幅，在《未名叢刊》中），央南珂夫（本集有他所作的《小說家薩彌亞丁像》）是。構成派作家更因和產業結合的目的，大行活動，如羅直兼珂和力錫茲基所裝飾的現代詩人的詩集，也有典型的藝術底版畫之稱，但我沒有見過一種。 　　木版作家，以法孚爾斯基（本集有《墨斯科》）為第一，古潑略諾夫（本集有《熨衣的婦女》），保裡諾夫（本集有《培林斯基像》），瑪修丁，是都受他的影響的。克裡格裡珂跋女士本是蝕銅版畫（Ｅtchinｇ）名家，這裡所收的兩幅是影畫，《奔流》曾經紹介的一幅（《梭羅古勃像》），是雕鏤畫，都是她的擅長之作。 　　新俄的美術，雖然現在已給世界上以甚大的影響，但在中國，記述卻還很聊聊。這區區十二頁，又真是實不符名，毫不能盡紹介的重任，所取的又多是版畫，大幅傑構，反成遺珠，這是我們所十分抱憾的。 　　但是，多取版畫，也另有一些原因：中國製版之術，至今未精，與其變相，不如且緩，一也；當革命時，版畫之用最廣，雖極匆忙，頃刻能辦，二也。《藝苑朝華》在初創時，即已注意此點，所以自一集至四集，悉取黑白線圖，但竟為藝苑所棄，甚難繼續，今復送第五集出世，恐怕已是晌午之際了，但仍願若干讀者們，由此還能夠得到多少裨益。 　　本文中的敘述及五幅圖，是摘自癗曙夢的《新俄美術大觀》的，其餘八幅，則從R．Fueloep-Ｍiller的《The Ｍindand Face of Bolshevisｍ》所載者複製，合併聲明於此。 　　一九三○年二月二十五夜，魯迅。	About thirty years ago, the Danish critic Georg Brandes traveled through Imperial Russia, wrote his *Impressions*, and exclaimed in wonder at the "black earth." And indeed, his observation proved true. From this "black earth," there grew one after another the exotic flowers and towering trees of culture, astonishing the people of Western Europe: first literature and music, then dance, and also painting. Yet at the end of the nineteenth century, Russian painting was still under the sway of Western European art — blindly following, seldom creating independently — and the Academy held sway over the art world (Academismus). In the 1890s, the "Wanderers" (the Society for Travelling Art Exhibitions) appeared, vigorously attacking the classicism of the Academy, denouncing imitation and championing independence, until they finally seized control of the art world and used it to promote their views and ideals. However, to reject the foreign easily leads to nostalgia for the ancient, and nostalgia for the ancient inevitably results in stagnation. Thus, before long, art declined, and the school of those who followed the French colorist Cézanne (Cézannists) arose. At the same time, Cubism and Futurism from southwestern Europe also spread into Russia and flourished. At the time of the October Revolution, it was the heyday of the Left (the Cubists and Futurists), for in the matter of destroying the old order — revolution itself — they shared common ground with the social revolutionaries. But when asked about the goal they were heading toward, these two schools had no answer. What proved particularly fatal was that, though novel, their work was incomprehensible to the masses. So when the phase of destruction gave way to construction, and the demand arose for a popular, accessible art beneficial to the workers and peasants, these two schools could no longer escape rejection. What was needed was Realism, and so the Right rose and won a temporary victory. But conservatives are ultimately devoid of new vitality; before long, they proved their own ruin through their own works. At this juncture, there was a demand for art to be united with social construction. Both Left and Right had failed alike, but within the Left there had already been internal fragmentation. After realignments, a new faction emerged called the "Productivists," who, in the name of industrialism and machine civilization, negated pure art and directed all creative purpose toward utilitarian industrial design. Through further struggles with rival factions and the departure of opponents, this movement eventually coalesced around Tatlin and Rodchenko to form "Constructivism" (Konstruktivismus). Their position was not Composition but Construction, not depiction but organization, not creation but building. Rodchenko said: "The artist's task is not the abstract apprehension of color and form, but the resolution of any given problem in the construction of concrete objects." This means that Constructivism has no eternally fixed laws; its very capability lies in solving each new problem afresh according to the circumstances of the moment. Since we are modern people, we should take pride in modern industrial enterprise, and therefore industrial creation is the expression of modern genius. Steamships, iron bridges, factories, airplanes — each possesses its own beauty, at once austere and magnificent. Thus Constructivist painters often cease to depict actual objects and instead compose geometric patterns, going a step further than the Cubists. The first two of the three works by Krinsky included in this collection may serve as a clear standard. Gastev, who advocates the efficient use of time and has struck out on his own path, is represented here by only one piece. Moreover, because the revolution required propaganda, education, decoration, and dissemination, the graphic arts — woodcut, lithography, illustration, book design, and etching — flourished extraordinarily in this era. Left-wing artists unwilling to abandon pure art often took refuge in printmaking, such as Masliutin (whose four illustrations from *The Twelve* appear in the Weiming Series) and Annenkov (represented in this collection by his "Portrait of the Novelist Zamyatin"). Constructivist artists, too, given their aim of uniting art with industry, were extremely active. The poetry collections of modern poets decorated by Rodchenko and Lissitzky are said to be exemplary works of artistic printmaking, though I have not seen a single one. Among woodcut artists, Favorsky (represented in this collection by "Moscow") is foremost. Kuprianov ("Woman Ironing"), Pavlinov ("Portrait of Belinsky"), and Masliutin all show his influence. Ms. Kruglikova is a renowned etcher; the two works included here are silhouettes, while the one introduced previously in *Torrent* ("Portrait of Sologub") is an engraving — all genres in which she excels. Although the art of New Russia has already exerted a considerable influence upon the world, in China accounts of it remain exceedingly scant. These twelve meager pages are truly inadequate for the task of introduction; moreover, since most of the works selected are prints, major masterworks have inevitably been omitted — a matter we deeply regret. However, the preponderance of prints was chosen for other reasons as well: first, China's reproductive techniques remain imperfect to this day, and rather than distort the originals, it is better to wait; second, in times of revolution, prints are the most widely useful medium — even in the greatest haste, they can be produced in an instant. When *Yiyuan Zhaohua* was first conceived, this point had already been noted; hence from the first to the fourth fascicles, all works were black-and-white line drawings. Yet the art world abandoned the project, and it proved very difficult to continue. Now we send this fifth fascicle into the world — by now it is probably already noontime — but we still hope that some readers may derive at least a measure of benefit from it. The narrative and five illustrations in this essay are excerpted from Sheng Shimeng's *Survey of New Russian Art*; the remaining eight plates are reproduced from those in R. Fülöp-Miller's *The Mind and Face of Bolshevism*. This is hereby noted. February 25, 1930, at night. Lu Xun.
=== 第36节 ===	== Section 36 ==
文藝本應該並非只有少數的優秀者才能夠鑒賞，而是只有少數的先天的低能者所不能鑒賞的東西。 　　倘若說，作品愈高，知音愈少。那麼，推論起來，誰也不懂的東西，就是世界上的絕作了。 　　但讀者也應該有相當的程度。首先是識字，其次是有普通的大體的知識，而思想和情感，也須大抵達到相當的水平線。否則，和文藝即不能發生關係。若文藝設法俯就，就很容易流為迎合大眾，媚悅大眾。迎合和媚悅，是不會於大眾有益的。——什麼謂之「有益」，非在本問題範圍之內，這裡且不論。 　　所以在現下的教育不平等的社會裡，仍當有種種難易不同的文藝，以應各種程度的讀者之需。不過應該多有為大眾設想的作家，竭力來作淺顯易解的作品，使大家能懂，愛看，以擠掉一些陳腐的勞什子。但那文字的程度，恐怕也只能到唱本那樣。 　　因為現在是使大眾能鑒賞文藝的時代的準備，所以我想，只能如此。 　　倘若此刻就要全部大眾化，只是空談。大多數人不識字，目下通行的白話文，也非大家能懂的文章；言語又不統一，若用方言，許多字是寫不出的，即使用別字代出，也只為一處地方人所懂，閱讀的範圍反而收小了。 　　總之，多作或一程度的大眾化的文藝，也固然是現今的急務。若是大規模的設施，就必須政治之力的幫助，一條腿是走不成路的，許多動聽的話，不過文人的聊以自慰罷了。	Literature and art ought not to be things that only a select few of superior talent can appreciate; rather, they should be things that only a few who are congenitally deficient cannot appreciate. If one says that the loftier the work, the fewer those who understand it, then, following this logic to its conclusion, a thing that nobody understands must be the greatest masterpiece in the world. Yet readers, too, should possess a certain level of attainment. First, they must be literate; second, they must have a general, basic knowledge; and their thought and feeling must also have reached a roughly adequate standard. Otherwise, they can have no connection with literature and art. If literature and art try to stoop down, it becomes very easy to slide into pandering to the masses, flattering the masses. Pandering and flattery do the masses no good. — As to what constitutes "doing good," that lies outside the scope of this question and need not be discussed here. Therefore, in the present society of unequal education, there should still be literature and art of varying degrees of difficulty, to meet the needs of readers at various levels. Nevertheless, there should be more writers who think on behalf of the masses, striving to produce works that are plain and easy to understand, works that everyone can comprehend and enjoy reading, so as to push out the musty old rubbish. But I am afraid that the level of such writing can only go as far as that of popular ballad-books. Because the present is a time of preparation for an era in which the masses will be able to appreciate literature and art, I think this is the most one can do. If one demands total popularization right this instant, it is nothing but empty talk. The great majority of people are illiterate; even the current vernacular writing is not prose that everyone can understand. Moreover, speech is not unified: if one uses dialect, many words cannot be written down, and even if substitute characters are used, the writing will only be understood by the people of one locality — the readership is actually narrowed rather than broadened. In short, producing a certain amount of literature and art at a level of popularization is indeed an urgent task of the present day. But if one envisions large-scale implementation, then the power of politics must come to its aid — one cannot walk on a single leg. Many a fine-sounding pronouncement is no more than a writer's way of consoling himself.
=== 第37节 ===	== Section 37 ==
這一篇劇本，是從英國L.A. Magnus和K.Walter所譯的《Ｔhree Plays of A.V. Lunacharski》中譯出的。原書前面，有譯者們合撰的導言，與本書所載尾瀨敬止的小傳，互有詳略之處，著眼之點，也頗不同。現在摘錄一部分在這裏，以供讀者的參考—— 　　　「Anatoli Vasilievich Lunacharski」以一八七六年生於Poitava省，他的父親是一個地主，Lunacharski族本是半貴族的大地主系統，曾經出過很多的智識者。他在Kiew受中學教育，然後到Zurich大學去。在那裏和許多俄國僑民以及Avenarius和Axelrod相遇，決定了未來的狀態。從這時候起，他的光陰多費於瑞士，法蘭西，意大利，有時則在俄羅斯。 　　他原先便是一個布爾塞維克，那就是說，他是屬於俄羅斯社會民主黨的馬克斯派的。這派在第二次及第三次會議佔了多數，布爾塞維克這字遂變為政治上的名詞，與原來的簡單字義不同了。他是第一種馬克斯派報章Krylia（翼）的撰述人；是一個屬於特別一團的布爾塞維克，這團在本世紀初，建設了馬克斯派的雜誌Vperëd(前進)，並且為此奔走，他同事中有Pokrovski，Bogdánov及Gorki等，設講演及學校課程，一般地說，是從事於革命的宣傳工作的。他是莫斯科社會民主黨結社的社員，被流放到Vologda，又由此逃往意大利。在瑞士，他是Iskra（火花）的一向的編輯，直到一九○六年被門維克所封禁。一九一七年革命後，他終於回了俄羅斯。 　　這一點事實即以表明Lunacharski的靈感的創生，他極通曉法蘭西和意大利；他愛博學的中世紀底本鄉；許多他的夢想便安放在中世紀上。同時他的觀點是絕對屬於革命底俄國的。在思想中的極端現代主義也一樣顯著地不同，連繫著半中世紀的城市，構成了「現代」莫斯科的影子。中世紀主義與烏托邦在十九世紀後的媒介物上相遇—— 極像在《無何有鄉的消息》裏——中世紀的郡自治戰爭便在蘇維埃俄羅斯名詞裏出現了。 　　社會改進的濃厚的信仰，使Lunacharski的作品著色，又在或一程度上，使他和他的偉大的革命底同時代人不同。Ｂlok，是無匹的，可愛的抒情詩人，對於一個佳人，就是俄羅斯或新信條，懷著Sidney式的熱誠，有一切美，然而纖弱，恰如Shelley和他的偉大；Esènin，對於不大分明的理想，更粗魯而熱情地叫喊，這理想，在俄國的人們，是能夠看見，並且覺得其存在和有生活的力量的；Demian Bedny是通俗的諷刺家；或者別一派，大家知道的L.E.F（藝術的左翼戰線），這法蘭西的Esprit Noveau（新精神），在作新穎的大膽的詩，這詩學的未來派和立體派；凡這些，由或一意義說，是較純粹的詩人，不甚切於實際的。Lunacharski常常夢想建設，將人類建設得更好，雖然往往還是「復故」（relapsing）。所以從或一意義說，他的藝術是平凡的，不及同時代人的高翔之超邁，因為他要建設，並不浮進經驗主義者裏面去；至於Ｂlok和Bely，是經驗主義者一流，高超，而無所信仰的。 　　Lunacharski的文學底發展大約可從一九○○年算起。他最先的印本是哲學底講談。他是著作極多的作家。他的三十六種書，可成十五巨冊。早先的一本為《研求》，是從馬克斯主義者的觀點出發的關於哲學的隨筆集。講到藝術和詩，包括Macterlinch和Korolenko的評贊，在這些著作裏，已經預示出他那極成熟的詩學來。《實證美學的基礎》《革命底側影》和《文學底側影》都可歸於這一類。在這一群的短文中，包含對於智識階級的攻擊；爭論，偶然也有別樣的文字，如《資本主義下的文化》《假面中的理想》《科學、藝術及宗教》《宗教》《宗教史導言》等。他往往對於宗教感到興趣，置身於俄國現在的反宗教運動中。……Lunacharski又是音樂和戲劇的大威權，在他的戲劇裏，尤其是在詩劇，人感到裏面鳴著未曾寫出的傷痕。……十二歲時候，他就寫了《誘惑》，是一種未曾成熟的作品，講一青年修道士有更大的理想，非教堂所能滿足，魔鬼誘以情慾（Lust），但那修道士和情慾去結婚時，則講說社會主義。第二種劇本為《王的理髮師》，是一篇淫猥的專制主義的挫敗的故事，在監獄裏寫下來的。其次為《浮士德與城》，是俄國革命程序的預想，終在一九一六年改定，初稿則成於一九○八年。後作喜劇，總名《三個旅行者和它》。《麥奇》是一九一八年作（它的精華存在一九○五年所寫的論文《實證主義與藝術》中），一九一九年就出了《賢人華西理》及《伊凡在天堂》。於是他試寫歷史劇《Oliver Cromwell》和《Thomas Camponella》；然後又回到喜劇去，一九二一年成《宰相和銅匠》及《被解放的堂吉訶德》。後一種是一九一六年開手的。《熊的婚儀》則出現於一九二二年。（開時摘譯。）就在這同一的英譯本上，有作者的小序，更詳細地說明著他之所以寫這本《浮士德與城》的緣故和時期——「無論那一個讀者倘他知道Goethe的偉大的『Faust』，就不會不知道我的《浮士德與城》，是被『Faust』的第二部的場面所啟發出來的。在那裏Goethe的英雄尋到了一座『自由的城』。這天才的產兒和它的創造者之間的相互關係，那問題的解決，在戲劇的形式上，一方面，是一個天才和他那種開明專制的傾向，別一方面，則是德莫克拉西的——這觀念影響了我而引起我的工作。在一九○六年，我結構了這題材。一九○八年，在Abruzzi Introdacque地方的宜人的鄉村中，費一個月光陰，我將劇本寫完了。我擱置了很長久。至一九一六年，在特別幽美的環境中，Geneva湖的St．Leger這鄉村裏，我又作一次最後的修改；那重要的修改即在竭力的剪裁（Cut）。」（柔石摘譯） 　　這劇本，英譯者以為是「俄國革命程序的預想」，是的確的。但也是作者的世界革命的程序的預想。浮士德死後，戲劇也收場了。然而在《實證美學的基礎》裏，我們可以發見作者所預期於此後的一部分的情形——「……新的階級或種族，大抵是發達於對於以前的支配者的反抗之中的。而且憎惡他們的文化，是成了習慣。所以文化發達的事實底的步調，大概斷斷續續。在種種處所，在種種時代，人類開手建設起來。而一達到可能的程度，便傾於衰頹。這並非因為遇到了客觀的不可能，乃是主觀底的可能性受了害。 　　「然而，最為後來的世代，卻和精神的發達，即豐富的聯想，評價原理的設定，歷史底意義及感情的生長一同，愈加學著客觀底地來享樂一切的藝術的。於是吸雅片者的囈語似的華麗而奇怪的印度人的伽藍，壓人地沉重地施了煩膩的色彩的埃及人的廟宇，希臘人的雅致，戈諦克的法悅，文藝復興期的暴風雨似的享樂性，在他，都成為能理解，有價值的東西。為什麼呢，因為是新的人類的這完人，於人類底的東西，什麼都是無所關心的。將或種聯想壓倒，將別的聯想加強，完人在自己的心理的深處，喚起印度人和埃及人的情緒來。能夠並無信仰，而感動於孩子們的禱告，並不渴血，而欣然移情於亞契萊斯的破壞底的憤怒，能夠沉潛於浮士德的無底的深的思想中，而以微笑凝眺著歡娛底的笑劇和滑稽的喜歌劇。」（魯迅譯《藝術論》，一六五至一六六頁） 　　因為新的階級及其文化，並非突然從天而降，大抵是發達於對於舊支配者及其文化的反抗中，亦即發達於和舊者的對立中，所以新文化仍然有所承傳，於舊文化也仍然有所擇取。這可說明盧那卡爾斯基當革命之初，仍要保存農民固有的美術；怕軍人的泥靴踏爛了皇宮的地毯；在這裏也使開闢新城而傾於專制的——但後來是悔悟了的——天才浮士德死於新人們的歌頌中的原因。這在英譯者們的眼裏，我想就被看成叫作「復故」的東西了。 　　所以他之主張擇存文化底遺產，是因為「我們繼承著人的過去，也愛人類的未來」的緣故；他之以為創業的雄主，勝於世紀末的頹唐人，是因為古人所創的事業中，即含有後來的新興階級皆可以擇取的遺產，而頹唐人則自置於人間之上，自放於人間之外，於當時及後世都無益處的緣故。但自然也有破壞，這是為了未來的新的建設。新的建設的理想，是一切言動的南針，倘沒有這而言破壞，便如未來派，不過是破壞的同路人，而言保存，則全然是舊社會的維持者。 　　Lunacharski的文字，在中國，翻譯要算比較地多的了。《藝術論》（並包括《實證美學的基礎》，大江書店版）之外，有《藝術之社會的基礎》（雪峰譯，水沫書店版），有《文藝與批評》（魯迅譯，同店版），有《霍善斯坦因論》（譯者同上，光華書局版）等，其中所說，可作含在這《浮士德與城》裏的思想的印證之處，是隨時可以得到的。 　　編者，一九三○年六月，上海。	This play was translated from the English version by L. A. Magnus and K. Walter, *Three Plays of A. V. Lunacharski*. The original book is preceded by a joint introduction by the translators, which, compared with the brief biography by Owase Keishi included here, is detailed in some respects and summary in others, with quite different points of emphasis. A portion is now excerpted here for the reader's reference — "Anatoli Vasilievich Lunacharski was born in 1876 in the province of Poltava. His father was a landowner; the Lunacharski family was a semi-aristocratic landed gentry that had produced many intellectuals. He received his secondary education in Kiev, then went to the University of Zurich. There he encountered many Russian émigrés as well as Avenarius and Axelrod, and the course of his future was determined. From this time on, he spent much of his life in Switzerland, France, and Italy, and sometimes in Russia. He was from the beginning a Bolshevik — that is to say, he belonged to the Marxist faction of the Russian Social Democratic Party. This faction won the majority at the second and third congresses, and the word 'Bolshevik' thus became a political term, different from its simple original meaning. He was a contributor to Krylia (The Wing), the first Marxist journal; he was a Bolshevik belonging to a particular group that, at the beginning of this century, established the Marxist journal Vperëd (Forward) and worked tirelessly for it. His associates included Pokrovsky, Bogdanov, and Gorky, among others; they organized lectures and school courses, and, generally speaking, engaged in revolutionary propaganda. He was a member of the Moscow Social Democratic association, was exiled to Vologda, and from there fled to Italy. In Switzerland, he was a regular editor of Iskra (The Spark) until it was shut down by the Mensheviks in 1906. After the Revolution of 1917, he finally returned to Russia. This fact alone reveals the genesis of Lunacharski's inspiration. He was thoroughly conversant with France and Italy; he loved the erudite medieval homeland; many of his dreams were set in the Middle Ages. At the same time, his viewpoint was absolutely that of revolutionary Russia. The extreme modernism of his thought was equally distinctly different, linking the semi-medieval city to form the shadow of 'modern' Moscow. Medievalism and utopia meet upon the medium of the late nineteenth century — much as in *News from Nowhere* — and the medieval communal self-government wars appear in the terminology of Soviet Russia. A profound faith in social improvement colors Lunacharski's works and, to a certain degree, distinguishes him from his great revolutionary contemporaries. Blok — the incomparable, beloved lyric poet who cherished a Sidneyan ardor for a fair lady, that is Russia or the new creed, possessing all beauty yet fragile, much like Shelley and his greatness; Esenin, who cried out more roughly and passionately for a not-quite-distinct ideal — an ideal that the people of Russia were able to see, to feel its existence and its vital force; Demian Bedny, the popular satirist; or, from another camp, the well-known L.E.F. (Left Front of the Arts), this Esprit Nouveau of France, producing bold new poetry, this poetic Futurism and Cubism — all of these, in a sense, were purer poets, less concerned with the practical. Lunacharski constantly dreamed of building, of building humanity into something better, though often still 'relapsing.' So in a sense, his art is more ordinary, lacking the soaring sublimity of his contemporaries, because he wanted to build and did not float off into empiricism; whereas Blok and Bely were empiricists of a sort — lofty, yet without belief. Lunacharski's literary development may be dated from about 1900. His earliest printed works were philosophical lectures. He was an extraordinarily prolific writer; his thirty-six books could fill fifteen large volumes. An early work was *Studies*, a collection of philosophical essays from a Marxist viewpoint. Treating art and poetry, including appreciations of Maeterlinck and Korolenko, these writings already foreshadow his highly mature poetics. *The Foundations of Positive Aesthetics*, *Revolutionary Silhouettes*, and *Literary Silhouettes* all belong to this category. Among the shorter pieces in this group are attacks on the intelligentsia, polemics, and occasionally other kinds of writing, such as *Culture Under Capitalism*, *Ideals in Masks*, *Science, Art, and Religion*, *Religion*, *Introduction to the History of Religion*, and so on. He often took an interest in religion, placing himself within Russia's current anti-religious movement. ... Lunacharski was also a great authority on music and theater; in his plays, especially the verse dramas, one senses unwritten wounds resounding within. ... At the age of twelve, he wrote *Temptation*, an immature work about a young monk who has greater ideals than the church can satisfy. The devil tempts him with lust, but when the monk goes to marry lust, he preaches socialism. His second play was *The King's Barber*, an obscene story of the defeat of despotism, written in prison. Next came *Faust and the City*, an anticipation of the course of the Russian Revolution, finally revised in 1916, with the first draft completed in 1908. He then wrote comedies under the collective title *Three Travelers and It*. *The Magi* was written in 1918 (its essence resides in the 1905 essay *Positivism and Art*); in 1919 came *The Wise Man Vasily* and *Ivan in Paradise*. Then he tried his hand at historical drama: *Oliver Cromwell* and *Thomas Campanella*; afterward he returned to comedy, completing *The Chancellor and the Locksmith* and *Don Quixote Liberated* in 1921. The latter was begun in 1916. *The Bear's Wedding* appeared in 1922." (Excerpted and translated at the time.) In this same English edition there is a preface by the author, which explains in greater detail the reasons and circumstances of his writing *Faust and the City* — "No reader who knows Goethe's great 'Faust' will fail to realize that my *Faust and the City* was inspired by scenes in the Second Part of 'Faust.' There, Goethe's hero discovers a 'free city.' The mutual relationship between this child of genius and its creator — the resolution of that problem in dramatic form: on the one hand, a genius and his tendency toward enlightened despotism; on the other, democracy — this conception influenced me and prompted my work. In 1906, I structured the material. In 1908, in the pleasant countryside of Introdacqua in the Abruzzi, I spent a month writing the play. I set it aside for a very long time. In 1916, in the particularly beautiful surroundings of the village of St. Leger on Lake Geneva, I made one final revision; the important revision consisted in vigorous cutting." (Excerpted and translated by Rou Shi.) This play, as the English translators believe, is "an anticipation of the course of the Russian Revolution" — and indeed it is. But it is also the author's anticipation of the course of world revolution. After Faust's death, the play comes to a close. Yet in *The Foundations of Positive Aesthetics*, we can discover part of what the author envisioned for the aftermath — "... New classes or races generally develop in opposition to their former rulers. And they have grown accustomed to hating their culture. Therefore the actual pace of cultural development is largely intermittent. In various places, at various times, humanity begins to build. And having reached a possible level, it tends toward decline. This is not because it encounters objective impossibility, but because subjective possibility is damaged. "However, later generations, together with the development of the spirit — that is, rich association, the establishment of evaluative principles, the growth of historical meaning and feeling — increasingly learn to enjoy all art objectively. And so the opium-eater's delirious, gorgeous and strange Indian temples, the oppressively heavy Egyptian temples laden with cloying color, the Greek elegance, the Gothic rapture, the tempestuous hedonism of the Renaissance — all become comprehensible, valuable things for this new human being. Why? Because for this complete man of the new humanity, nothing that is human is a matter of indifference. Suppressing one set of associations and intensifying another, the complete man summons forth in the depths of his own psyche the feelings of Indians and Egyptians. He can be moved by children's prayers without himself believing; without being bloodthirsty, he can cheerfully project himself into the destructive fury of Achilles; he can immerse himself in the bottomless depth of Faust's thoughts, and with a smile contemplate the joyous farce and the comic operetta." (Translated by Lu Xun: *On Art*, pp. 165–166.) Because the new class and its culture do not suddenly descend from heaven but generally develop in opposition to the old rulers and their culture — that is, they develop in antagonism to the old — the new culture still inherits something, and from the old culture it still selects. This helps explain why Lunacharsky, at the outset of revolution, still wanted to preserve the peasants' native art; why he feared soldiers' muddy boots trampling the carpets of the palace; and why, here too, the genius Faust — who founded a new city but inclined toward despotism, though he later repented — dies amid the hymns of the new people. This, in the eyes of the English translators, is, I believe, what they called "relapsing." Therefore, his advocacy of preserving the cultural heritage stems from the conviction that "we inherit humanity's past and also love humanity's future." His view that the heroic founders of enterprises surpass the decadent men of the fin de siècle arises from the fact that in the enterprises created by the ancients there is contained a legacy that later emerging classes may all select from, whereas the decadent set themselves above and beyond humanity, of no benefit to their own time or posterity. But naturally there is also destruction — destruction for the sake of new construction to come. The ideal of new construction is the compass for all words and deeds. Without this ideal, to speak of destruction is, like Futurism, merely to be a fellow-traveler of destruction; and to speak of preservation is simply to be a maintainer of the old society. Lunacharski's writings have been translated into Chinese in comparatively large numbers. Besides *On Art* (which includes *The Foundations of Positive Aesthetics*; Da Jiang Bookstore edition), there is *The Social Foundations of Art* (translated by Xue Feng; Shuimo Bookstore edition), *Literature and Criticism* (translated by Lu Xun; same publisher), *On Hoenstein* (same translator; Guanghua Press), and others. In these works, passages that serve to corroborate the ideas contained in *Faust and the City* may be found at any time. The editor, June 1930, Shanghai.
=== 第38节 ===	== Section 38 ==
本書的作者是新近有名的作家，一九二七年珂剛（P．S．Kogan）教授所作的《偉大的十年的文學》中，還未見他的姓名，我們也得不到他的自傳。卷首的事略，是從德國輯譯的《新俄新小說家三十人集》（Dreising neue Erxaehler des newen Russland）的附錄裡翻譯出來的。這《靜靜的頓河》的前三部，德國就在去年由Olga Halpern譯成出版，當時書報上曾有比小傳較為詳細的紹介的文辭： 　　「唆羅訶夫是那群直接出自民間，而保有他們的本源的俄國的詩人之一。約兩年前，這年青的哥薩克的名字，才始出現於俄國的文藝界，現在已被認為新俄最有天才的作家們中的一個了。他未到十四歲，便已實際上參加了俄國革命的鬥爭，受過好幾回傷，終被反革命的軍隊逐出了他的鄉里。 　　「他的小說《靜靜的頓河》開手於一九一三年，他用炎炎的南方的色彩，給我們描寫哥薩克人（那些英雄的，叛逆的奴隸們Pugatchov，Stenka Rasin，Bulavin等的苗裔，這些人們的行為在歷史上日見其偉大）的生活。但他所描寫，和那部分底地支配著西歐人對於頓河哥薩克人的想像的不真實的羅曼主義，是並無共通之處的。 　　「戰前的家長制度的哥薩克人的生活，非常出色地描寫在這小說中。敘述的中樞是年青的哥薩克人格黎高裡和一個鄰人的妻阿珂新亞，這兩人被有力的熱情所熔接，共嘗著幸福與滅亡。而環繞了他們倆，則俄國的鄉村在呼吸，在工作，在歌唱，在談天，在休息。 　　「有一天，在這和平的鄉村裡驀地起了一聲驚呼：戰爭！最有力的男人們都出去了。這哥薩克人的村落也流了血。但在戰爭的持續間卻生長了沉鬱的憎恨，這就是逼近目前的革命豫兆……」 　　出書不久，華斯珂普（F．C．Weiskepf）也就給以正當的批評： 　　「唆羅訶夫的《靜靜的頓河》，由我看來好像是一種豫約——那青年的俄國文學以法兌耶夫的《潰滅》，班弗羅夫的《貧農組合》，以及巴貝勒的和伊凡諾夫的小說與傳奇等對於那傾耳諦聽著的西方所定下的豫約的完成；這就是說，一種充滿著原始力的新文學生長起來了，這種文學，它的浩大就如俄國的大原野，它的清新與不羈則如蘇聯的新青年。凡在青年的俄國作家們的作品中不過是一種豫示與胚胎的（新的觀點，從一個完全反常的，新的方面來觀察問題，那新的描寫），在唆羅訶夫這部小說裡都得到十分的發展了。這部小說為了它那構想的偉大，生活的多樣，描寫的動人，使我們記起托爾斯泰的《戰爭與和平》來。我們緊張地盼望著續卷的出現。」 　　德譯的續卷，是今年秋天才出現的，但大約總還須再續，因為原作就至今沒有寫完。這一譯本，即出於Olga Halpern德譯本第一卷的上半，所以「在戰爭的持續間卻生長了沉鬱的憎恨」的事，在這裡還不能看見。然而風物既殊，人情復異，寫法又明朗簡潔，絕無舊文人描頭畫角，宛轉抑揚的惡習，華斯珂普所說的「充滿著原始力的新文學」的大概，已灼然可以窺見。將來倘有全部譯本，則其啟發這裡的新作家之處，一定更為不少。但能否實現，卻要看這古國的讀書界的魄力而定了。 　　一九三○年九月十六日。	The author of this book is a writer who has recently risen to fame. In Professor P. S. Kogan's *Literature of the Great Decade*, published in 1927, his name had not yet appeared, and we have been unable to obtain his autobiography. The biographical sketch at the beginning of this volume is translated from the appendix of the German anthology *Thirty New Storytellers of the New Russia* (*Dreißig neue Erzähler des neuen Russland*). The first three parts of *And Quiet Flows the Don* were translated into German by Olga Halpern and published just last year; at the time, the press carried introductions rather more detailed than the brief biographical note: "Sholokhov is one of those Russian poets who spring directly from the people and retain their origins. Only about two years ago did the name of this young Cossack first appear in the Russian literary world, yet he is already regarded as one of the most talented writers of the new Russia. Before he had even reached fourteen, he was already actively engaged in the struggle of the Russian Revolution; he was wounded several times and was finally driven from his homeland by counter-revolutionary forces. "His novel *And Quiet Flows the Don* opens in 1913, and with the blazing colours of the south he paints for us the life of the Cossacks — those descendants of the heroic, rebellious slaves Pugachev, Stenka Razin, Bulavin and the like, whose deeds grow ever more magnificent in history. But what he describes has nothing in common with the spurious romanticism that has partly governed the Western European imagination of the Don Cossacks. "The patriarchal life of the Cossacks before the war is depicted with remarkable skill in this novel. At the centre of the narrative stand the young Cossack Grigory and Aksinya, a neighbour's wife, two people welded together by a powerful passion, sharing both happiness and ruin. And around them, the Russian countryside breathes, works, sings, chats, and rests. "One day, a sudden cry erupts in this peaceful village: War! The strongest men all depart. Blood flows even in this Cossack settlement. But during the course of the war there grows a sombre hatred — the harbinger of the approaching revolution..." Not long after the book's publication, F. C. Weiskopf gave it a fair assessment: "Sholokhov's *And Quiet Flows the Don* strikes me as the fulfilment of a promise — the promise that young Russian literature, through Fadeyev's *The Rout*, Panfyorov's *The Poor Peasants' Commune*, and the novels and tales of Babel and Ivanov, had made to the attentively listening West. That is to say, a new literature brimming with primal force has grown up, a literature as vast as the Russian steppe, as fresh and untrammelled as the Soviet Union's new youth. All that in the works of young Russian writers was merely a presentiment and an embryo — the new perspective, the observation of problems from an utterly unconventional, new angle, the new mode of depiction — has reached full maturity in this novel by Sholokhov. In the grandeur of its conception, the diversity of its life, and the power of its descriptions, this novel calls to mind Tolstoy's *War and Peace*. We eagerly await the sequel." The German translation of the sequel appeared only this autumn, but it will presumably need yet another continuation, since the original work remains unfinished to this day. This translation corresponds to the first half of the first volume of Olga Halpern's German edition, so the matter of "sombre hatred growing during the course of the war" is not yet to be found here. Yet the landscape is singular, the human passions distinctive, and the writing lucid and spare, entirely free of the old literati's bad habit of embellishing every detail with sinuous flourishes. What Weiskopf called "a new literature brimming with primal force" can already be clearly discerned in broad outline. Should a complete translation appear in future, it would certainly provide still greater inspiration to new writers here. Whether this can be realised, however, depends on the daring of the reading public of this ancient land. September 16, 1930.
=== 第39节 ===	== Section 39 ==
小說《士敏土》為革拉特珂夫所作的名篇，也是新俄文學的永久的碑碣。關於那內容，戈庚教授在《偉大的十年的文學》裡曾有簡要的說明。他以為在這書中，有兩種社會底要素在相剋，就是建設的要素和退嬰，散漫，過去的頹唐的力。但戰鬥卻並不在軍事的戰線上，而在經濟底戰線上。這時的大題目，已蛻化為人類的意識對於與經濟復興相衝突之力來鬥爭的心理底的題目了。作者即在說出怎樣地用了巨靈的努力，這才能使被破壞了的工廠動彈，沉默了的機械運轉的顛末來。然而和這歷史一同，還展開著別樣的歷史——人類心理的一切秩序的蛻變的歷史。機械出自幽暗和停頓中，用火焰輝煌了工廠的昏暗的窗玻璃。於是人類的智慧和感情，也和這一同輝煌起來了。 　　這十幅木刻，即表現著工業的從寂滅中而復興。由散漫而有組織，因組織而得恢復，自恢復而至盛大。也可以略見人類心理的順遂的變形，但作者似乎不很顧及兩種社會底要素之在相剋的鬥爭——意識的糾葛的形象。我想，這恐怕是因為寫實底地顯示心境，繪畫本難於文章，而刻者生長德國，所歷的環境也和作者不同的緣故罷。 　　關於梅斐爾德的事情，我知道得極少。僅聽說他在德國是一個最革命底的畫家，今年才二十七歲，而消磨在牢獄裡的光陰倒有八年。他最愛刻印含有革命底內容的版畫的連作，我所見過的有《漢堡》《撫育的門徒》和《你的姊妹》，但都還隱約可以看見悲憫的心情，惟這《士敏土》之圖，則因為背景不同，卻很示人以粗豪和組織的力量。 　　小說《士敏土》已有董紹明蔡詠裳兩君合譯本，所用的是廣東的譯音；上海通稱水門汀，在先前，也曾謂之三合土。一九三○年九月二十七日。	The novel *Cement* is a celebrated work by Gladkov and an enduring monument of new Russian literature. Regarding its content, Professor Kogan provided a concise account in his *Literature of the Great Decade*. He considered the novel to depict two social forces in conflict: the force of construction on the one hand, and the forces of regression, disorganisation, and the decadence of the past on the other. Yet the battle is fought not on the military front, but on the economic one. The great theme of the era has metamorphosed into a psychological question: the struggle of human consciousness against the forces that clash with economic recovery. The author tells of how, through titanic effort, damaged factories were made to function again and silent machines set back in motion. But alongside this story unfolds yet another — the story of the transformation of every order of human psychology. The machines emerge from darkness and stagnation, their flames illuminating the dim windowpanes of the factory. And with them, human intellect and emotion blaze into brilliance as well. These ten woodcuts depict the revival of industry from extinction. From disorganisation to organisation, through organisation to restoration, and from restoration to greatness. One can also glimpse the concomitant transformation of the human psyche, though the artist seems less concerned with the struggle between the two contending social forces — the visible form of the entanglement of consciousness. I suspect this is because the realistic depiction of states of mind is inherently more difficult in visual art than in writing, and because the engraver, having grown up in Germany, experienced circumstances quite different from those of the author. I know very little about Meyerfeld. I have only heard that he is one of Germany's most revolutionary artists, that he is just twenty-seven years old, and that eight of those years were spent in prison. He is particularly fond of engraving series of prints with revolutionary content; I have seen *Hamburg*, *The Disciples of Nurture*, and *Your Sister*. In all of these, a compassionate sensibility is still faintly discernible, but in these illustrations for *Cement*, owing to the different background, they convey instead an impression of rugged vigour and organisational force. The novel *Cement* has already been translated jointly by Dong Shaoming and Cai Yongshang, using the Cantonese transliteration; in Shanghai it is commonly called *shuimenting*; in earlier times it was also known as *sanhetǔ*. September 27, 1930.
=== 第40节 ===	== Section 40 ==
到這一部譯本能和讀者相見為止，是經歷了一段小小的艱難的歷史的。 　　去年上半年，是左翼文學尚未很遭迫壓的時候，許多書店為了在表面上顯示自己的前進起見，大概都願意印幾本這一類的書；即使未必實在收稿罷，但也極力要發一個將要出版的書名的廣告。這一種風氣，竟也打動了一向專出碑版書畫的神州國光社，肯出一種收羅新俄文藝作品的叢書了，那時我們就選出了十種世界上早有定評的劇本和小說，約好譯者，名之為《現代文藝叢書》。 　　那十種書，是—— 　　１．《浮士德與城》，A．盧那卡爾斯基作，柔石譯。 　　２．《被解放的堂吉訶德》，同人作，魯迅譯。 　　３．《十月》，A．雅各武萊夫作，魯迅譯。 　　４．《精光的年頭》，B．畢力涅克作，蓬子譯。 　　５．《鐵甲列車》，V．伊凡諾夫作，傳桁譯。 　　６．《叛亂》，P．孚爾瑪諾夫作，成文英譯。 　　７．《火馬》，F．革拉特珂夫作，侍桁譯。 　　８．《鐵流》，A．綏拉菲摩維支作，曹靖華譯。 　　９．《毀滅》，A．法捷耶夫作，魯迅譯。 　　１０．《靜靜的頓河》，M．唆羅訶夫作，侯樸譯。裏培進斯基的《一周間》和革拉特珂夫的《士敏土》，也是具有紀念碑性的作品，但因為在先已有譯本出版，這裏就不編進去了。 　　這時候實在是很熱鬧。叢書的目錄發表了不多久，就已經有別種譯本出現在市場上，如楊騷先生譯的《十月》和《鐵流》，高明先生譯的《克服》其實就是《叛亂》。此外還聽說水沫書店也準備在戴望舒先生的指導之下，來出一種相似的叢書。但我們的譯述卻進行得很慢，早早繳了卷的只有一個柔石，接著就印了出來；其餘的是直到去年初冬為止，這才陸續交去了《十月》《鐵甲列車》和《靜靜的頓河》的一部份。 　　然而對於左翼作家的壓迫，是一天一天的吃緊起來，終於緊到使書店都駭怕了。神州國光社也來聲明，願意將舊約作廢，已經交去的當然收下，但尚未開手或譯得不多的其餘六種，卻千萬勿再進行了。那麼，怎麼辦呢？去問譯者，都說，可以的。這並不是中國書店的膽子特別小，實在是中國官府的壓迫特別凶，所以，是可以的。於是就廢了約。 　　但已經交去的三種，至今早的一年多，遲的也快要一年了，都還沒有出版。其實呢，這三種是都沒有什麼可怕的。然而停止翻譯的事，我們卻獨獨沒有通知靖華。因為我們曉得《鐵流》雖然已有楊騷先生的譯本，但因此反有另出一種譯本的必要。別的不必說，即其將貴胄子弟出身的士官幼年生譯作「小學生」，就可以引讀者陷於極大的錯誤。小學生都成群的來殺貧農，這世界不真是完全發了瘋麼？ 　　譯者的郵寄譯稿，是頗為費力的。中俄間郵件的不能遞到，是常有的事，所以他翻譯時所用的是複寫紙，以備即使失去了一份，也還有底稿存在。後來補寄作者自傳，論文，註解的時候，又都先後寄出相同的兩份，以備其中或有一信的遺失。但是，這些一切，卻都收到了，雖有因檢查而被割破的，卻並沒有失少。 　　為了要譯印這一部書，我們信札往來至少也有二十次。先前的來信都弄掉了，現在只鈔最近幾封裏的幾段在下面。對於讀者，這也許有一些用處的。 　　五月三十日發的信，其中有云：「《鐵流》已於五一節前一日譯完，掛號寄出。完後自看一遍，覺得譯文很拙笨，而且怕有錯字，脫字，望看的時候隨筆代為改正一下。 　　「關於插畫，兩年來找遍了，沒有得到。現寫了一封給畢斯克列夫的信，向作者自己徵求，但托人在莫斯科打聽他的住址，卻沒有探得。今天我到此地的美術專門學校去查，關於蘇聯的美術家的住址，美專差不多都有，但去查了一遍，就是沒有畢氏的。……此外還有《鐵流》的原本註解，是關於本書的史實，很可助讀者的瞭解，擬日內譯成寄上。另有作者的一篇，《我怎麼寫鐵流的》也想譯出作為附錄。又，新出的原本內有地圖一張，照片四張，如能用時，可印入譯本內。……」 　　畢斯克列夫（N．Piskarev）是有名的木刻家，刻有《鐵流》的圖若干幅，聞名已久了，尋求他的作品，是想插在譯本裏面的，而可惜得不到。這回只得仍照原本那樣，用了四張照片和一張地圖。 　　七月二十八日信有云：「十六日寄上一信，內附『《鐵流》正誤』數頁，怕萬一收不到，那時就重鈔了一份，現在再為寄上，希在譯稿上即時改正一下，至感。因《鐵流》是據去年所出的第五版和廉價叢書的小版翻譯的，那兩本並無差異。最近所出的第六版上，作者在自序裏卻道此次是經作者親自修正，將所有版本的錯誤改過了。所以我就照著新版又仔細校閱了一遍，將一切錯誤改正，開出奉寄。……」八月十六日發的信裏，有云：「前連次寄上之正誤，原注，作者自傳，都是寄雙份的，不知可全收到否？現在掛號寄上作者的論文《我怎麼寫鐵流的？》一篇並第五，六版上的自序兩小節；但後者都不關重要，只在第六版序中可以知道這是經作者仔細訂正了的。論文系一九二八年在《在文學的前哨》（即先前的《納巴斯圖》）上發表，現在收入去年（一九三○）所出的二版《論綏拉菲摩維支集》中，這集是尼其廷的禮拜六出版部印行的《現代作家批評叢書》的第八種，論文即其中的第二篇，第一篇則為前日寄上的《作者自傳》。這篇論文，和第六版《鐵流》原本上之二四三頁 ——二四八頁的《作者的話》（編者涅拉陀夫記的），內容大同小異，各有長短，所以就不譯了。此外尚有綏氏全集的編者所作對於《鐵流》的一篇序文，在原本卷前，名：《十月的藝術家》，原也想譯它的，奈篇幅較長，又因九月一日就開學，要編文法的課程大綱，要開會等許多事情紛紛臨頭了，再沒有翻譯的工夫，《鐵流》又要即時出版，所以只得放下，待將來再譯，以備第二版時加入罷。 　　「我們本月底即回城去。到蘇逸達後，不知不覺已經整兩月了，夏天並未覺到，秋天，中國的冬天似的秋天卻來了。中國夏天是到鄉間或海邊避暑，此地是來曬太陽。 　　「畢氏的住址轉托了許多人都沒有探聽到，莫城有一個『人名地址問事處』，但必須說出他的年齡履歷才能找，這怎麼說得出呢？我想來日有機會我能到莫城時自去探訪一番，如能找到，再版時加入也好。此外原又想選譯兩篇論《鐵流》的文章如D．Furmanov等的，但這些也只得留待有工夫時再說了。……」 　　沒有木刻的插圖還不要緊，而缺乏一篇好好的序文，卻實在覺得有些缺憾。幸而，史鐵兒竟特地為了這譯本而將涅拉陀夫的那篇翻譯出來了，將近二萬言，確是一篇極重要的文字。讀者倘將這和附在卷末的《我怎麼寫鐵流的》都仔細的研讀幾回，則不但對於本書的理解，就是對於創作，批評理論的理解，也都有很大的幫助的。 　　還有一封九月一日寫的信：「前幾天迭連寄上之作者傳，原注，論文，《鐵流》原本以及前日寄出之綏氏全集卷一（內有數張插圖，或可採用：１．一九三○年之作者；２．右邊，作者之母及懷抱中之未來的作者，左邊作者之父；３．一八九七年在馬理烏裏之作者；４．列寧致作者信），這些不知均得如數收到否？ 　　「畢氏的插圖，無論如何找不到；最後，致函於綏拉菲摩維支，綏氏將他的地址開來，現已寫信給了畢氏，看他的回信如何再說。 　　「當給綏氏信時，順便問及《鐵流》中無注的幾個字，如『普迦奇』等。承作者好意，將書中難解的古班式的烏克蘭話依次用俄文註釋，打了字寄來，計十一張。這麼一來，就發見了譯文中的幾個錯處，除註解的外，翻譯時，這些問題，每一字要問過幾個精通烏克蘭話的人，才敢決定，然而究竟還有解錯的，這也是十月後的作品中特有而不可免的釘子。現依作者所註解，錯的改了一下，注的注了起來，快函寄奉，如來得及時，望費神改正一下，否則，也只好等第二版了。……」 　　當第一次訂正表寄到時，正在排印，所以能夠全數加以改正，但這一回卻已經校完了大半，沒法改動了，而添改的又幾乎都在上半部。現在就照錄在下面，算是一張《鐵流》的訂正及添注表罷： 　　一三頁二行「不曉得嗎！」上應加：「呸，發昏了嗎！」 　　一三頁二○行「種瓜的」應改：「看瓜的」。 　　一四頁一七行「你發昏了嗎？！」應改：「大概是發昏了吧？！」 　　三四頁六行「回子」本頁末應加註：「回子」是沙皇時代帶著大俄羅斯民族主義觀點的人們對於一般非正教的，尤其是對於回民及土耳其人的一種最輕視，最侮辱的稱呼。——作者給中譯本特注。 　　三六頁三行「你要長得好像一個男子呵。」應改：「我們將來要到地裏做活的呵。」 　　三八頁三行「一個頭髮很稀的」之下應加：「蓬亂的」。 　　四三頁二行「雜種羔子」應改：「發瘋了的私生子」。四四頁一六行「喝嗎」應改：「去糟蹋嗎」。 　　四六頁八行「偵緝營」本頁末應加註：偵緝營（譯者：俄文為普拉斯東營）：黑海沿岸之哥薩克平臥在草地裏，蘆葦裏，密林裏埋伏著，以等待敵人，戒備敵人。——作者特注。 　　四九頁一四行「平底的海面」本頁末應加註：此處指阿左夫（Azoph）海，此海有些地方水甚淺。漁人們都給它叫洗衣盆。——作者特注。 　　四九頁一七行「接連著就是另一個海」本頁末應加註：此處指黑海。——作者特注。 　　五○頁四行「野牛」本頁末應加註：現在極罕見的，差不多已經絕種了的頸被鞟毛的野牛。——作者特注。 　　五二頁七行「沙波洛塞奇」本頁末應加註：自由的沙波洛塞奇：是烏克蘭哥薩克的一種組織，發生於十六世紀，在德尼普江的「沙波羅」林島上。沙波羅人常南征克裏木及黑海附近一帶，由那裏攜帶許多財物回來。沙波羅人參加於烏克蘭哥薩克反對君主專制的俄羅斯的暴動。沙波羅農民的生活，在果戈裏（Gogol）的《達拉斯·布爾巴(Taras Bulba)裏寫的有。——作者特注。 　　五三頁六行「尖肚子奇加」本頁末應加註：哥薩克村內騎手們的罵玩的綽號。由土匪奇加之名而來。——作者特注。 　　五三頁一一行「加克陸克」本頁末應加註：即土豪。——作者特注。 　　五三頁一一行「普迦奇」本頁末應加註：鞭打者；貓頭鷹；田園中的乾草人（嚇雀子用的）。——作者特注。 　　五六頁三行「貪得無厭的東西！」應改：「無能耐的東西！」 　　五七頁一五行「下處」應改：「鼻子」。 　　七一頁五——六行「它平坦的橫亙著一直到海邊呢？」 　　應改：「它平坦的遠遠的橫亙著一直到海邊呢？」 　　七一頁八行「當摩西把猶太人由埃及的奴隸下救出的時候」本頁末應加註：據《舊約》，古猶太人在埃及，在埃及王手下當奴隸，在那裏建築極大的金字塔，摩西從那裏將他們帶了出來。——作者特注。 　　七一頁一三行「他一下子什麼都會做好的」應改：「什麼法子他一下子都會想出來的。」 　　七一頁一八行「海灣」本頁末應加註：指諾沃露西斯克海灣。——作者特注。 　　九四頁一二行「加芝利」本頁末應加註：胸前衣服上用骖子縫的小袋，作裝子彈用的。 ——作者特注。一四五頁一四行「小屋」應改：「小酒鋪」。 　　一七九頁二一行「妖精的成親」本頁末應加註：「妖精的成親」是烏克蘭的俗話，譬如雷雨之前——突然間烏黑起來，電閃飛舞，這叫作「妖女在行結婚禮」了，也指一般的陰晦和濕雨。——譯者。 　　以上，計二十五條。其中的三條，即「加克陸克」，「普迦奇」，「加芝利」是當校印之際，已由校者據日文譯本的注，加了解釋的，很有點不同，現在也已經不能追改了。但讀者自然應該信任作者的自注。 　　至於《綏拉菲摩維支全集》卷一里面的插圖，這裏卻都未採用。因為我們已經全用了那卷十（即第六版的《鐵流》這一本）裏的四幅，內中就有一幅作者像；卷頭又添了拉迪諾夫（Ｌ．Ｒadinov）所繪的肖像，中間又加上了原是大幅油畫，法稜支（R．Frenz）所作的《鐵流》。畢斯克列夫的木刻畫因為至今尚無消息，就從雜誌《版畫》（Graviora）第四集（一九二九）裏取了複製縮小的一幅，印在書面上了，所刻的是「外鄉人」在被殺害的景象。 　　別國的譯本，在校者所見的範圍內，有德，日的兩種。德譯本附於涅威羅夫的《糧食充足的城市，達什干德》（A．Neverow：Taschkent，die Brotreiche Stadt）後面，一九二九年柏林的新德意志出版所（Neur Deutscher Verlag）出版，無譯者名，刪節之處常常遇到，不能說是一本好書。日譯本卻完全的，即名《鐵之流》，一九三○年東京的叢文閣出版，為《蘇維埃作家叢書》的第一種；譯者藏原惟人，是大家所信任的翻譯家，而且難解之處，又得了蘇俄大使館的康士坦丁諾夫（Konstantinov）的幫助，所以是很為可靠的。但是，因為原文太難懂了，小錯就仍不能免，例如上文剛剛注過的「妖精的成親」，在那裏卻譯作「妖女的自由」，分明是誤解。 　　我們這一本，因為我們的能力太小的緣故，當然不能稱為「定本」，但完全實勝於德譯，而序跋，註解，地圖和插畫的周到，也是日譯本所不及的。只是，待到攢湊成功的時候，上海出版界的情形早已大異從前了：沒有一個書店敢於承印。在這樣的岩石似的重壓之下，我們就只得宛委曲折，但還是使她在讀者眼前開出了鮮艷而鐵一般的新花。 　　這自然不算什麼「艱難」，不過是一些瑣屑，然而現在偏說了些瑣屑者，其實是願意讀者知道：在現狀之下，很不容易出一本較好的書，這書雖然僅僅是一種翻譯小說，但卻是盡三人的微力而成，——譯的譯，補的補，校的校，而又沒有一個是存著借此來自己消閒，或乘機哄騙讀者的意思的。倘讀者不因為她沒有《潘彼得》或《安徒生童話》那麼「順」，便掩卷歎氣，去喝咖啡，終於肯將她讀完，甚而至於再讀，而且連那序言和附錄，那麼我們所得的報酬，就儘夠了。一九三一年十月十日，魯迅。	Before this translation could finally meet its readers, it passed through a small but difficult history. In the first half of last year, when leftist literature had not yet been severely suppressed, many bookshops, eager to display their progressiveness at least on the surface, were generally willing to print a few books of this kind; even if they hadn't actually accepted manuscripts, they were at the very least keen to advertise a forthcoming title. This trend even moved the Shenzhou Guoguang Press, which had hitherto specialised exclusively in rubbings and art reproductions, to agree to publish a series of works from new Russian literature. At that time we selected ten plays and novels that had long been critically acclaimed worldwide, arranged translators, and named the series *The Modern Literature Series*. Those ten books were: 1. *Faust and the City*, by A. Lunacharsky, translated by Rou Shi. 2. *Don Quixote Liberated*, by the same author, translated by Lu Xun. 3. *October*, by A. Yakovlev, translated by Lu Xun. 4. *The Naked Year*, by B. Pilnyak, translated by Pengzi. 5. *Armoured Train 14-69*, by V. Ivanov, translated by Fu Heng. 6. *Insurrection*, by D. Furmanov, translated by Cheng Wenying. 7. *The Fiery Steed*, by F. Gladkov, translated by Shi Heng. 8. *The Iron Flood*, by A. Serafimovich, translated by Cao Jinghua. 9. *The Rout*, by A. Fadeyev, translated by Lu Xun. 10. *And Quiet Flows the Don*, by M. Sholokhov, translated by Hou Pu. Libedinsky's *A Week* and Gladkov's *Cement* are also works of monumental significance, but since translations of them had already been published, they were not included here. It was an exciting time. Not long after the catalogue of the series was announced, rival translations were already appearing on the market, such as Mr. Yang Sao's translations of *October* and *The Iron Flood*, and Mr. Gao Ming's translation of *The Conquest* — which was in fact *Insurrection*. We also heard that the Shuimo Bookshop was preparing to publish a similar series under the direction of Mr. Dai Wangshu. But our own translation work progressed slowly; the only one to hand in his manuscript early was Rou Shi, whose book was promptly printed. The rest were submitted only by early winter of last year, when *October*, *Armoured Train*, and a portion of *And Quiet Flows the Don* were finally handed in one after another. Yet the suppression of leftist writers was tightening by the day, eventually growing so severe that even the bookshops were frightened. The Shenzhou Guoguang Press came forward to declare that it wished to annul the old contract; the manuscripts already submitted would of course be accepted, but the remaining six titles — those not yet begun or only partially translated — must on no account proceed further. What, then, was to be done? We asked the translators, and they all said: that's all right. This was not because Chinese bookshops were particularly faint-hearted; it was because the Chinese authorities' suppression was particularly ferocious. So: it was all right. And thus the contract was annulled. Yet the three manuscripts already submitted still have not been published, the earliest having been handed in over a year ago and the latest nearly a year. In truth, there is nothing fearsome about any of the three. However, there was one translator we did not notify of the cancellation: Jinghua. For we knew that although Mr. Yang Sao's translation of *The Iron Flood* already existed, this was precisely why another translation was necessary. Without mentioning anything else, the mere fact that he had rendered *yunker* — sons of the gentry trained as officer cadets — as "primary school pupils" could lead readers into the gravest misunderstanding. Primary school pupils coming in droves to slaughter poor peasants — had the world truly gone utterly mad? The translator's posting of manuscripts was no easy matter. Postal items between China and Russia frequently failed to arrive, so he used carbon paper when translating, to ensure that even if one copy was lost, a duplicate would still exist. When he later sent the author's autobiography, essays, and annotations, he dispatched two identical copies each time, in case one should be lost in transit. But as it happened, every single item arrived; though some had been slit open during inspection, none had gone missing. To translate and publish this book, we exchanged no fewer than twenty letters. The earlier ones have all been mislaid; I shall now transcribe a few passages from the most recent letters below. They may be of some use to the reader. From his letter posted on May 30, which contained the following: "I finished translating *The Iron Flood* the day before May Day and sent it by registered post. After completing it, I read through it once myself and felt the translation rather clumsy, and feared there might be wrong characters or missing characters. I hope you will correct these as you go through it. "As for illustrations, I have searched everywhere for the past two years without success. I wrote a letter to Piskarev requesting them from the artist himself, but when I asked someone in Moscow to find out his address, they could not discover it. Today I went to the local art academy to inquire; the academy has addresses for almost all Soviet artists, but when I checked, Piskarev's was simply not there. ... There are also the original annotations to *The Iron Flood*, concerning the historical events in the book, which would greatly aid the reader's understanding; I plan to translate them shortly and send them on. I also intend to translate a piece by the author, *How I Wrote The Iron Flood*, as an appendix. Additionally, the new edition of the original includes one map and four photographs; if they can be used, they could be included in the translation. ..." N. Piskarev is a celebrated woodcut artist who engraved a number of illustrations for *The Iron Flood*; his work had long been famous, and we had sought to include it in the translation. Regrettably it could not be obtained. This time we have had to follow the original edition in using four photographs and one map. His letter of July 28 contained the following: "On the 16th I sent a letter enclosing several pages of 'Errata for *The Iron Flood*.' Fearing it might not arrive, I made a duplicate at the time, which I am now sending again. I hope you will correct the translation manuscript accordingly — I would be most grateful. The translation of *The Iron Flood* was based on the fifth edition published last year and the pocket edition — the two showed no differences. But in the most recently published sixth edition, the author states in his preface that this edition has been personally revised by him and all errors in previous editions corrected. So I went through it again carefully against the new edition and corrected all errors, listing them herewith. ..." His letter posted on August 16 contained the following: "I wonder whether you have received all the items I sent consecutively — the errata, annotations, author's autobiography — all in duplicate? I am now sending by registered post the author's essay *How I Wrote The Iron Flood* together with the two short prefaces from the fifth and sixth editions; but the latter are of no great importance — only the sixth edition preface reveals that it has been carefully revised by the author. The essay was published in 1928 in *On the Literary Outpost* (formerly *Na Postu*), and is now included in the second edition (1930) of the *Collected Essays on Serafimovich*, which is the eighth volume in the *Critical Series on Contemporary Writers* published by Nikitin's Saturday Press; the essay is the second piece in the collection, the first being the *Author's Autobiography* which I sent you the other day. This essay is largely similar in content to the *Author's Remarks* (recorded by the editor Neradov) on pages 243-248 of the sixth edition of *The Iron Flood*, each having its own strengths, so I have not translated that one. In addition, there is a preface by the editor of Serafimovich's Collected Works, appearing at the front of the original volume, entitled *Artist of October*; I had originally intended to translate it too, but it is rather long, and since the new term begins on September 1, with grammar syllabi to compile, meetings to attend, and numerous other matters pressing in, I shall have no more time for translation. Since *The Iron Flood* needs to be published promptly, I shall have to set it aside and translate it later, for inclusion in a second edition. "We are returning to the city at the end of this month. Since arriving in Svidala, two full months have passed without our noticing it. Summer did not make itself felt; what has come is autumn — an autumn that resembles winter in China. In summer the Chinese go to the countryside or the seaside to escape the heat; here one goes to bask in the sun. "I have asked many people to look up Piskarev's address, all without success. Moscow has a 'Bureau of Names and Addresses,' but one must state the person's age and background to use it — how could I possibly know that? I think that when I have the opportunity to go to Moscow, I shall look for him myself; if I find him, the illustrations can be included in a second edition. Originally I also wanted to translate a couple of critical essays on *The Iron Flood*, such as D. Furmanov's, but these too will have to wait until I have the time. ..." The absence of woodcut illustrations was not too serious a matter, but the lack of a proper preface was truly felt as a deficiency. Fortunately, Shi Tie'er undertook to translate Neradov's essay especially for this edition — nearly twenty thousand characters, and a most important text indeed. If the reader studies this together with the appended *How I Wrote The Iron Flood* at the end of the volume, with careful and repeated reading, it will greatly aid not only the understanding of this book but also the understanding of the theory of creative writing and criticism. There is one more letter, written on September 1: "In the past few days I have sent you consecutively the author's biography, original annotations, essay, the original text of *The Iron Flood*, and, posted the day before yesterday, volume one of the *Collected Works of Serafimovich* (which contains several illustrations that might be usable: 1. The author in 1930; 2. On the right, the author's mother holding the future author in her arms, on the left, the author's father; 3. The author in Mariupol in 1897; 4. A letter from Lenin to the author). Have all of these been duly received? "Piskarev's illustrations are simply impossible to find; in the end I wrote to Serafimovich, who provided his address, and I have now written to Piskarev — we shall see what comes of his reply. "While writing to Serafimovich, I took the opportunity to ask about several words in *The Iron Flood* that lacked annotations, such as *pugach* and others. The author was kind enough to annotate the difficult Kuban-Ukrainian words in the book, one by one with their Russian equivalents, and sent them typed, eleven pages in all. As a result, several errors in the translation came to light. Apart from the annotations, during translation each of these words required consultation with several experts in Ukrainian before I dared decide on a rendering, and yet some were still misunderstood — these are the particular and unavoidable snags of post-October literature. I have now corrected the errors and added annotations according to the author's explanations, and am sending them to you by express mail. If they arrive in time, I hope you will take the trouble to make the corrections. If not, they will just have to wait for the second edition. ..." When the first errata sheet arrived, the book was in the process of being typeset, so all corrections could be made. But this latest batch arrived when more than half had already been proofread, and alterations were no longer possible; moreover, the additions and corrections were almost all in the first half. They are reproduced below as an errata and addenda sheet for *The Iron Flood*: Page 13, line 2: Before "Don't you know!" add: "Pah, have you lost your mind!" Page 13, line 20: "melon-grower" should be changed to: "melon-watchman." Page 14, line 17: "Have you lost your mind?!" should be changed to: "Gone mad, perhaps?!" Page 34, line 6: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "Hui-tzu": "*Hui-tzu* was one of the most contemptuous and insulting terms used by people with Great Russian chauvinist attitudes during the Tsarist era to refer to non-Orthodox peoples in general, and especially to Muslims and Turks." — Author's special note for the Chinese translation. Page 36, line 3: "You must grow up to be like a man" should be changed to: "We shall have to go work in the fields." Page 38, line 3: After "a man with sparse hair" add: "dishevelled." Page 43, line 2: "mongrel lamb" should be changed to: "mad-born bastard." Page 44, line 16: "to drink" should be changed to: "to squander." Page 46, line 8: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "reconnaissance battalion": "Reconnaissance battalion (translator's note: in Russian, *plastun* battalion): Black Sea Cossacks lying flat in grass, in reeds, in dense forest, lying in ambush to wait for and guard against the enemy." — Author's special note. Page 49, line 14: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "the flat sea surface": "This refers to the Sea of Azov, which is very shallow in places. Fishermen all call it 'the washtub.'" — Author's special note. Page 49, line 17: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "then comes another sea": "This refers to the Black Sea." — Author's special note. Page 50, line 4: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "wild ox": "The extremely rare, nearly extinct, shaggy-maned wild ox (bison)." — Author's special note. Page 52, line 7: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "Zaporozhye Sich": "The Free Zaporozhye Sich: a form of Ukrainian Cossack organisation that arose in the sixteenth century on the 'Zaporozhye' island in the rapids of the Dnieper. The Zaporozhians often campaigned southward against the Crimea and the Black Sea coast, bringing back great quantities of plunder. They participated in the Ukrainian Cossack uprisings against the autocratic Russian state. The life of the Zaporozhian peasants is described in Gogol's *Taras Bulba*." — Author's special note. Page 53, line 6: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "Sharp-belly Chiga": "A teasing nickname used among horsemen in Cossack villages. Derived from the name of the bandit Chiga." — Author's special note. Page 53, line 11: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "gakluk": "A local despot." — Author's special note. Page 53, line 11: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "pugach": "A flogger; an owl; a scarecrow in the fields (for frightening sparrows)." — Author's special note. Page 56, line 3: "insatiably greedy creature!" should be changed to: "useless creature!" Page 57, line 15: "lodging" should be changed to: "nose." Pages 71, lines 5-6: "It stretches flat all the way to the sea?" should be changed to: "It stretches flat far, far into the distance all the way to the sea?" Page 71, line 8: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "when Moses delivered the Jews from their slavery in Egypt": "According to the *Old Testament*, the ancient Jews were in Egypt, enslaved under the Egyptian king, building the great pyramids. Moses led them out of there." — Author's special note. Page 71, line 13: "He'll get everything done at once" should be changed to: "He'll think of every expedient at once." Page 71, line 18: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "bay": "This refers to the Bay of Novorossiysk." — Author's special note. Page 94, line 12: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "gazyri": "Small pockets sewn with braid onto the breast of the garment, used for holding cartridges." — Author's special note. Page 145, line 14: "hut" should be changed to: "little tavern." Page 179, line 21: A note should be added at the bottom of the page for "the fairies' wedding": "'The fairies' wedding' is a Ukrainian folk expression, meaning for instance just before a thunderstorm — when it suddenly turns pitch dark and lightning flashes and dances, this is called 'the fairy woman holding her wedding'; it also refers more generally to gloom and drizzle." — Translator's note. The above comprises twenty-five items. Three of them — "gakluk," "pugach," and "gazyri" — had already been given explanatory notes by the proofreader during the typesetting process, based on annotations from the Japanese translation; these differ somewhat, but can no longer be changed. Readers should, of course, trust the author's own notes. As for the illustrations in volume one of the *Collected Works of Serafimovich*, none have been used here. For we have already included all four illustrations from volume ten (that is, the sixth edition of *The Iron Flood*), among which is a portrait of the author; at the front of the book we have added a portrait drawn by L. Radinov, and in the middle we have inserted *The Iron Flood*, originally a large oil painting by R. Frenz. Since there is still no word regarding Piskarev's woodcuts, we have taken a reduced reproduction from the fourth volume of the magazine *Prints* (*Graviura*, 1929) and placed it on the cover; it depicts the scene of "outsiders" being slaughtered. Among foreign translations, within the proofreader's range of knowledge, there are German and Japanese versions. The German translation is appended to Neverov's *Tashkent, the City of Bread* (*A. Neverow: Taschkent, die Brotreiche Stadt*), published in 1929 by the Neuer Deutscher Verlag in Berlin; the translator is unnamed, and abridgements are encountered frequently — it cannot be called a good book. The Japanese translation, however, is complete, entitled *The Iron Torrent*, published in 1930 by Tokyo's Sobunkaku as the first volume in the *Soviet Writers Series*; the translator, Kurahara Korehito, is a widely trusted translator, and for difficult passages he had the assistance of Konstantinov from the Soviet Embassy, making it quite reliable. However, because the original text is so fiendishly difficult, minor errors are still unavoidable — for example, the "fairies' wedding" just annotated above is rendered there as "the fairy woman's freedom," a clear misunderstanding. Our edition, owing to the limitations of our abilities, naturally cannot claim to be "definitive," but in completeness it certainly surpasses the German translation, and in its thoroughness of preface, afterword, annotations, map, and illustrations, it also exceeds the Japanese edition. Only, by the time we had managed to assemble the whole thing, the state of affairs in Shanghai's publishing world was already vastly different from before: not a single bookshop dared to print it. Under this rock-like weight of oppression, we had to twist and wind our way, but in the end we succeeded in unfurling before the reader's eyes this brilliant, iron-hard new flower. This naturally does not amount to any real "difficulty" — it is merely a handful of trifles. But the reason I have deliberately recounted these trifles is, in truth, that I wish the reader to know: under present conditions, it is no easy thing to produce a reasonably good book. Though this book is merely a translation of a novel, it was produced through the combined modest efforts of three people — one translating, one supplementing, one proofreading — and not one of the three harboured the least intention of amusing himself or of deceiving the reader under cover of the project. If the reader does not, upon finding that this book lacks the "smoothness" of *Peter Pan* or *Andersen's Fairy Tales*, close the volume with a sigh and go off to drink coffee; if, in the end, the reader is willing to read it through, and perhaps even to read it again, together with the preface and appendix — then the reward we receive will be quite sufficient. October 10, 1931. Lu Xun.
=== 第41节 ===	== Section 41 ==
南邊整天開大會，北邊忽地起烽煙， 　　北人逃難南人嚷，請願打電鬧連天。 　　還有你罵我來我罵你，說得自己蜜樣甜。 　　文的笑道岳飛假，武的卻雲秦檜奸。 　　相罵聲中失土地，相罵聲中捐銅錢， 　　失了土地捐過錢，喊聲罵聲也寂然。 　　文的牙齒痛，武的上溫泉， 　　後來知道誰也不是岳飛或秦檜，聲明誤解釋前嫌， 　　大家都是好東西，終於聚首一堂來吸雪茄煙。 　　一九三一年二月十一日出版《十字街頭》半月刊第一期。	In the south they hold great assemblies all day long; in the north the beacon fires suddenly blaze. Northerners flee as refugees, southerners shout and rail; petitions and telegrams raise an uproar that fills the sky. Then there is your cursing me and my cursing you, each proclaiming himself sweet as honey. The men of letters laugh and call Yue Fei a fraud; the men of arms retort that Qin Hui is the villain. Amid the mutual abuse, territory is lost; amid the mutual abuse, copper coins are donated. Territory lost and coins donated, the shouting and cursing fall silent too. The man of letters has a toothache; the man of arms takes to the hot springs. In the end they realise that neither is Yue Fei nor Qin Hui, issue declarations of misunderstanding, and bury the hatchet. They are all fine fellows, and at last they gather together in one hall to smoke their cigars. Published February 11, 1931, in the first issue of the fortnightly *Crossroads*.
=== 第42节 ===	== Section 42 ==
:何鍵將軍捏刀管教育， :說道學校裡邊應該添什麼。 :首先叫作「公民科」， :不知這科教的是什麼。 :但願諸公勿性急， :讓我來編教科書， :做個公民實在弗容易， :大家切莫耶耶乎。 :第一著，要能受， :蠻如豬玀力如牛， :殺了能吃活就做， :瘟死還好熬熬油。 :第二著，先要磕頭， :先拜何大人，後拜孔阿丘， :拜得不好就砍頭， :砍頭之際莫討命， :要命便是反革命， :大人有刀你有頭， :這點天職應該盡。 :第三著，莫講愛， :自由結婚放洋屁， :最好是做第十第廿姨太太， :如果爹娘要錢化， :幾百幾千可以賣， :正了風化又賺錢， :這樣好事還有嗎？ :第四著，要聽話， :大人怎說你怎做。 :公民義務多得很， :只有大人自己心裡懂， :但願諸公切勿死守我的教科書， :免得大人一不高興便說阿拉是反動。	General He Jian, sabre in hand, takes charge of education, And decrees what schools ought to add to the curriculum. First of all, a subject called "Civics" -- What exactly this subject teaches, nobody knows. But pray, good sirs, do not be impatient; Let me compile the textbook. Being a citizen is no easy matter; Let no one take it lightly. Lesson One: Learn to endure. Be stubborn as a pig and strong as an ox. Once slaughtered, you can be eaten; while alive, put to work. Even when you die of plague, you're still good for rendering into oil. Lesson Two: First you must kowtow. First bow to His Excellency He, then bow to Master Kong. Bow badly and your head comes off. When your head is being lopped, do not beg for your life; To beg for your life is to be a counter-revolutionary. His Excellency has the sword, you have the head -- This bit of duty to Heaven you ought to fulfil. Lesson Three: Do not speak of love. Free marriage is a load of hot air. Best to become the tenth or twentieth concubine; And if your parents need money, You can be sold for a few hundred or a few thousand. Rectifying public morals and turning a profit besides -- Could there be a better deal than this? Lesson Four: Do as you are told. Whatever His Excellency says, that is what you do. A citizen's duties are ever so many, Known only to His Excellency in his own heart. But pray, good sirs, do not cling too rigidly to my textbook, Lest His Excellency take displeasure and call us reactionaries.
=== 第43节 ===	== Section 43 ==
一中全會好忙碌，忽而討論誰賣國， 　　粵方委員嘰哩咕，要將責任歸當局。 　　吳老頭子老益壯，放屁放屁來相嚷， 　　說道賣的另有人，不近不遠在場上。 　　有的叫道對對對，有的吹了嗤嗤嗤， 　　嗤嗤一通不打緊，對對惱了皇太子， 　　一聲不響出「新京」，會場旗色昏如死。 　　許多要人夾屁追，恭迎聖駕請重回， 　　大家快要一同「赴國難」，又拆台基何苦來？ 　　香檳走氣大菜冷，莫使同志久相等， 　　老頭自動不出席，再沒狐狸來作梗。 　　況且名利不雙全，那能推苦只嘗甜？ 　　賣就大家都賣不都不，否則一方面子太難堪。 　　現在我們再去痛快淋漓喝幾巡，酒酣耳熱都開心， 　　什麼事情就好說，這才能慰在天靈。 　　理論和實際，全都括括叫， 　　點點小龍頭，又上火車道。 　　只差大柱石，似乎還在想火並， 　　展堂同志血壓高，精衛先生糖尿病， 　　國難一時赴不成，雖然老吳已經受告警。 　　這樣下去怎麼好，中華民國老是沒頭腦， 　　想受黨治也不能，小民恐怕要苦了。 　　但願治病統一都容易，只要將那「言詞爭執」扔在茅廁裡， 　　放屁放屁放狗屁，真真豈有之此理。	The First Plenary Session is all astir -- suddenly debating who sold out the country. The Guangdong delegates jabber and gibber, seeking to pin the blame on the authorities. Old Wu, more vigorous with age, bellows back: "Rubbish! Rubbish!" Declaring that the seller is someone else, not far off, right here in this hall. Some cry: "Hear, hear! Quite right!" Others hiss and jeer. The hissing hardly matters, but the "hear-hears" have vexed the Crown Prince. Without a word he departs for "the new capital"; the flags in the hall turn deathly pale. A crowd of dignitaries chase after him, hat in hand, respectfully imploring His Sacred Carriage to return. We are all about to "rush to the national crisis" together -- why pull the rug from under us now? The champagne is going flat and the banquet grows cold; pray do not keep our comrades waiting. Old Wu voluntarily abstains from the session; no more fox-spirit to stir up trouble. Besides, fame and profit cannot both be had -- who can shove the bitter aside and taste only the sweet? If we sell, then let us all sell, or none at all; otherwise one side loses too much face. Now let us go and drink a few more rounds to our hearts' content; when ears are flushed and wine is warm, everyone is happy. Then anything can be settled -- and only thus can we comfort the spirits in heaven. Theory and practice alike ring out loud and clear. A nod of the little dragon's head, and it's back on the railway. Only the great pillar of state still seems to be plotting a coup. Comrade Zhan Tang has high blood pressure; Mr. Jing Wei has diabetes. The national crisis cannot be rushed to just yet, though Old Wu has already received his warning. How can things go on like this? The Republic of China remains forever headless. Those who wish for party rule cannot even get it; the common people, I fear, are in for suffering. If only curing illness and unifying the country were equally easy -- just toss those "verbal disputes" into the privy. Rubbish! Rubbish! Utter dog's rubbish! Truly, how can there be such a thing!
=== 第44节 ===	== Section 44 ==
——十一月二十二日在北京大學第二院講我四五年來未到這邊，對於這邊情形，不甚熟悉；我在上海的情形，也非諸君所知。所以今天還是講幫閒文學與幫忙文學。 　　這當怎麼講？從五四運動後，新文學家很提倡小說；其故由當時提倡新文學的人看見西洋文學中小說地位甚高，和詩歌相彷彿；所以弄得像不看小說就不是人似的。但依我們中國的老眼睛看起來，小說是給人消閒的，是為酒余茶後之用。因為飯吃得飽飽的，茶喝得飽飽的，閒起來也實在是苦極的事，那時候又沒有跳舞場：明末清初的時候，一份人家必有幫閒的東西存在的。那些會唸書會下棋會畫畫的人，陪主人唸唸書，下下棋，畫幾筆畫，這叫做幫閒，也就是篾片！所以幫閒文學又名篾片文學。小說就做著篾片的職務。漢武帝時候，只有司馬相如不高興這樣，常常裝病不出去。至於究竟為什麼裝病，我可不知道。倘說他反對皇帝是為了盧布，我想大概是不會的，因為那個時候還沒有盧布。大凡要亡國的時候，皇帝無事，臣子談談女人，談談酒，像六朝的南朝，開國的時候，這些人便做詔令，做敕，做宣言，做電報，——做所謂皇皇大文。主人一到第二代就不忙了，於是臣子就幫閒。所以幫閒文學實在就是幫忙文學。 　　中國文學從我看起來，可以分為兩大類：（一）廊廟文學，這就是已經走進主人家中，非幫主人的忙，就得幫主人的閒；與這相對的是（二）山林文學。唐詩即有此二種。如果用現代話講起來，是「在朝」和「下野」。後面這一種雖然暫時無忙可幫，無閒可幫，但身在山林，而「心存魏闕」。如果既不能幫忙，又不能幫閒，那麼，心裡就甚是悲哀了。 　　中國是隱士和官僚最接近的。那時很有被聘的希望，一被聘，即謂之征君；開當鋪，賣糖葫蘆是不會被征的。我曾經聽說有人做世界文學史，稱中國文學為官僚文學。看起來實在也不錯。一方面固然由於文字難，一般人受教育少，不能做文章，但在另一方面看起來，中國文學和官僚也實在接近。 　　現在大概也如此。惟方法巧妙得多了，竟至於看不出來。今日文學最巧妙的有所謂為藝術而藝術派。這一派在五四運動時代，確是革命的，因為當時是向「文以載道」說進攻的，但是現在卻連反抗性都沒有了。不但沒有反抗性，而且壓制新文學的發生。對社會不敢批評，也不能反抗，若反抗，便說對不起藝術。故也變成幫忙柏勒思（Plus）幫閒。為藝術而藝術派對俗事是不問的，但對於俗事如主張為人生而藝術的人是反對的，則如現代評論派，他們反對罵人，但有人罵他們，他們也是要罵的。他們罵罵人的人，正如殺殺人的一樣——他們是劊子手。 　　這種幫忙和幫閒的情形是長久的。我並不勸人立刻把中國的文物都拋棄了，因為不看這些，就沒有東西看；不幫忙也不幫閒的文學真也太不多。現在做文章的人們幾乎都是幫閒幫忙的人物。有人說文學家是很高尚的，我卻不相信與吃飯問題無關，不過我又以為文學與吃飯問題有關也不打緊，只要能比較的不幫忙不幫閒就好。	—Lecture delivered on November 22 at the Second Campus of Peking University. I have not been here for four or five years and am not very familiar with the situation here; nor are you acquainted with my circumstances in Shanghai. So today I shall still speak on the literature of leisure-making and the literature of service. How shall I put this? After the May Fourth Movement, the new literary figures enthusiastically promoted fiction. The reason was that the advocates of new literature saw how highly the novel was esteemed in Western literature, almost on a par with poetry—so much so that if you didn't read novels, you seemed scarcely human. But from the old Chinese perspective, fiction was meant for idle amusement, for the hours after wine and tea. For when one has eaten and drunk one's fill, having nothing to do is truly agonizing—and in those days there were no dance halls. In the late Ming and early Qing, every respectable household kept its retainers of leisure. Those who could recite poetry, play chess, or paint would accompany the master in reading a bit, playing a game, or dashing off a few brushstrokes. This was called "helping with leisure"—in other words, being a sycophant! Hence the literature of leisure-making is also known as sycophant literature. Fiction served precisely this sycophantic function. In the time of Emperor Wu of Han, only Sima Xiangru was disinclined to play along, often feigning illness to avoid going out. As to why he truly feigned illness, I cannot say. If one claims he opposed the emperor for the sake of rubles, I expect that is unlikely, since rubles did not yet exist in those days. Generally, when a dynasty is about to fall, the emperor has nothing to do, and his ministers chat about women and wine—as in the Southern Dynasties of the Six Dynasties period. When a dynasty is founded, these same men draft edicts, decrees, proclamations, and telegrams—composing what are called "magnificent official documents." But by the second generation the master is no longer busy, and so the ministers help him pass the time. Thus the literature of leisure-making is in truth the literature of service. From my point of view, Chinese literature can be divided into two great categories: (1) Court literature—the literature of those who have entered the master's household and must either serve his needs or help fill his idle hours; and opposed to this is (2) Recluse literature. Tang poetry already contained both kinds. In modern parlance, these would be called "in office" and "out of power." Although the latter sort has neither tasks to help with nor idle hours to fill for the moment, the recluse dwells in the mountains yet "keeps the palace in his heart." If he can neither serve nor amuse, then his heart is filled with sorrow. In China, hermits and bureaucrats have always been closest to each other. In those days there was always the hope of being summoned, and once summoned, one was called a "recruited gentleman." Pawnshop owners and candied-hawthorn vendors, on the other hand, were never summoned. I once heard that someone writing a world literary history called Chinese literature "bureaucratic literature." When you think about it, this is really not far off. On one hand, of course, this was because writing was difficult and ordinary people received little education and could not compose essays; but on the other hand, Chinese literature and the bureaucracy are indeed closely intertwined. The situation today is probably much the same—only the methods have grown far more ingenious, to the point of being undetectable. The most ingenious literary movement today is the so-called art-for-art's-sake school. During the May Fourth era, this school was genuinely revolutionary, for it was attacking the doctrine that "literature is the vehicle of the Way." But now it has lost even its spirit of resistance. Not only has it lost its resistance, it actually suppresses the emergence of new literature. It dares not criticize society, nor can it resist; and if it does resist, one is told that this offends Art. Thus it too has become a servant of service plus leisure. The art-for-art's-sake school does not concern itself with worldly affairs, yet it opposes those who do concern themselves with worldly affairs, such as the advocates of art for life's sake—just like the Contemporary Review clique, who oppose scolding, yet when someone scolds them, they scold right back. They scold those who scold—just as one kills those who kill: they are executioners. This state of service and leisure-making has persisted for a very long time. I do not advise anyone to immediately cast aside all of China's cultural heritage, for without it there would be nothing to read; literature that neither serves nor amuses is truly all too rare. Nowadays nearly all those who write are people of service and leisure. Some say that literary men are very noble; I do not believe they are unrelated to the question of earning a living. Yet I also think it does not matter if literature is related to that question—as long as one can, relatively speaking, refrain from serving and amusing.
=== 第45节 ===	== Section 45 ==
中國的詩歌中，有時也說些下層社會的苦痛。但繪畫和小說卻相反，大抵將他們寫得十分幸福，說是「不識不知，順帝之則」，平和得像花鳥一樣。是的，中國的勞苦大眾，從知識階級看來，是和花鳥為一類的。 　　我生長於都市的大家庭裡，從小就受著古書和師傅的教訓，所以也看得勞苦大眾和花鳥一樣。有時感到所謂上流社會的虛偽和腐敗時，我還羨慕他們的安樂。但我母親的母家是農村，使我能夠間或和許多農民相親近，逐漸知道他們是畢生受著壓迫，很多苦痛，和花鳥並不一樣了。不過我還沒法使大家知道。 　　後來我看到一些外國的小說，尤其是俄國，波蘭和巴爾幹諸小國的，才明白了世界上也有這許多和我們的勞苦大眾同一運命的人，而有些作家正在為此而呼號，而戰鬥。而歷來所見的農村之類的景況，也更加分明地再現於我的眼前。偶然得到一個可寫文章的機會，我便將所謂上流社會的墮落和下層社會的不幸，陸續用短篇小說的形式發表出來了。原意其實只不過想將這示給讀者，提出一些問題而已，並不是為了當時的文學家之所謂藝術。 　　但這些東西，竟得了一部分讀者的注意，雖然很被有些批評家所排斥，而至今終於沒有消滅，還會譯成英文，和新大陸的讀者相見，這是我先前所夢想不到的。 　　但我也久沒有做短篇小說了。現在的人民更加困苦，我的意思也和以前有些不同，又看見了新的文學的潮流，在這景況中，寫新的不能，寫舊的又不願。中國的古書裡有一個比喻，說：邯鄲的步法是天下聞名的，有人去學，竟沒有學好，但又已經忘卻了自己原先的步法，於是只好爬回去了。我正爬著。但我想再學下去，站起來。 　　一九三三年三月二十二日，魯迅記於上海。	In Chinese poetry, the suffering of the lower classes is sometimes expressed. But painting and fiction are the opposite: by and large, they depict those people as exceedingly happy, saying they "know not, understand not, and follow the ways of the emperor," as tranquil as flowers and birds. Indeed, from the perspective of the educated class, the toiling masses of China belong in the same category as flowers and birds. I grew up in a large family in the city and from childhood was steeped in the teachings of ancient books and tutors, so I too regarded the toiling masses as one regards flowers and birds. Sometimes, when I felt the hypocrisy and corruption of so-called high society, I even envied their contentment. But my mother's family was from the countryside, which allowed me to draw near to many peasants from time to time, and I gradually came to know that they were oppressed their whole lives through, that they suffered greatly, and that they were not at all like flowers and birds. Yet I still had no way to make this widely known. Later I read some foreign novels, especially Russian, Polish, and those from the small Balkan nations, and I came to understand that there were many people in the world who shared the same fate as our toiling masses, and that some writers were crying out and fighting on their behalf. The scenes of rural life and such things that I had witnessed over the years also reappeared more vividly before my eyes. When I happened upon an opportunity to write, I began to publish the degradation of so-called high society and the misfortunes of the lower classes, one after another, in the form of short stories. My original intention was simply to lay these things before the reader and raise a few questions—not for what the literary men of the day called Art. Yet these writings attracted the notice of a portion of readers, and although they were much rejected by certain critics, they have to this day not been extinguished, and are now even being translated into English to meet readers in the New World—something I had never dreamed of. But I have not written short stories for a long time now. The people are even more afflicted than before; my own ideas have changed somewhat from what they were; and I have seen the tides of a new literature. In this situation, I cannot write the new, yet I am unwilling to write the old. There is an analogy in ancient Chinese books: the gait of Handan was famous throughout the land; a man went to learn it, and not only failed, but forgot his own original way of walking, so that he had to crawl back home. I am crawling now. But I intend to keep learning, and to stand up again. March 22, 1933, recorded by Lu Xun in Shanghai.
=== 第46节 ===	== Section 46 ==
現在我被托付為該在這本小說前面，寫一點小引的腳色。這題目是不算煩難的，我只要分為四節，大略來說一說就夠了。 　　１．關於作者的經歷，我曾經記在《一天的工作》的後記裡，至今所知道的也沒有加增，就照抄在下面：「聶維洛夫（Ａleksandr Neverov）的真姓是斯珂培萊夫（Skobelev），以一八八六年生為薩瑪拉（Samara）州的一個農夫的兒子。一九○五年師範學校第二級卒業後，做了村學的教師。內戰時候，則為薩瑪拉的革命底軍事委員會的機關報《赤衛軍》的編輯者。一九二○至二一年大饑荒之際，他和饑民一同從伏爾迦逃往塔什干；二二年到墨斯科，加入文學團體『鍛冶廠』；二三年冬，就以心臟麻痺死去了，年三十七。他的最初的小說，在一九○五年發表，此後所作，為數甚多，最著名的是《豐饒的城塔什干》，中國有穆木天譯本。」 　　２．關於作者的批評，在我所看見的範圍內，最簡要的也還是要推珂剛教授在《偉大的十年的文學》裡所說的話。這回是依據了日本黑田辰男的譯本，重譯一節在下面：「出於『鍛冶廠』一派的最有天分的小說家，不消說，是善於描寫崩壞時代的農村生活者之一的亞歷山大·聶維洛夫了。他吐著革命的呼吸，而同時也愛人生。他用了愛，以觀察活人的個性，以欣賞那散在俄國無邊的大平野上的一切繽紛的色彩。他之於時事問題，是遠的，也是近的。說是遠者，因為他出發於摯愛人生的思想，說是近者，因為他看見那站在進向人生和幸福和完全的路上的力量，覺得那解放人生的力量。聶維洛夫——是從日常生活而上達於人類底的東西之處的作家之一，是觀察周到的現實主義者，也是生活描寫者的他，在我們面前，提出生活底的，現代底的相貌來，一直上升到人性的所謂『永久底』的性質的描寫，用別的話來說，就是更深刻地捉住了展在我們之前的現象和精神狀態，深刻地加以照耀，使這些都顯出超越了一時底，一處底界限的興味來了。」 　　３．這篇小說，就是他的短篇小說集《人生的面目》裡的一篇，故事是舊的，但仍然有價值。去年在他本國還新印了插畫的節本，在《初學叢書》中。前有短序，說明著對於蘇聯的現在的意義： 　　「Ａ．聶維洛夫是一九二三年死的。他是最偉大的革命的農民作家之一。聶維洛夫在《不走正路的安得倫》這部小說裡，號召著毀滅全部的舊式的農民生活，不管要受多麼大的痛苦和犧牲。 　　「這篇小說所講的時代，正是蘇維埃共和國結果了白黨而開始和平的建設的時候。那幾年恰好是黑暗的舊式農村第一次開始改造。安得倫是個不妥協的激烈的戰士，為著新生活而奮鬥，他的工作環境是很艱難的。這樣和富農鬥爭，和農民的黑暗愚笨鬥爭，——需要細密的心計，謹慎和透徹。稍微一點不正確的步驟就可以闖亂子的。對於革命很忠實的安得倫沒有估計這種複雜的環境。他艱難困苦建設起來的東西，就這麼坍台了。但是，野獸似的富農雖然殺死了他的朋友，燒掉了他的房屋，然而始終不能夠動搖他的堅決的意志和革命的熱忱。受傷了的安得倫決心向前走去，走上艱難的道路，去實行社會主義的改造農村。 　　「現在，我們的國家勝利的建設著社會主義，而要在整個區域的集體農場化的基礎之上，去消滅富農階級。因此《不走正路的安得倫》裡面說得那麼真實，那麼清楚的農村裡的革命的初步，——現在回憶一下也是很有益處的。」 　　４．關於譯者，我可以不必再說。他的深通俄文和忠於翻譯，是現在的讀者大抵知道的。插圖五幅，即從《初學叢書》的本子上取來，但畫家藹支（Ez）的事情，我一點不知道。一九三三年五月十三夜。魯迅。	I have now been entrusted with the role of writing a brief introduction to this novel. The task is not an onerous one; I need only divide it into four sections and give a rough account. 1. Regarding the author's career, I have already recorded it in the afterword to *A Day's Work*, and my knowledge has not increased since then, so I shall simply copy it here: "Neverov (Aleksandr Neverov), whose real surname was Skobelev, was born in 1886 as the son of a peasant in Samara Province. After completing the second level of teachers' college in 1905, he became a village schoolteacher. During the civil war, he served as editor of *Red Guard*, the organ of the revolutionary military committee of Samara. During the great famine of 1920–21, he fled with the starving masses from the Volga to Tashkent; in 1922 he went to Moscow and joined the literary group 'The Smithy'; in the winter of 1923, he died of heart failure at the age of thirty-seven. His earliest fiction was published in 1905, and his subsequent works were very numerous. His most famous is *Tashkent, the City of Plenty*, of which there is a Chinese translation by Mu Mutian." 2. As for criticism of the author, the most concise assessment within my reading is still that of Professor Kogan in *The Literature of the Great Decade*. Here I retranslate a passage based on the Japanese translation by Kuroda Tatsuo: "The most gifted novelist to emerge from the 'Smithy' group was, needless to say, Aleksandr Neverov, one of those writers who excelled at depicting rural life in an era of collapse. He breathed the breath of revolution while at the same time loving life. With love he observed the individuality of living people and admired all the variegated colors scattered across Russia's boundless great plains. To the issues of the day he was both distant and close. Distant, because he set out from a philosophy of ardent love for life; close, because he perceived the force standing on the road toward life, happiness, and fulfillment, and felt the force that liberates life. Neverov was one of those writers who ascended from everyday life to the realm of the universally human; a thorough-going realist and a depicter of life, he placed before us the visage of life in its contemporary aspect, rising to the depiction of the so-called 'eternal' qualities of human nature—in other words, he seized more profoundly the phenomena and states of mind that lay before us, illuminated them deeply, and made them reveal an interest that transcended the boundaries of any one time or place." 3. This story is one piece from his short-story collection *The Face of Life*. The story is old but still retains its value. Just last year in his own country a new abridged edition with illustrations was printed in the *Beginner's Series*. It is preceded by a short preface explaining its significance for the present-day Soviet Union: "A. Neverov died in 1923. He was one of the greatest revolutionary peasant writers. In this novel *Andron Who Took the Wrong Path*, Neverov calls for the destruction of the entire old-style peasant way of life, regardless of how much suffering and sacrifice must be endured. "The era described in this story is precisely the time when the Soviet Republic had finished off the White forces and begun peaceful construction. Those years happened to be the first in which the dark, old-fashioned countryside began to be transformed. Andron is an uncompromising, fierce fighter, struggling for a new life, and his working conditions are extremely harsh. To battle the kulaks, to battle the darkness and ignorance of the peasants—this required careful calculation, caution, and thoroughness. The slightest misstep could cause disaster. Andron, so loyal to the revolution, did not reckon with this complex environment. What he had built up through hardship and toil simply collapsed. But though the bestial kulaks killed his friend and burned down his house, they could never shake his iron will or his revolutionary ardor. The wounded Andron resolves to press forward, onto the hard road, to carry out the socialist transformation of the countryside. "Today, our country is victoriously building socialism and, on the basis of collectivization of entire regions, is proceeding to liquidate the kulak class. Therefore, the first steps of the revolution in the countryside, described so truthfully and so clearly in *Andron Who Took the Wrong Path*, are well worth recalling now." 4. As for the translator, I need say nothing more. His thorough command of Russian and his fidelity in translation are by now well known to present-day readers. The five illustrations are taken from the *Beginner's Series* edition, though I know nothing at all about the artist Ez (I. Gotz). Night of May 13, 1933. Lu Xun.
=== 第47节 ===	== Section 47 ==
當屠格納夫，柴霍夫這些作家大為中國讀書界所稱頌的時候，高爾基是不很有人很注意的。即使偶然有一兩篇翻譯，也不過因為他所描的人物來得特別，但總不覺得有什麼大意思。 　　這原因，現在很明白了：因為他是「底層」的代表者，是無產階級的作家。對於他的作品，中國的舊的知識階級不能共鳴，正是當然的事。 　　然而革命的導師，卻在二十多年以前，已經知道他是新俄的偉大的藝術家，用了別一種兵器，向著同一的敵人，為了同一的目的而戰鬥的夥伴，他的武器——藝術的言語— —是有極大的意義的。 　　而這先見，現在已經由事實來確證了。 　　中國的工農，被壓搾到救死尚且不暇，怎能談到教育；文字又這麼不容易，要想從中出現高爾基似的偉大的作者，一時恐怕是很困難的。不過人的向著光明，是沒有兩樣的，無祖國的文學也並無彼此之分，我們當然可以先來借看一些輸入的先進的範本。 　　這小本子雖然只是一個短篇，但以作者的偉大，譯者的誠實，就正是這一種範本。而且從此脫出了文人的書齋，開始與大眾相見，此後所啟發的是和先前不同的讀者，它將要生出不同的結果來。 　　這結果，將來也會有事實來確證的。 　　一九三三年五月二十七日，魯迅記。	At the time when such writers as Turgenev and Chekhov were being greatly extolled by the Chinese reading public, Gorky received little attention. Even when an occasional translation or two appeared, it was only because the characters he depicted seemed peculiar, but on the whole no one found any great significance in his work. The reason for this is now quite clear: it was because he was the representative of the "lowest depths," a writer of the proletariat. That the old intellectual class of China could not resonate with his work was only natural. Yet the guiding spirit of revolution, more than twenty years before, already knew that Gorky was the great new artist of Russia—a comrade fighting toward the same enemy, for the same purpose, with a different kind of weapon; and that his weapon—the language of art—was of the greatest significance. And this foresight has now been confirmed by the facts. The workers and peasants of China, squeezed so dry that they can barely stave off death, how can one speak to them of education? And with a writing system so difficult, to hope that a writer as great as Gorky might emerge from among them is, for now, probably very hard. Yet people's aspiration toward the light is everywhere the same, and literature without a fatherland knows no boundaries between nations; we can of course begin by borrowing and reading some of these imported, advanced exemplars. Although this little volume is merely a single short story, by virtue of the author's greatness and the translator's integrity, it is precisely such an exemplar. Moreover, it has now left the scholar's study to meet the masses for the first time; henceforth it will inspire a different kind of reader than before, and it will produce different results. These results, too, will one day be confirmed by the facts. May 27, 1933, recorded by Lu Xun.
=== 第48节 ===	== Section 48 ==
假如現在有一個人，以黃天霸之流自居，頭打英雄結，身穿夜行衣靠，插著馬口鐵的單刀，向市鎮村落橫衝直撞，去除惡霸，打不平，是一定被人嘩笑的，決定他是一個瘋子或昏人，然而還有一些可怕。倘使他非常孱弱，總是反而被打，那就只是一個可笑的瘋子或昏人了，人們警戒之心全失，於是倒愛看起來。西班牙的文豪西萬提斯（Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra，1547—1616）所作《堂吉訶德傳》（Vida yhechos del ingen ioso Hidalgo Don Ｑuÿote de la Mancha）中的主角，就是以那時的人，偏要行古代遊俠之道，執迷不悟，終於困苦而死的資格，贏得許多讀者的開心，因而愛讀，傳佈的。 　　但我們試問：十六十七世紀時的西班牙社會上可有不平存在呢？我想，恐怕總不能不答道：有。那麼，吉訶德的立志去打不平，是不能說他錯誤的；不自量力，也並非錯誤。錯誤是在他的打法。因為糊塗的思想，引出了錯誤的打法。俠客為了自己的「功績」不能打盡不平，正如慈善家為了自己的陰功，不能救助社會上的困苦一樣。而且是「非徒無益，而又害之」的。他懲罰了毒打徒弟的師傅，自以為立過「功績」，揚長而去了，但他一走，徒弟卻更加吃苦，便是一個好例。 　　但嘲笑吉訶德的旁觀者，有時也嘲笑得未必得當。他們笑他本非英雄，卻以英雄自命，不識時務，終於贏得顛連困苦；由這嘲笑，自拔於「非英雄」之上，得到優越感；然而對於社會上的不平，卻並無更好的戰法，甚至於連不平也未曾覺到。對於慈善者，人道主義者，也早有人揭穿了他們不過用同情或財力，買得心的平安。這自然是對的。但倘非戰士，而只劫取這一個理由來自掩他的冷酷，那就是用一毛不拔，買得心的平安了，他是不化本錢的買賣。 　　這一個劇本，就將吉訶德拉上舞台來，極明白的指出了吉訶德主義的缺點，甚至於毒害。在第一場上，他用謀略和自己的挨打救出了革命者，精神上是勝利的；而實際上也得了勝利，革命終於起來，專制者入了牢獄；可是這位人道主義者，這時忽又認國公們為被壓迫者了，放蛇歸壑，使他又能流毒，焚殺淫掠，遠過於革命的犧牲。他雖不為人們所信仰，— —連跟班的山嘉也不大相信，——卻常常被奸人所利用，幫著使世界留在黑暗中。 　　國公，傀儡而已；專制魔王的化身是伯爵謨爾卻（Graf Murzio）和侍醫巴坡的帕波（Pappo del Babbo）。謨爾卻曾稱吉訶德的幻想為「牛羊式的平等幸福」，而說出他們所要實現的「野獸的幸福來」，道——「O！堂吉訶德，你不知道我們野獸。粗暴的野獸，咬著小鹿兒的腦袋，啃斷它的喉嚨，慢慢的喝它的熱血，感覺到自己爪牙底下它的小腿兒在抖動，漸漸的死下去，——那真正是非常之甜蜜。然而人是細膩的野獸。統治著，過著奢華的生活，強迫人家對著你禱告，對著你恐懼而鞠躬，而卑躬屈節。幸福就在於感覺到幾百萬人的力量都集中到你的手裡，都無條件的交給了你，他們像奴隸，而你像上帝。世界上最幸福最舒服的人就是羅馬皇帝，我們的國公能夠像復活的尼羅一樣，至少也要和赫裡沃哈巴爾一樣。可是，我們的宮庭很小，離這個還遠哩。 　　毀壞上帝和人的一切法律，照著自己的意旨的法律，替別人打出新的鎖鏈出來！權力！這個字眼裡面包含一切：這是個神妙的使人沉醉的字眼。生活要用權力的程度來量它。誰沒有權力，他就是個死屍。」（第二場） 　　這個秘密，平常是很不肯明說的，謨爾卻誠不愧為「小鬼頭」，他說出來了，但也許因為看得吉訶德「老實」的緣故。吉訶德當時雖曾說牛羊應當自己防禦，但當革命之際，他又忘卻了，倒說「新的正義也不過是舊的正義的同胞姊妹」，指革命者為魔王，和先前的專制者同等。於是德裡戈（Drigo Pazz）說—— 　　「是的，我們是專制魔王，我們是專政的。你看這把劍——看見罷？——它和貴族的劍一樣，殺起人來是很準的；不過他們的劍是為著奴隸制度去殺人，我們的劍是為著自由去殺人。你的老腦袋要改變是很難的了。你是個好人；好人總喜歡幫助被壓迫者。現在，我們在這個短期間是壓迫者。你和我們來鬥爭罷。我們也一定要和你鬥爭，因為我們的壓迫，是為著要叫這個世界上很快就沒有人能夠壓迫。」（第六場） 　　這是解剖得十分明白的。然而吉訶德還是沒有覺悟，終於去掘墳；他掘墳，他也「準備」著自己擔負一切的責任。但是，正如巴勒塔薩（Don Balthazar）所說：這種決心有什麼用處呢？ 　　而巴勒塔薩始終還愛著吉訶德，願意給他去擔保，硬要做他的朋友，這是因為巴勒塔薩出身知識階級的緣故。但是終於改變他不得。到這裡，就不能不承認德裡戈的嘲笑，憎惡，不聽廢話，是最為正當的了，他是有正確的戰法，堅強的意志的戰士。 　　這和一般的旁觀者的嘲笑之類是不同的。 　　不過這裡的吉訶德，也並非整個是現實所有的人物。原書以一九二二年印行，正是十月革命後六年，世界上盛行著反對者的種種謠諑，竭力企圖中傷的時候，崇精神的，愛自由的，講人道的，大抵不平於黨人的專橫，以為革命不但不能復興人間，倒是得了地獄。這劇本便是給與這些論者們的總答案。吉訶德即由許多非議十月革命的思想家，文學家所合成的。其中自然有梅壘什珂夫斯基（Merezhkovsky），有托爾斯泰派；也有羅曼羅蘭，愛因斯坦因（Einstein）。我還疑心連高爾基也在內，那時他正為種種人們奔走，使他們出國，幫他們安身，聽說還至於因此和當局者相衝突。 　　但這種的辯解和豫測，人們是未必相信的，因為他們以為一黨專政的時候，總有為暴政辯解的文章，即使做得怎樣巧妙而動人，也不過一種血跡上的掩飾。然而幾個為高爾基所救的文人，就證明了這豫測的真實性，他們一出國，便痛罵高爾基，正如復活後的謨爾卻伯爵一樣了。 　　而更加證明了這劇本在十年前所豫測的真實的是今年的德國。在中國，雖然已有幾本敘述希特拉的生平和勳業的書，國內情形，卻介紹得很少，現在抄幾段巴黎《時事周報》「Vu」的記載（素琴譯，見《大陸雜誌》十月號）在下面—— 　　「『請允許我不要說你已經見到過我，請你不要對別人洩露我講的話。……我們都被監視了。……老實告訴你罷，這簡直是一座地獄。』對我們講話的這一位是並無政治經歷的人，他是一位科學家。……對於人類命運，他達到了幾個模糊而大度的概念，這就是他的得罪之由。……」 　　「『倔強的人是一開始就給剷除了的，』在慕尼錫我們底嚮導者已經告訴過我們，…… 但是別的國社黨人則將情形更推進了一步。『那種方法是古典的。我們叫他們到軍營那邊去取東西回來，於是，就打他們一靶。打起官話來，這叫作：圖逃格殺。』」 　　「難道德國公民底生命或者財產對於危險的統治是有敵意的麼？……愛因斯坦底財產被沒收了沒有呢？那些連德國報紙也承認的幾乎每天都可在空地或城外森林中發現的胸穿數彈身負傷痕的死屍，到底是怎樣一回事呢？ 　　難道這些也是共產黨底挑激所致麼？這種解釋似乎太容易一點了吧？……」 　　但是，十二年前，作者卻早借謨爾卻的嘴給過解釋了。另外，再抄一段法國的《世界》週刊的記事（博心譯，見《中外書報新聞》第三號）在這裡——「許多工人政黨領袖都受著類似的嚴刑酷法。在哥倫，社會民主黨員沙羅曼所受的真是更其超人想像了！最初，沙羅曼被人輪流毆擊了好幾個鐘頭。隨後，人家竟用火把燒他的腳。同時又以冷水淋他的身，暈去則停刑，醒來又遭殃。流血的面孔上又受他們許多次數的便溺。最後，人家以為他已死了，把他拋棄在一個地窖裡。他的朋友才把他救出偷偷運過法國來，現在還在一個醫院裡。這個社會民主黨右派沙羅曼對於德文《民聲報》編輯主任的探問，曾有這樣的聲明：『三月九日，我了解法西主義比讀什麼書都透徹。誰以為可以在知識言論上制勝法西主義，那必定是癡人說夢。我們現在已到了英勇的戰鬥的社會主義時代了。』」 　　這也就是這部書的極透徹的解釋，極確切的實證，比羅曼羅蘭和愛因斯坦因的轉向，更加曉暢，並且顯示了作者的描寫反革命的凶殘，實在並非誇大，倒是還未淋漓盡致的了。 　　是的，反革命者的野獸性，革命者倒是會很難推想的。 　　一九二五年的德國，和現在稍不同，這戲劇曾在國民劇場開演，並且印行了戈支（I．Gotz）的譯本。不久，日譯本也出現了，收在《社會文藝叢書》裡；還聽說也曾開演於東京。三年前，我曾根據二譯本，翻了一幕，載《北斗》雜誌中。靖華兄知道我在譯這部書，便寄給我一本很美麗的原本。我雖然不能讀原文，但對比之後，知道德譯本是很有刪節的，幾句幾行的不必說了，第四場上吉訶德吟了這許多工夫詩，也刪得毫無蹤影。這或者是因為開演，嫌它累墜的緣故罷。日文的也一樣，是出於德文本的。這麼一來，就使我對於譯本懷疑起來，終於放下不譯了。 　　但編者竟另得了從原文直接譯出的完全的稿子，由第二場續登下去，那時我的高興，真是所謂「不可以言語形容」。可惜的是登到第四場，和《北斗》的停刊一同中止了。後來輾轉覓得未刊的譯稿，則連第一場也已經改譯，和我的舊譯頗不同，而且註解詳明，是一部極可信任的本子。藏在箱子裡，已將一年，總沒有刊印的機會。現在有聯華書局給它出版，使中國又多一部好書，這是極可慶幸的。 　　原本有畢斯凱萊夫（I．I．Piskarev）木刻的裝飾畫，也複製在這裡了。劇中人物地方時代表，是據德文本增補的；但《堂吉訶德傳》第一部，出版於一六○四年，則那時當是十六世紀末，而表作十七世紀，也許是錯誤的罷，不過這也沒什麼大關係。 　　一九三三年十月二十八日，上海。魯迅。	Suppose there were a man today who fancied himself a Huang Tianba, wearing a hero's topknot, dressed in a night-prowler's garb, with a single-edged sword of tinplate at his side, charging through towns and villages to rid the world of tyrants and right all wrongs—he would certainly be laughed to scorn, and judged either a madman or a fool, though still somewhat fearsome. But if he were exceedingly frail and always ended up being beaten himself, then he would be merely a laughable madman or fool; people would lose all their wariness, and rather enjoy watching him. The hero of *Don Quixote* (Vida y hechos del ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha) by the great Spanish writer Cervantes (Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, 1547–1616) is precisely someone who, though living in his own time, insists on practicing the ways of the ancient knights-errant; he persists in his delusion and finally dies in poverty and hardship, thereby winning the amusement and hence the affection of many readers, who pass his story along. But let us ask: did injustice exist in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Spanish society? I think one can hardly answer otherwise than: yes. Then Quixote's resolve to fight injustice cannot be called wrong; nor can his failure to measure his own strength be called wrong. The error lies in his method of fighting. Muddled thinking led to mistaken methods. A knight-errant cannot right all the world's wrongs through his own "exploits," just as a philanthropist cannot relieve all the world's suffering through his own good deeds. Moreover, "not only is it useless, it actually does harm." He punished a master for beating his apprentice, congratulated himself on this "exploit," and swaggered off—but the moment he left, the apprentice suffered even worse. That is a fine example. Yet the bystanders who mock Quixote do not always mock him justly. They laugh at him for not being a hero yet fancying himself one, for being out of step with the times and ending up in misery and ruin; from this mockery they elevate themselves above the "non-hero" and gain a sense of superiority—yet they themselves have no better strategy for combating society's injustices, and some have not even perceived the injustice. As for philanthropists and humanitarians, others have long since exposed them as merely purchasing peace of mind with sympathy or money. This is certainly correct. But if one is not a warrior and merely seizes this argument to cloak one's own coldness, then one is purchasing peace of mind by not giving a hair—a transaction without capital. This play brings Quixote onto the stage and demonstrates with the utmost clarity the flaws, indeed the poison, of Quixotism. In the first act, through stratagem and his own beatings, he rescues the revolutionaries; spiritually he is victorious, and in fact he achieves a real victory too: the revolution does break out, and the despot is thrown into prison. But then this humanitarian suddenly sees the dukes as the oppressed, releases the serpent back into the ravine, enabling it to spread its venom once more—burning, killing, raping, and plundering far beyond the sacrifices of the revolution. Though not believed by the people—even his squire Sancho barely believes him—he is constantly exploited by scoundrels, helping to keep the world in darkness. The duke is merely a puppet; the incarnations of the despotic devil are Count Murzio (Graf Murzio) and the court physician Pappo del Babbo. Murzio once called Quixote's fantasies "the bovine happiness of sheep-like equality," and then declared the "happiness of wild beasts" that they intended to realize—saying: "Oh, Don Quixote! You do not know us beasts. The brute beast, clamping its jaws on a fawn's skull, snapping its throat, slowly drinking its hot blood, feeling the little legs quivering beneath its claws, gradually dying away—that is truly, exquisitely sweet. But man is a refined beast. To rule, to live in luxury, to compel others to pray to you, to tremble before you and bow and scrape. Happiness lies in feeling the strength of millions concentrated in your hands, surrendered to you unconditionally; they are slaves, and you are God. The happiest, most comfortable men in the world were the Roman emperors. Our duke could be like a resurrected Nero, or at least like Heliogabalus. But our court is small; we are still far from that. "To destroy all the laws of God and man, and according to the law of one's own will, to forge new chains for others! Power! In that word is everything: it is a marvelous, intoxicating word. Life must be measured by the degree of power. He who has no power is a corpse." (Act II) This is a secret that is ordinarily never stated openly. Murzio truly deserves to be called a "little devil"; he has spoken it aloud—perhaps because he considers Quixote "honest." Quixote did remark at the time that sheep should defend themselves, but when the revolution came, he forgot this, saying instead that "the new justice is nothing but the twin sister of the old justice," equating the revolutionaries with the former despot. Thereupon Drigo Pazz said— "Yes, we are despots, we are dictatorial. Look at this sword—see it?—it is the same as the nobleman's sword, and it kills just as accurately; but their sword kills for the sake of slavery, while ours kills for the sake of freedom. It is hard for your old head to change. You are a good man; good men always like to help the oppressed. Now, for this brief period, we are the oppressors. Come fight us. And we shall certainly fight you too, because our oppression is for the sake of making sure that soon no one in this world will be able to oppress anyone." (Act VI) This is a most lucid dissection. Yet Quixote still does not awaken; in the end he goes to dig up graves. He digs graves, and he "prepares" to shoulder all responsibility himself. But, as Don Balthazar says: what use is such resolve? And Balthazar goes on loving Quixote, willing to vouch for him, insisting on being his friend—because Balthazar comes from the intellectual class. But in the end he cannot change him. At this point one must acknowledge that Drigo's mockery, his loathing, his refusal to listen to empty talk, is the most justified of all—he is a warrior with correct tactics and an iron will. This is quite different from the mockery of ordinary bystanders. However, the Quixote of this play is not entirely a figure from reality. The original work was published in 1922, just six years after the October Revolution, at a time when the world was rife with slanders and calumnies from its opponents, who strained every nerve to defame it. Those who worshipped the spirit, loved freedom, and preached humanitarianism were mostly indignant at the authoritarianism of the Party, believing that the revolution, far from reviving humanity, had created a hell on earth. This play is the comprehensive answer to all these critics. The Quixote of the play is a composite of many thinkers and literary men who denounced the October Revolution. Among them are certainly Merezhkovsky and the Tolstoyans; also Romain Rolland and Einstein. I even suspect that Gorky is included—at that time he was running about on behalf of all sorts of people, helping them leave the country, helping them settle, and reportedly even coming into conflict with the authorities on their account. But such justifications and predictions people are unlikely to believe, for they assume that under a one-party dictatorship there will always be writings that defend tyranny, and however ingeniously and movingly they are composed, they are nothing but a cover draped over bloodstains. Yet several of the literary men saved by Gorky proved the truth of this prediction: the moment they left the country, they bitterly cursed Gorky, just like the resurrected Count Murzio. And what has further confirmed the truth of what this play predicted a decade ago is this year's events in Germany. In China, although there are already several books describing the life and exploits of Hitler, very little has been introduced about conditions within the country. Let me now copy a few passages from the Paris weekly *Vu*'s reports (translated by Suqin, published in *Dalu Magazine*, October issue): "'Please allow me not to say that you have already seen me; please do not reveal to others what I have told you. ... We are all being watched. ... I tell you honestly, this is simply a hell.' The person speaking to us was not a man of political experience; he was a scientist. ... He had arrived at a few vague and generous notions about the fate of humanity, and that was the cause of his offense. ...'" "'The stubborn ones were weeded out from the start,' our guide in Munich had already told us. ... But other National Socialists pushed things a step further. 'The method is classical. We tell them to go to the barracks to fetch something, and then we shoot them in the back. In official language, this is called: shot while attempting to escape.'" "'Is the life or property of German citizens hostile to the regime of danger? ... Has Einstein's property been confiscated? What about the corpses, pierced by multiple bullets and covered with wounds, found almost daily in vacant lots or in the forests outside the city, as even the German newspapers acknowledge? Is all this the provocation of the Communists, too? This explanation seems a bit too convenient, does it not? ...'" But twelve years earlier, the author had already put the explanation in Murzio's mouth. Let me also copy a passage from the French weekly *Le Monde* (translated by Boxin, published in *Chinese and Foreign Book News*, No. 3): "Many leaders of workers' parties have suffered similar cruel tortures. In Cologne, what the Social Democrat Salomon endured truly surpassed all imagination! First, Salomon was beaten in turns for several hours. Then they burned his feet with torches. At the same time they doused him with cold water; when he fainted, they stopped; when he came to, the torment resumed. Upon his bleeding face they urinated repeatedly. Finally, believing him dead, they threw him into a cellar. His friends rescued him and smuggled him across to France, where he is still in a hospital. This right-wing Social Democrat Salomon, in response to the inquiry of the editor-in-chief of the German *Volksstimme*, made the following statement: 'On March 9, I understood fascism more thoroughly than from reading any book. Whoever thinks he can defeat fascism through intellectual argument is dreaming. We have now entered the era of heroic, combative socialism.'" This is also the most penetrating interpretation and the most precise corroboration of this book—more illuminating even than the conversion of Romain Rolland and Einstein, and it shows that the author's depiction of the savagery of the counter-revolution was by no means exaggerated, but rather had not yet gone far enough. Yes, the bestiality of the counter-revolutionaries is something that revolutionaries would find hard to imagine. The Germany of 1925 was somewhat different from today. This play was performed at the National Theater, and a translation by I. Gotz was published. Soon a Japanese translation also appeared, included in the *Social Literature Series*; I also heard that it was performed in Tokyo. Three years ago, working from both translations, I translated one act and published it in *Big Dipper* magazine. My friend Jinghua, knowing that I was translating this book, sent me a very beautiful original edition. Although I cannot read the original text, after comparison I discovered that the German translation had significant cuts—not just a few sentences or lines here and there; in the fourth act, all of Quixote's lengthy recitation of craft poetry had been deleted without a trace. Perhaps this was done for the sake of performance, to avoid tedium. The Japanese version was the same, being based on the German. This made me suspicious of the translations, and in the end I put the work aside and stopped translating. But the editor managed to obtain, by another route, a complete manuscript translated directly from the original, continuing from the second act onward; my joy at that moment was truly, as they say, "beyond words." Unfortunately, by the time it reached the fourth act, publication ceased along with *Big Dipper*'s suspension. Later, after much searching, the unpublished manuscript was found; by then even the first act had been retranslated, differing considerably from my old version, and with detailed annotations—it was an eminently trustworthy edition. It had lain in a trunk for nearly a year, with no opportunity for publication. Now the Lianhua Press is publishing it, giving China one more good book, which is most gratifying. The original contains decorative woodcuts by I. I. Piskarev, which are also reproduced here. The table of dramatis personae, places, and periods is supplemented from the German edition; but the first part of *Don Quixote* was published in 1604, which would place the action in the late sixteenth century, while the table gives the seventeenth century—this may be an error, though it is of no great consequence. October 28, 1933, Shanghai. Lu Xun.
=== 第49节 ===	== Section 49 ==
鏤像於木，印之素紙，以行遠而及眾，蓋實始於中國。法人伯希和氏從敦煌千佛洞所得佛像印本，論者謂當刊於五代之末，而宋初施以采色，其先於日耳曼最初木刻者，尚幾四百年。宋人刻本，則由今所見醫書佛典，時有圖形；或以辨物，或以起信，圖史之體具矣。降至明代，為用愈宏，小說傳奇，每作出相，或拙如畫沙，或細於擘鞾，亦有畫譜，累次套印，文彩絢爛，奪人目睛，是為木刻之盛世。清尚樸學，兼斥紛華，而此道於是凌替。光緒初，吳友如據點石齋，為小說作繡像，以西法印行，全像之書，頗復騰踴，然繡梓遂愈少，僅在新年花紙與日用信箋中，保其殘喘而已。及近年，則印繪花紙，且並為西法與俗工所奪，老鼠嫁女與靜女拈花之圖，皆渺不復見；信箋亦漸失舊型，復無新意，惟日趨於鄙倍。北京夙為文人所聚，頗珍楮墨，遺范未墮，尚存名箋。顧迫於時會，苓落將始，吾修好事，亦多杞憂。於是搜索市廛，拔其尤異，各就原版，印造成書，名之曰《北平箋譜》。於中可見清光緒時紙鋪，尚止取明季畫譜，或前人小品之相宜者，鏤以制箋，聊圖悅目；間亦有畫工所作，而乏韻致，固無足觀。宣統末，林琴南先生山水箋出，似為當代文人特作畫箋之始，然未詳。及中華民國立，義寧陳君師曾入北京，初為鐫銅者作墨合，鎮紙畫稿，俾其雕鏤；既成拓墨，雅趣盎然。不久復廓其技於箋紙，才華蓬勃，筆簡意饒，且又顧及刻工省其奏刀之困，而詩箋乃開一新境。蓋至是而畫師梓人，神志暗會，同力合作，遂越前修矣。稍後有齊白石，吳待秋，陳半丁，王夢白諸君，皆畫箋高手，而刻工亦足以副之。辛未以後，始見數人，分畫一題，聚以成帙，格新神渙，異乎嘉祥。意者文翰之術將更，則箋素之道隨盡；後有作者，必將別辟途徑，力求新生；其臨睨夫舊鄉，當遠俟於暇日也。則此雖短書，所識者小，而一時一地，繪畫刻鏤盛衰之事，頗寓於中；縱非中國木刻史之豐碑，庶幾小品藝術之舊苑；亦將為後之覽古者所偶涉歟。 　　千九百三十三年十月三十日魯迅記。	To carve an image upon wood and print it on plain paper, that it may travel far and reach the multitude—this art did in truth originate in China. The printed Buddhist image obtained by the Frenchman Pelliot from the Thousand Buddha Caves at Dunhuang is, in the judgment of scholars, a work of the late Five Dynasties period, to which color was added in the early Song; it precedes the earliest German woodcut by nearly four hundred years. In Song printed editions, as we see from surviving medical texts and Buddhist scriptures, illustrations appear from time to time—some to distinguish objects, some to inspire faith—and thus the form of illustrated histories was established. By the Ming dynasty, the applications grew ever broader: novels and dramatic romances were regularly furnished with illustrations, some crude as lines drawn in sand, others fine as the grain of a split boot; there were also painting manuals, printed in successive overlays, their colors brilliant and dazzling, seizing the viewer's eye. This was the golden age of woodcut. The Qing dynasty favored textual scholarship and frowned upon ornament, and so this art went into decline. In the early Guangxu reign, Wu Youru, based at the Dianshi Studio, made illustrations for novels printed by Western methods; fully illustrated books enjoyed a considerable vogue, but fine woodcut engraving grew ever rarer, and survived only in New Year prints and everyday letter paper, gasping for breath. In recent years, even printed New Year pictures have been supplanted by Western methods and vulgar workmanship; the old images of the Mouse's Wedding and the Maiden Picking Flowers have vanished without a trace; letter paper too has gradually lost its old form without gaining any new inspiration, merely growing ever more coarse and debased. Peking has long been a gathering place for men of letters who cherish paper and ink; the old standards have not entirely fallen, and fine letter papers still exist. Yet, pressed by the times, decline is about to begin, and I, who love such things, am also much given to anxious foreboding. Therefore I searched the shops and stalls, selected the finest specimens, printed them from the original blocks, and compiled them into a book titled *The Beiping Letter Paper Album*. Herein one may see that the paper shops of the Guangxu era still merely took painting manuals of the late Ming or suitable small works by earlier masters and had them carved as letter papers, intended simply to please the eye; occasionally there were also works by artisan-painters, but these lacked elegance and were not worth looking at. Near the end of the Xuantong reign, Mr. Lin Qinnan's landscape letter papers appeared, seemingly marking the beginning of modern literati creating letter-paper designs expressly for this purpose, though I am not certain. After the Republic of China was established, Chen Shizeng of Yining came to Peking and at first made designs for inkstone cases and paperweights for the copper engravers, who carved them accordingly; the resulting ink rubbings were full of refined charm. Before long he extended his art to letter paper, and his talent burst forth abundantly—his brushwork was spare yet richly evocative, and he also took care to ease the engraver's labor at the knife, whereupon poetic letter paper entered a new realm. For at this point painter and engraver met in silent communion, joining forces in collaboration, and surpassed all predecessors. Not long after came Qi Baishi, Wu Daiqiu, Chen Banding, Wang Mengbai, and others, all masters of letter-paper painting, with engravers fully equal to them. After the xinwei year, one began to see several painters, each painting a different subject, gathering them into albums—the format was novel but the spirit dissipated, unlike the works of auspicious times past. Perhaps as the arts of writing are about to change, the way of letter paper will come to its end; future artists will surely have to break new paths and strive for renewal; as for gazing back upon the old country, that must await a more leisurely day. Though this is but a small book and records but trifles, the rise and fall of painting and engraving in one time and one place are amply contained within it; if it is not a grand monument in the history of Chinese woodcut, it may perhaps serve as an old garden of the minor arts, to be visited now and again by future antiquarians. October 30, 1933, recorded by Lu Xun.
=== 第50节 ===	== Section 50 ==
一有所感，倘不立刻寫出，就忘卻，因為會習慣。幼小時候，洋紙一到手，便覺得羊臊氣撲鼻，現在卻什麼特別的感覺也沒有了。初看見血，心裡是不舒服的，不過久住在殺人的名勝之區，則即使見了掛著的頭顱，也不怎麼詫異。這就是因為能夠習慣的緣故。由此看來，人們——至少，是我一般的人們，要從自由人變成奴隸，怕也未必怎麼煩難罷。無論什麼，都會慣起來的。 　　中國是變化繁多的地方，但令人並不覺得怎樣變化。變化太多，反而很快的忘卻了。倘要記得這麼多的變化，實在也非有超人的記憶力就辦不到。 　　但是，關於一年中的所感，雖然淡漠，卻還能夠記得一些的。不知怎的，好像無論什麼，都成了潛行活動，秘密活動了。 　　至今為止，所聽到的是革命者因為受著壓迫，所以用著潛行，或者秘密的活動，但到一九三三年，卻覺得統治者也在這麼辦的了。譬如罷，闊佬甲到闊佬乙所在的地方來，一般的人們，總以為是來商量政治的，然而報紙上卻道並不為此，只因為要游名勝，或是到溫泉裡洗澡；外國的外交官來到了，它告訴讀者的是也並非有什麼外交問題，不過來看看某大名人的貴恙。但是，到底又總好像並不然。 　　用筆的人更能感到的，是所謂文壇上的事。有錢的人，給綁匪架去了，作為抵押品，上海原是常有的，但近來卻連作家也往往不知所往。有些人說，那是給政府那面捉去了，然而好像政府那面的人們，卻道並不是。然而又好像實在也還是在屬於政府的什麼機關裡的樣子。犯禁的書籍雜誌的目錄，是沒有的，然而郵寄之後，也往往不知所往。假如是列寧的著作罷，那自然不足為奇，但《國木田獨步集》有時也不行，還有，是亞米契斯的《愛的教育》。不過，賣著也許犯忌的東西的書店，卻還是有的，雖然還有，而有時又會從不知什麼地方飛來一柄鐵錘，將窗上的大玻璃打破，損失是二百元以上。打破兩塊的書店也有，這回是合計五百元正了。有時也撒些傳單，署名總不外乎什麼什麼團之類。平安的刊物上，是登著莫索裡尼或希特拉的傳記，恭維著，還說是要救中國，必須這樣的英雄，然而一到中國的莫索裡尼或希特拉是誰呢這一個緊要結論，卻總是客氣著不明說。這是秘密，要讀者自己悟出，各人自負責任的罷。對於論敵，當和蘇俄絕交時，就說他得著盧布，抗日的時候，則說是在將中國的秘密向日本賣錢。但是，用了筆墨來告發這賣國事件的人物，卻又用的是化名，好像萬一發生效力，敵人因此被殺了，他也不很高興負這責任似的。 　　革命者因為受壓迫，所以鑽到地裡去，現在是壓迫者和他的爪牙，也躲進暗地裡去了。這是因為雖在軍刀的保護之下，胡說八道，其實卻毫無自信的緣故；而且連對於軍刀的力量，也在懷著疑。一面胡說八道，一面想著將來的變化，就越加縮進暗地裡去，準備著情勢一變，就另換一副面孔，另拿一張旗子，從新來一回。而拿著軍刀的偉人存在外國銀行裡的錢，也使他們的自信力更加動搖的。這是為不遠的將來計。為了遼遠的將來，則在願意在歷史上留下一個芳名。中國和印度不同，是看重歷史的。但是，並不怎麼相信，總以為只要用一種什麼好手段，就可以使人寫得體體面面。然而對於自己以外的讀者，那自然要他們相信的。 　　我們從幼小以來，就受著對於意外的事情，變化非常的事情，絕不驚奇的教育。那教科書是《西遊記》，全部充滿著妖怪的變化。例如牛魔王呀，孫悟空呀……就是。據作者所指示，是也有邪正之分的，但總而言之，兩面都是妖怪，所以在我們人類，大可以不必怎樣關心。然而，假使這不是書本上的事，而自己也身歷其境，這可頗有點為難了。以為是洗澡的美人罷，卻是蜘蛛精；以為是寺廟的大門罷，卻是猴子的嘴，這教人怎麼過。早就受了《西遊記》教育，嚇得氣絕是大約不至於的，但總之，無論對於什麼，就都不免要懷疑了。 　　外交家是多疑的，我卻覺得中國人大抵都多疑。如果跑到鄉下去，向農民問路徑，問他的姓名，問收成，他總不大肯說老實話。將對手當蜘蛛精看是未必的，但好像他總在以為會給他什麼禍祟。這種情形，很使正人君子們憤慨，就給了他們一個徽號，叫作「愚民」。但在事實上，帶給他們禍祟的時候卻也並非全沒有。因了一整年的經驗，我也就比農民更加多疑起來，看見顯著正人君子模樣的人物，竟會覺得他也許正是蜘蛛精了。然而，這也就會習慣的罷。 　　愚民的發生，是愚民政策的結果，秦始皇已經死了二千多年，看看歷史，是沒有再用這種政策的了，然而，那效果的遺留，卻久遠得多麼駭人呵！ 　　十二月五日。	Once something stirs a feeling, if I do not write it down at once, I forget it — because one grows accustomed. As a small child, the moment foreign paper came into my hands I would be struck by its rank, sheepish odor; now I feel nothing particular at all. The first sight of blood is disagreeable, but after a long sojourn in a district famed for its killings, one can behold even a severed head hanging in public without much surprise. This is because one is capable of growing accustomed. Seen in this light, for people — at least, for people of my sort — to go from being free men to being slaves would probably not be so very troublesome either. No matter what it is, one gets used to it. China is a land of incessant change, yet somehow one does not feel it changing much. There are so many changes that one very quickly forgets them. To remember so many changes would indeed require a superhuman memory. Still, of what I felt during this past year, though my impressions are faint, I can recall a few things. Somehow, it seems as if everything — no matter what — has become clandestine activity, secret activity. Until now, what one heard was that revolutionaries, being oppressed, resorted to going underground or working in secret. But by 1933, one perceived that the rulers, too, were doing the very same thing. For instance, when Magnate A travels to the place where Magnate B resides, ordinary people naturally assume he has come to discuss politics; but the newspapers report otherwise — he merely wished to visit scenic spots, or bathe in a hot spring. When a foreign diplomat arrives, the public is told there is no diplomatic issue at all; he has simply come to inquire after the health of some great celebrity. And yet, in the end, it always seems as though that is not quite the case. Those who wield the pen feel it most keenly in what they call affairs of the literary world. Wealthy men are kidnapped by bandits and held for ransom — a common enough occurrence in Shanghai — but lately, even writers frequently vanish without a trace. Some say they have been seized by the government; yet those on the government's side seem to deny it. And yet it also seems as if they really are being held in some government organ or other. There is no published list of banned books and periodicals, yet after they are mailed, they, too, often vanish. If it were the works of Lenin, that would hardly be surprising; but sometimes the Collected Works of Kunikida Doppo are also intercepted, and even Amicis' Cuore. Yet bookshops that sell possibly forbidden merchandise still exist — they do still exist — though sometimes, from who knows where, an iron hammer flies in and smashes the large pane of glass in the shopfront, costing more than two hundred yuan in damages. There are shops that have had two panes smashed — this time coming to a round total of five hundred yuan. Sometimes leaflets are also scattered about, invariably signed by such-and-such a "corps" or "league." In the placid periodicals one finds biographies of Mussolini or Hitler, praised to the skies, with the added claim that to save China one needs just such a hero; and yet when it comes to the crucial conclusion — who exactly is China's Mussolini or Hitler? — they are always politely silent. This is a secret, to be divined by the reader himself, at his own risk. As for their polemical opponents: when relations with Soviet Russia were severed, they accused them of receiving rubles; when the anti-Japanese resistance was underway, they accused them of selling China's secrets to Japan for money. But the person who uses pen and ink to denounce these treasonous affairs always writes under a pseudonym, as though, should his denunciation by some chance take effect and his enemy be killed on account of it, he would rather not bear that responsibility. Revolutionaries, because they are oppressed, burrow underground. Now the oppressors and their lackeys, too, have crept into the shadows. This is because, though they talk reckless nonsense under the protection of military sabers, they in fact have no confidence whatsoever; and moreover they even doubt the power of those sabers. While talking reckless nonsense on one hand, on the other they think about future upheavals and shrink ever further into the darkness, readying themselves to don a different face and raise a different banner and start all over again when the situation changes. And the money that the great saber-wielding personages have deposited in foreign banks further shakes their self-confidence. This is planning for the not-too-distant future. For the remote future, they would like to leave a fragrant name in history. China differs from India in this: it places great store by history. But they do not quite believe in it, always thinking that some clever stratagem will suffice to have themselves written up in a flattering manner. As for readers other than themselves — well, naturally they want those readers to believe it. From earliest childhood we have been educated never to be surprised by unexpected events, by extraordinary transformations. Our textbook is Journey to the West, which is entirely filled with the metamorphoses of demons. Bull Demon King, Monkey King — these are examples. According to the author, there is a distinction between the evil and the righteous, but on the whole, both sides are demons, and we humans need not be overly concerned. If, however, these were not matters in a book but things one experienced oneself, it would be rather awkward. What you took to be a bathing beauty turns out to be the Spider Demon; what you took to be the great gate of a temple turns out to be the mouth of a monkey — how is one supposed to manage? Having been schooled by Journey to the West since childhood, one is unlikely to be frightened to death, but all in all, one cannot help but regard everything with suspicion. Diplomats are suspicious by nature; but I have come to feel that the Chinese in general are mostly suspicious. If you go to the countryside and ask a peasant the way, ask his name, ask about the harvest, he is never quite willing to tell you the truth. It is not necessarily that he takes you for a Spider Demon, but he seems always to assume you will bring him some calamity. This state of affairs greatly incenses the upright gentlemen, who have bestowed upon the peasants the sobriquet of "ignorant rabble." But in reality, there are times when calamity does indeed come to them. Through a full year's experience, I have grown more suspicious even than the peasant — when I see someone bearing the conspicuous mien of an upright gentleman, I actually suspect he may be the Spider Demon. But even this, I suppose, one will get used to. The creation of an ignorant populace is the result of a policy of keeping the people ignorant. Qin Shihuang has been dead for more than two thousand years, and a glance at history shows that no one has employed such a policy again — yet how frightfully enduring are its lingering effects! December 5.
=== 第51节 ===	== Section 51 ==
我在這三年中，居然陸續得到這許多蘇聯藝術家的木刻，真是連自己也沒有豫先想到的。一九三一年頃，正想校印《鐵流》，偶然在《版畫》（Graphika）這一種雜誌上，看見載著畢斯凱來夫刻有這書中故事的圖畫，便寫信託靖華兄去搜尋。費了許多周折，會著畢斯凱來夫，終於將木刻寄來了，因為怕途中會有失落，還分寄了同樣的兩份。靖華兄的來信說，這木刻版畫的定價頗不小，然而無須付，蘇聯的木刻家多說印畫莫妙於中國紙，只要寄些給他就好。我看那印著《鐵流》圖的紙，果然是中國紙，然而是一種上海的所謂「抄更紙」，乃是集紙質較好的碎紙，第二次做成的紙張，在中國，除了做帳簿和開發票，帳單之外，幾乎再沒有更高的用處。我於是買了許多中國的各種宣紙和日本的「西之內」和「鳥之子」，分寄給靖華，托他轉致，倘有餘剩，便另送別的木刻家。這一舉竟得了意外的收穫，兩卷木刻又寄來了，畢斯凱來夫十三幅，克拉甫兼珂一幅，法復爾斯基六幅，保夫理諾夫一幅，岡察羅夫十六幅；還有一卷被郵局所遺失，無從訪查，不知道其中是那幾個作家的作品。這五個，那時是都住在墨斯科的。 　　可惜我太性急，一面在搜畫，一面就印書，待到《鐵流》圖寄到時，書卻早已出版了，我只好打算另印單張，介紹給中國，以答作者的厚意。到年底，這才付給印刷所，制了版，收回原圖，囑他開印。不料戰事就開始了，我在樓上遠遠地眼看著這印刷所和我的鋅版都燒成了灰燼。後來我自己是逃出戰線了，書籍和木刻畫卻都留在交叉火線下，但我也僅有極少的閒情來想到他們。又一意外的事是待到重回舊寓，檢點圖書時，竟絲毫也未遭損失；不過我也心神未定，一時不再想到複製了。 　　去年秋間，我才又記得了《鐵流》圖，請文學社製版附在《文學》第一期中，這圖總算到底和中國的讀者見了面。同時，我又寄了一包宣紙去，三個月之後，換來的是法復爾斯基五幅，畢珂夫十一幅，莫察羅夫二幅，希仁斯基和波查日斯基各五幅，亞歷克捨夫四十一幅，密德羅辛三幅，數目比上一次更多了。莫察羅夫以下的五個，都是住在列寧格勒的木刻家。 　　但這些作品在我的手頭，又彷彿是一副重擔。我常常想：這一種原版的木刻畫，至有一百餘幅之多，在中國恐怕只有我一個了，而但秘之篋中，豈不辜負了作者的好意？況且一部分已經散亡，一部分幾遭兵火，而現在的人生，又無定到不及薤上露，萬一相偕湮滅，在我，是覺得比失了生命還可惜的。流光真快，徘徊間已過新年，我便決計選出六十幅來，復製成書，以傳給青年藝術學徒和版畫的愛好者。其中的法復爾斯基和岡察羅夫的作品，多是大幅，但為資力所限，在這裡只好縮小了。 　　我毫不知道俄國版畫的歷史；幸而得到陳節先生摘譯的文章，這才明白一點十五年來的梗概，現在就印在卷首，算作序言；並且作者的次序，也照序中的敘述來排列的。文中說起的名家，有幾個我這裡並沒有他們的作品，因為這回翻印，以原版為限，所以也不再由別書採取，加以補充。讀者倘欲求詳，則契訶寧印有俄文畫集，列培台華且有英文解釋的畫集的—— 　　Ｏstraooｍova－Ljebedevaby A．Benoisand S．Ernst． 　　StatePress，Ｍoscoｗ－Leningrad．密德羅辛也有一本英文解釋的畫集—— 　　D．I．Ｍitrohin by Ｍ．Kouzｍin and V．Voinoff．State Editorship，Ｍoscoｗ－Petrograd． 　　不過出版太早，現在也許已經絕版了，我曾從日本的「Ｎauka社」買來，只有四圓的定價，但其中木刻卻不多。 　　因為我極願意知道作者的經歷，由靖華兄致意，住在列寧格勒的五個都寫來了。我們常看見文學家的自傳，而藝術家，並且專為我們而寫的自傳是極少的，所以我全都抄錄在這裡，借此保存一點史料。以下是密德羅辛的自傳——「密德羅辛（Dｍitri Isidorovich Ｍitrokhin）一八八三年生於耶普斯克（在北高加索）城。在其地畢業於實業學校。後求學於莫斯科之繪畫，雕刻，建築學校和斯特洛幹工藝學校。未畢業。曾在巴黎工作一年。從一九○三年起開始展覽。對於書籍之裝飾及插畫工作始於一九○四年。現在主要的是給『大學院』和『國家文藝出版所』工作。 　　七，三○，一九三三。密德羅辛。」 　　在墨斯科的木刻家，還未能得到他們的自傳，本來也可以逐漸調查，但我不想等候了。法復爾斯基自成一派，已有重名，所以在《蘇聯小百科全書》中，就有他的略傳。這是靖華譯給我的—— 　　「法復爾斯基（Vladiｍir Andreevich Favorsky） 　　生於一八八六年，蘇聯現代木刻家和繪畫家，創木刻派在形式與結構上顯出高尚的匠手，有精細的技術。法復爾斯基的木刻太帶形式派色彩，含著神秘主義的特點，表現革命初期一部分小資產階級知識分子的心緒。最好的作品是：對於梅裡美，普式庚，巴爾扎克，法郎士諸人作品的插畫和單形木刻——《一九一七年十月》與《一九一九至一九二一年》。」 　　我極欣幸這一本小集中，竟能收載他見於記錄的《一九一七年十月》和《梅裡美像》；前一種疑即序中所說的《革命的年代》之一，原是盈尺的大幅，可惜只能縮印了。在我這裡的還有一幅三色印的《七個怪物》的插畫，並手抄的詩，現在不能複製，也是極可惜的。至於別的四位，目下竟無從稽考；所不能忘的尤其是畢斯凱來夫，他是最先以作品寄與中國的人，現在只好選印了一幅《畢斯凱來夫家的新住宅》在這裡，夫婦在燈下作工，床欄上扶著一個小孩子，我們雖然不知道他的身世，卻如目睹了他們的家庭。 　　以後是幾個新作家了，序中僅舉其名，但這裡有為我們而寫的自傳在—— 　　「莫察羅夫（Sergei Ｍikhailovich Ｍocharov）以一九○二年生於阿斯特拉汗城。畢業於其地之美術師範學校。一九二二年到聖彼得堡，一九二六年畢業於美術學院之線畫科。一九二四年開始印畫。現工作於『大學院』和『青年衛軍』出版所。 　　七，三○，一九三三。莫察羅夫。」 　　「希仁斯基（L．S．Khizhinsky）以一八九六年生於基雅夫。一九一八年畢業於基雅夫美術學校。一九二二年入列寧格勒美術學院，一九二七年畢業。從一九二七年起開始木刻。 　　主要作品如下： 　　１保夫羅夫：《三篇小說》。 　　２阿察洛夫斯基：《五道河》。 　　３Vergilius：《Aeneid》。 　　４《亞歷山大戲院（在列寧格勒）百年紀念刊》。 　　５《俄國謎語》。 　　七，三○，一九三三。希仁斯基。」 　　最末的兩位，姓名不見於「代序」中，我想，大約因為都是線畫美術家，並非木刻專家的緣故。以下是他們的自傳—— 　　「亞歷克捨夫（Ｎikolai Vasilievich Alekseev）。線畫美術家。一八九四年生於丹堡（Taｍbovsky）省的莫爾襄斯克（Ｍorshansk）城。一九一七年畢業於列寧格勒美術學院之複寫科。一九一八年開始印作品。現工作於列寧格勒諸出版所：『大學院』，『Gihl』（國家文藝出版部）和『作家出版所』。 　　主要作品：陀思妥夫斯基的《博徒》，斐定的《城與年》，高爾基的《母親》。 　　七，三○，一九三三。亞歷克捨夫。」 　　「波查日斯基（Sergei Ｍikhailovich Pozharsky） 　　以一九○○年十一月十六日生於達甫理契省（在南俄，黑海附近）之卡爾巴斯村。 　　在基雅夫中學和美術大學求學。從一九二三年起，工作於列寧格勒，以線畫美術家資格參加列寧格勒一切主要展覽，參加外國展覽——巴黎，克爾普等。一九三○年起學木刻術。 　　七，三○，一九三三。波查日斯基。」 　　亞歷克捨夫的作品，我這裡有《母親》和《城與年》的全部，前者中國已有沈端先君的譯本，因此全都收入了；後者也是一部巨製，以後也許會有譯本的罷，姑且留下，以待將來。 　　我對於木刻的紹介，先有梅斐爾德（Ｃarl Ｍeffert）的《士敏土》之圖；其次，是和西諦先生同編的《北平箋譜》；這是第三本，因為都是用白紙換來的，所以取「拋磚引玉」之意，謂之《引玉集》。但目前的中國，真是荊天棘地，所見的只是狐虎的跋扈和雉兔的偷生，在文藝上，僅存的是冷淡和破壞。而且，丑角也在荒涼中趁勢登場，對於木刻的紹介，已有富家贅婿和他的幫閒們的譏笑了。但歷史的巨輪，是決不因幫閒們的不滿而停運的；我已經確切的相信：將來的光明，必將證明我們不但是文藝上的遺產的保存者，而且也是開拓者和建設者。 　　一九三四年一月二十夜，記。	That I should have gradually acquired so many woodcuts by Soviet artists over the course of these three years is something I had not anticipated even myself. Around 1931, when I was preparing to proofread and print The Iron Flood, I happened to see in the magazine Graphika that Piskaryov had engraved illustrations for stories from this book, and I wrote to ask Brother Jinghua to seek them out. After much trouble, he met Piskaryov, and at last the woodcuts were sent; fearing they might be lost in transit, he even sent two identical sets. In his letter, Brother Jinghua wrote that the price of these woodcut prints was not small; yet there was no need to pay — the Soviet woodcut artists all said that Chinese paper was the finest for printing, and it would suffice to send them some. I looked at the paper on which The Iron Flood illustrations were printed and indeed it was Chinese paper — but a kind of Shanghai "chao-geng paper," made by collecting scraps of better-quality paper and re-pulping them. In China, apart from making account books, invoices, and bills, it has virtually no higher use. So I purchased a great variety of Chinese xuan paper as well as Japanese "Nishinouchi" and "Torinoko," and sent them in parcels to Jinghua, asking him to pass them on, with any surplus going to other woodcut artists. This single gesture yielded an unexpected harvest: two more rolls of woodcuts arrived — thirteen by Piskaryov, one by Kravchenko, six by Favorsky, one by Pavlinov, and sixteen by Goncharov. A third roll was lost by the postal service and could not be traced; I do not know whose works it contained. These five artists were all living in Moscow at the time. Unfortunately, I was too impatient — searching for prints on one hand while printing the book on the other, so that by the time The Iron Flood illustrations arrived, the book had long since been published. I could only plan to print them separately as individual sheets, to introduce them to China and repay the artists' generosity. By year's end, I delivered them to the printing house, had the plates made, retrieved the originals, and instructed them to begin printing. But then the hostilities broke out, and from a rooftop in the distance I watched with my own eyes as that printing house, and my zinc plates with it, burned to ashes. Later I myself escaped through the battle lines, but my books and woodcuts remained under the crossfire, and I had very little leisure to think of them. Another unexpected thing was that when I returned to my old lodgings and checked my books, they had suffered not the slightest damage; however, my nerves were still unsettled, and for a while I did not think of reproducing them again. Last autumn I finally remembered The Iron Flood illustrations and asked the Literature Society to make plates, appending them to the first issue of Literature — and so these images at last met the Chinese reader. At the same time, I sent another package of xuan paper, and three months later what came in return was: five by Favorsky, eleven by Bikhov, two by Mocharov, five each by Khizhinsky and Pozharsky, forty-one by Alekseev, and three by Mitrokhin — even more than the previous time. Mocharov and the five who follow were all woodcut artists residing in Leningrad. But these works in my hands felt rather like a heavy burden. I often thought: of these original woodcut prints, amounting to over a hundred pieces, I am probably the only person in China who possesses them — and yet to keep them locked in a chest, would that not be a betrayal of the artists' goodwill? Moreover, a portion had already been scattered and lost, another portion had nearly perished in the flames of war, and life today is so uncertain as to be less lasting than dew on a scallion leaf — should they perish together with me, I would feel it a greater loss than losing my life. Time flows swiftly; while I hesitated, the New Year had already passed. I resolved to select sixty pieces and reproduce them in a book, to be handed down to young art students and lovers of printmaking. Among them, the works of Favorsky and Goncharov are mostly large-format, but owing to limited resources they have had to be reduced in size here. I know nothing whatsoever about the history of Russian printmaking; fortunately, I obtained an article translated in excerpts by Mr. Chen Jie, which gave me a general picture of the past fifteen years. I have printed it at the beginning of the volume to serve as a preface; the order of the artists also follows the sequence of the preface. Several masters mentioned in the text are not represented by works in my collection; since this edition is limited to originals in my possession, I have not supplemented it by extracting works from other books. For readers who wish to know more, Chekhonin published a Russian-language art album, and Lebedev has an album with English commentary — Ostroumova-Lebedeva by A. Benois and S. Ernst. State Press, Moscow–Leningrad. Mitrokhin also has an album with English commentary — D. I. Mitrohin by M. Kouzmin and V. Voinoff. State Editorship, Moscow–Petrograd. However, these were published quite early and may by now be out of print. I once purchased them from the Japanese "Nauka-sha" for only four yen, though they contain few woodcuts. Because I very much wished to know the artists' biographies, Brother Jinghua conveyed my request, and all five residing in Leningrad wrote theirs. We often see autobiographies of literary figures, but autobiographies of artists — and ones written expressly for us at that — are exceedingly rare, so I have transcribed them all here, to preserve a small portion of historical material. The following is Mitrokhin's autobiography — "Mitrokhin (Dmitri Isidorovich Mitrokhin), born in 1883 in Yepsk (in the North Caucasus). Graduated from the local vocational school. Later studied at the Moscow School of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture and the Stroganov School of Applied Art. Did not graduate. Worked in Paris for one year. Began exhibiting from 1903. Began working on book decoration and illustration in 1904. Currently works principally for the 'Academy' and the 'State Literary Publishing House.' July 30, 1933. Mitrokhin." I have not yet been able to obtain the autobiographies of the woodcut artists in Moscow. One could, of course, investigate gradually, but I did not wish to wait. Favorsky has established his own school and already enjoys considerable renown, so the Small Soviet Encyclopedia contains a brief biography of him. This is what Jinghua translated for me — "Favorsky (Vladimir Andreevich Favorsky) Born in 1886. A contemporary Soviet woodcut artist and painter who founded a school of woodcutting distinguished by its lofty craftsmanship in form and structure, with exquisite technique. Favorsky's woodcuts are overly formalist in character and contain elements of mysticism, expressing the sentiments of a portion of the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia during the early revolutionary period. His finest works are: illustrations for the works of Mérimée, Pushkin, Balzac, and Anatole France, and the single-block woodcuts October 1917 and 1919–1921." I am most gratified that this small collection contains his October 1917 and Portrait of Mérimée, both of which are documented in the records. The former I suspect is one of what the preface calls "The Revolutionary Years" — originally a large piece, a foot square, which regrettably can only be printed in reduced size. I also have in my possession a three-color print of an illustration for The Seven Monsters, together with hand-copied verse; it cannot be reproduced now, which is also a great pity. As for the other four artists, at present there is no way to look up information about them. The one I cannot forget above all is Piskaryov — the first to send his works to China. For now, I can only include one print, At the Piskaryov Family's New Residence, in which husband and wife work under a lamp while a small child holds onto the crib railing; though we know nothing of his life story, it is as if we have witnessed his family with our own eyes. What follows are several newer artists. The preface merely lists their names, but here we have autobiographies written expressly for us — "Mocharov (Sergei Mikhailovich Mocharov), born in 1902 in the city of Astrakhan. Graduated from the local art teacher-training school. Went to St. Petersburg in 1922; graduated from the engraving department of the Academy of Fine Arts in 1926. Began printmaking in 1924. Currently works for the 'Academy' and the 'Young Guard' publishing houses. July 30, 1933. Mocharov." "Khizhinsky (L. S. Khizhinsky), born in 1896 in Kiev. Graduated from the Kiev Art School in 1918. Entered the Leningrad Academy of Fine Arts in 1922; graduated in 1927. Began woodcutting from 1927. Principal works as follows: 1. Pavlov: Three Stories. 2. Atsalovsky: The Five Rivers. 3. Vergilius: Aeneid. 4. The Centenary Volume of the Alexandrinsky Theatre (in Leningrad). 5. Russian Riddles. July 30, 1933. Khizhinsky." The last two have names not found in the "preface in lieu"; I think this is probably because both are graphic artists rather than woodcut specialists. The following are their autobiographies — "Alekseev (Nikolai Vasilievich Alekseev). Graphic artist. Born in 1894 in the city of Morshansk in Tambov province. Graduated from the reproduction department of the Leningrad Academy of Fine Arts in 1917. Began printing works in 1918. Currently works for the Leningrad publishing houses: the 'Academy,' 'Gikhl' (State Literary Publishing Department), and the 'Writers' Publishing House.' Principal works: Dostoevsky's The Gambler, Fedin's Cities and Years, Gorky's Mother. July 30, 1933. Alekseev." "Pozharsky (Sergei Mikhailovich Pozharsky) Born on November 16, 1900 in the village of Karbas in Tauride province (in southern Russia, near the Black Sea). Studied at the Kiev secondary school and the Academy of Fine Arts. From 1923 onward, worked in Leningrad, participating as a graphic artist in all major Leningrad exhibitions, and in foreign exhibitions — Paris, Kulp, etc. Began studying woodcut technique in 1930. July 30, 1933. Pozharsky." Of Alekseev's works, I have the complete sets for Mother and Cities and Years. The former already has a Chinese translation by Mr. Shen Duanxian, so I have included them all here. The latter is also a monumental work, and perhaps a translation will appear in the future; for now I set it aside, to await its time. In my introduction of woodcuts, first there was Carl Meffert's illustrations for Cement; next, the Beiping Letter-Paper Album, co-edited with Mr. Xidi. This is the third, and since all of them were obtained by trading white paper, I have adopted the meaning of "casting a brick to attract jade" and called it Yinyu ji — The Jade-Attracting Collection. But present-day China is truly a land of thorns and brambles; all one sees is the tyranny of foxes and tigers and the furtive survival of pheasants and hares; in literature and art, only indifference and destruction remain. Moreover, buffoons have seized the opportunity to take the stage amidst the desolation, and the introduction of woodcuts has already drawn the mockery of rich men's sons-in-law and their hangers-on. But the great wheel of history will certainly not stop turning because of the dissatisfaction of hangers-on. I am now firmly convinced: the brightness of the future will surely prove that we are not only the preservers of the heritage of literature and art, but also its pioneers and builders. Recorded on the night of January 20, 1934.
=== 第52节 ===	== Section 52 ==
一九三四年一月二十之夜，作《引玉集》的《後記》時，曾經引用一個木刻家為中國人而寫的自傳——「亞歷克捨夫（Ｎikolai Vasilievich Alekseev）。線畫美術家。一八九四年生於丹堡（Taｍbovsky）省的莫爾襄斯克（Ｍorshansk）城。一九一七年畢業於列寧格勒美術學院之複寫科。一九一八年開始印作品。現工作於列寧格勒諸出版所：『大學院』，『Gihl』（國家文藝出版部）和『作家出版所』。 　　主要作品：陀思妥夫斯基的《博徒》，斐定的《城與年》，高爾基的《母親》。 　　七，三○，一九三三。亞歷克捨夫。」 　　這之後，是我的幾句敘述——「亞歷克捨夫的作品，我這裡有《母親》和《城與年》的全部，前者中國已有沈端先君的譯本，因此全都收入了；後者也是一部巨製，以後也許會有譯本的罷，姑且留下，以俟將來。」 　　但到第二年，捷克京城的德文報上紹介《引玉集》的時候，他的名姓上面，已經加著「亡故」二字了。 　　我頗出於意外，又很覺得悲哀。自然，和我們的文藝有一段因緣的人的不幸，我們是要悲哀的。 　　今年二月，上海開「蘇聯版畫展覽會」，裡面不見他的木刻。一看《自傳》，就知道他僅僅活了四十歲，工作不到二十年，當然也還不是一個名家，然而在短促的光陰中，已經刻了三種大著的插畫，且將兩種都寄給中國，一種雖然早經發表，而一種卻還在我的手裡，沒有傳給愛好藝術的青年，——這也該算是一種不小的怠慢。 　　斐定（Konstantin Fedin）的《城與年》至今還不見有人翻譯。恰巧，曹靖華君所作的概略卻寄到了。我不想袖手來等待。便將原拓木刻全部，不加刪削，和概略合印為一本，以供讀者的賞鑒，以盡自己的責任，以作我們的尼古拉·亞歷克捨夫君的紀念。 　　自然，和我們的文藝有一段因緣的人，我們是要紀念的！ 　　一九三六年三月十日扶病記。	On the night of January 20, 1934, when I wrote the postscript to The Jade-Attracting Collection, I quoted the autobiography that a woodcut artist had written for the Chinese — "Alekseev (Nikolai Vasilievich Alekseev). Graphic artist. Born in 1894 in the city of Morshansk in Tambov province. Graduated from the reproduction department of the Leningrad Academy of Fine Arts in 1917. Began printing works in 1918. Currently works for the Leningrad publishing houses: the 'Academy,' 'Gikhl' (State Literary Publishing Department), and the 'Writers' Publishing House.' Principal works: Dostoevsky's The Gambler, Fedin's Cities and Years, Gorky's Mother. July 30, 1933. Alekseev." After this came a few lines of my own narration — "Of Alekseev's works, I have the complete sets for Mother and Cities and Years. The former already has a Chinese translation by Mr. Shen Duanxian, so I have included them all here. The latter is also a monumental work, and perhaps a translation will appear in the future; for now I set it aside, to await its time." But the following year, when a German-language newspaper in the Czech capital introduced The Jade-Attracting Collection, above his name were already printed the words "deceased." I was quite taken aback, and deeply saddened. Naturally, when misfortune befalls someone who had a connection with our literature and art, we are bound to grieve. This February, the "Soviet Prints Exhibition" was held in Shanghai, but his woodcuts were not among them. A glance at his autobiography reveals that he lived barely forty years, worked for less than twenty, and was naturally not yet a master. Yet in that brief span of time he had already engraved the illustrations for three major works, and sent two complete sets to China — and one, though long since published, and the other still in my hands, had not yet been passed on to young lovers of art — this must be counted as no small negligence. Fedin's (Konstantin Fedin) Cities and Years has still not been translated to this day. As it happens, a synopsis by Brother Cao Jinghua arrived just now. I do not wish to sit idle and wait. So I am printing the entire set of original woodcut prints, without deletions, together with the synopsis as a single volume, for the appreciation of readers, to fulfill my own responsibility, and as a memorial to our Nikolai Alekseev. Naturally, someone who had a connection with our literature and art — we are bound to remember! Recorded while ailing, March 10, 1936.
=== 第53节 ===	== Section 53 ==
=== 其一 === 風雨飄搖日，余懷范愛農。 華顛萎寥落，白眼看雞蟲。 世味秋荼苦，人間直道窮。 奈何三月別，竟爾失畸躬！ === 其二 === 海草國門碧，多年老異鄉。 狐狸方去穴，桃偶已登場。 故里寒雲惡，炎天凜夜長。 獨沉清泠水，能否滌愁腸？ === 其三 === 把酒論當世，先生小酒人。 大圜猶茗艼，微醉自沉淪。 此別成終古，從茲絕緒言。 故人云散盡，我亦等輕塵！	=== I === In wind and rain the world is tossed about; I think of you, Fan Ainong. White-haired, you withered in neglect, And cast cold eyes on petty men's intrigues. The taste of life is bitter as autumn thistle, And the straight path in this world leads nowhere. Why, after a parting of three months, Must I lose your singular self forever! === II === Sea-grass laps green against the nation's gate; For years you aged in exile far from home. The foxes have just left their dens, And puppet figures already take the stage. In your old village, cold clouds gather, ominous; Through scorching days, the chill night stretches long. You sank alone into the cold, clear water — Could it have washed away your grief? === III === Cup in hand, we talked of our times; You, sir, drank sparingly. The great world yet swirled in darkness, And lightly tipsy, you let yourself drift down. This parting has become eternity; From now on, no more words between us. Old friends have scattered like clouds — I too am no more than a mote of dust!
=== 第54节 ===	== Section 54 ==
*唐錢起《偶成》五言律詩 *唐戴叔倫《偶成》五言絕句 *宋王安石《偶成二首》 *宋楊萬里《偶成》五言絕句 *宋程顥《偶成》七言律詩 *宋文天祥《偶成》 *元王冕《偶成》 *明朱有燉《偶成》 *明偶成 (劉淑) *明偶成 (徐熥) *偶成 (權韠) *清偶成 (袁杼) *清王國維《偶成》 *清王國維《偶成二首》 *近代戴望舒《偶成》新詩 *现代鲁迅《偶成》（《南腔北調集》）杂文 *现代鲁迅《偶成》（《准風月談》）杂文 *现代鲁迅《偶成》（《集外集拾遺》）五言律詩 *現代賴和《偶成（廢園無主樹生苔）》漢詩 *現代賴和《偶成（乞食吟詩古有人）》漢詩 *現代賴和《偶成（閒往園中去）》漢詩 *現代賴和《偶成（人情同薄紙）》漢詩 *現代賴和《偶成（往事艱難從頭數）》漢詩 *現代賴和《偶成（磨蝎星纏數更奇）》漢詩 *現代賴和《偶成（雪後梅花見色香）》漢詩 *現代賴和《偶成（桂竹籬腳綠草齊）》漢詩	* Qian Qi (Tang dynasty): "Occasional Verses," five-character regulated verse * Dai Shulun (Tang dynasty): "Occasional Verses," five-character quatrain * Wang Anshi (Song dynasty): "Two Occasional Verses" * Yang Wanli (Song dynasty): "Occasional Verses," five-character quatrain * Cheng Hao (Song dynasty): "Occasional Verses," seven-character regulated verse * Wen Tianxiang (Song dynasty): "Occasional Verses" * Wang Mian (Yuan dynasty): "Occasional Verses" * Zhu Youdun (Ming dynasty): "Occasional Verses" * Liu Shu (Ming dynasty): "Occasional Verses" * Xu Feng (Ming dynasty): "Occasional Verses" * Kwon Pil (Joseon dynasty): "Occasional Verses" * Yuan Zhu (Qing dynasty): "Occasional Verses" * Wang Guowei (Qing dynasty): "Occasional Verses" * Wang Guowei (Qing dynasty): "Two Occasional Verses" * Dai Wangshu (modern era): "Occasional Verses," new-style poem * Lu Xun (modern era): "Occasional Verses" (from Southern Tones and Northern Accents), essay * Lu Xun (modern era): "Occasional Verses" (from Quasi-Erta on Wind and Moon), essay * Lu Xun (modern era): "Occasional Verses" (from Gleanings from the Outer Collection), five-character regulated verse * Lai He (modern era, Taiwan): "Occasional Verses (The desolate garden has no master, moss grows on trees)," classical Chinese poem * Lai He (modern era, Taiwan): "Occasional Verses (Begging for food and chanting verse, the ancients knew such men)," classical Chinese poem * Lai He (modern era, Taiwan): "Occasional Verses (Idly I go into the garden)," classical Chinese poem * Lai He (modern era, Taiwan): "Occasional Verses (Human feeling is as thin as paper)," classical Chinese poem * Lai He (modern era, Taiwan): "Occasional Verses (Counting past hardships from the start)," classical Chinese poem * Lai He (modern era, Taiwan): "Occasional Verses (Bedeviled by Scorpio, fate grows stranger still)," classical Chinese poem * Lai He (modern era, Taiwan): "Occasional Verses (After snow, the plum blossom shows its color and fragrance)," classical Chinese poem * Lai He (modern era, Taiwan): "Occasional Verses (By the bamboo fence, green grass grows in rows)," classical Chinese poem
=== 第55节 ===	== Section 55 ==
:其一 :作法不自斃，悠然過四十。 :何妨賭肥頭，抵當辯證法。 :其二 :可憐織女星，化為馬郎婦。 :烏鵲疑不來，迢迢牛奶路。 :其三 :世界有文學，少女多豐臀。 :雞湯代豬肉，北新遂掩門。 :其四 :名人選小說，入線云有限。 :雖有望遠鏡，無奈近視眼。 :十二月	: I : He who makes the laws does not perish by them, : And saunters past the age of forty. : Why not wager his fat head : Against the dialectical method? : II : Alas, the Weaving Maid star : Has become a cowherd's wife. : The magpies suspect they need not come — : So far, so far, the Milky Way of milk. : III : The world has literature, : And maidens have ample hips. : Chicken broth has replaced pork, : And Beixin Press has shut its doors. : IV : A celebrity selects short stories; : Those who make the cut, he says, are few. : Though he has a telescope, : Alas, he is nearsighted. : December
=== 第56节 ===	== Section 56 ==
所謂《未名叢刊》者，並非無名叢書之意，乃是還未想定名目，然而這就作為名字，不再去苦想他了。 　　這也並非學者們精選的寶書，凡國民都非看不可。只要有稿子，有印費，便即付印，想使蕭索的讀者，作者，譯者，大家稍微感到一點熱鬧。內容自然是很龐雜的，因為希圖在這龐雜中略見一致，所以又一括而為相近的形式，而名之曰《未名叢刊》。 　　大志向是絲毫也沒有。所願的：無非在自己，是希望那印成的從速賣完，可以收回錢來再印第二種；對於讀者，是希望看了之後，不至於以為太受欺騙了。以上是一九二四年十二月間的話。現在將這分為兩部分了。《未名叢刊》專收譯本；另外又分立了一種單印不闊氣的作者的創作的，叫作《烏合叢書》。	What is called the "Weiming Series" does not mean "nameless anthology" — it simply means we had not yet settled on a name, and so this itself became the name, sparing us further agonizing. Nor is this a precious collection curated by scholars, one that every citizen must read. As long as there are manuscripts and printing costs, we send them to press, hoping to let desolate readers, authors, and translators alike feel a touch of liveliness. The contents are naturally quite miscellaneous, but because we wished to discern a thread of unity within this miscellany, we gathered them into a common format and called them the "Weiming Series." Grand ambitions we have none whatsoever. Our only wishes: for ourselves, that the printed copies sell out quickly so we can recoup the funds and print a second title; for our readers, that after reading they will not feel too thoroughly cheated. The above was said in December 1924. Now we have divided this into two parts. The "Weiming Series" is devoted exclusively to translations; separately we have established another series for the original works of authors who lack prestige, called the "Wuhe Congshu" [Motley Crew Series].
=== 第57节 ===	== Section 57 ==
１．本刊揭載關於文藝的著作，翻譯，以及紹介，著譯者各視自己的意趣及能力著譯，以供同好者的閱覽。 　　２．本刊的翻譯及紹介，或為現代的嬰兒，或為嬰兒所從出的母親，但也許竟是更先的祖母，並不一定新穎。 　　３．本刊月出一本，約一百五十頁，間有圖畫，時亦增刊，倘無意外障礙，定於每月中旬出版。 　　４．本刊亦選登來稿，凡有出自心裁，非奉命執筆，如明清八股者，極望惠寄，稿由北新書局收轉。 　　５．本刊每本實價二角八分，增刊隨時另定。在十一月以前豫定者，半卷五本一元二角半，一卷十本二元四角，增刊不加價，郵費在內。國外每半卷加郵費四角。	1. This journal publishes works, translations, and introductions pertaining to literature and the arts. Contributors write and translate according to their own interests and abilities, for the perusal of fellow enthusiasts. 2. The translations and introductions in this journal may concern the newborn infants of modernity, or the mothers who gave birth to them, or perhaps even the grandmothers who came before — they are not necessarily novel. 3. This journal issues one volume per month, approximately one hundred and fifty pages, occasionally with illustrations, and sometimes supplementary issues. Barring unforeseen obstacles, publication is scheduled for the middle of each month. 4. This journal also accepts unsolicited manuscripts. Any piece born of original thought and not written to order — unlike the eight-legged essays of the Ming and Qing — we most earnestly hope you will send, with manuscripts forwarded via the Beixin Bookstore. 5. Each issue is priced at twenty-eight fen. For those who subscribe before November: half a volume (five issues) costs one yuan and twenty-five fen; a full volume (ten issues) costs two yuan and forty fen, supplementary issues included at no extra charge, postage included. Overseas subscribers pay an additional forty fen postage per half volume.
=== 第58节 ===	== Section 58 ==
雖然材力很小，但要紹介些國外的藝術作品到中國來，也選印中國先前被人忘卻的還能復生的圖案之類。有時是重提舊時而今日可以利用的遺產，有時是發掘現在中國時行藝術家的在外國的祖墳，有時是引入世界上的燦爛的新作。每期十二輯，每輯十二圖，陸續出版。每輯實洋四角，預定一期實洋四元四角。目錄如下： 　　１．《近代木刻選集》（１） 　　２．《拾谷虹兒畫選》 　　３．《近代木刻選集》（２） 　　４．《比亞茲萊畫選》以上四輯已出版 　　５．《新俄藝術圖錄》 　　６．《法國插畫選集》 　　７．《英國插畫選集》 　　８．《俄國插畫選集》 　　９．《近代木刻選集》（３） 　　１０．《希臘瓶畫選集》 　　１１．《近代木刻選集》（４） 　　１２．《羅丹雕刻選集》 　　朝花社出版。	Though our resources are meager, we wish to introduce foreign works of art to China, and also to reprint from China's past those forgotten designs and patterns still capable of being brought back to life. At times we resurrect old treasures that remain useful today; at times we excavate the foreign ancestral tombs of China's currently fashionable artists; at times we bring in brilliant new works from around the world. Each subscription period comprises twelve installments, each installment containing twelve plates, published in succession. Each installment costs forty fen; a subscription for one full period costs four yuan and forty fen. The catalogue is as follows: 1. Modern Woodcut Selections (1) 2. Selected Paintings of Takehisa Yumeji 3. Modern Woodcut Selections (2) 4. Selected Drawings of Beardsley — the above four installments have been published 5. Catalogue of New Russian Art 6. Selected French Illustrations 7. Selected English Illustrations 8. Selected Russian Illustrations 9. Modern Woodcut Selections (3) 10. Selected Greek Vase Paintings 11. Modern Woodcut Selections (4) 12. Selected Sculptures of Rodin Published by the Chaohua Society.
=== 第59节 ===	== Section 59 ==
投機的風氣使出版界消失了有幾分真為文藝盡力的人。即使偶然有，不久也就變相，或者失敗了。我們只是幾個能力未足的青年，可是要再來試一試。首先是印一種關於文學和美術的小叢書，就是《文藝連叢》。為什麼「小」，這是能力的關係，現在沒有法子想。但約定的編輯，是肯負責任的編輯；所收的稿子，也是可靠的稿子。總而言之：現在的意思是不壞的，就是想成為一種決不欺騙的小叢書。什麼「突破五萬部」的雄圖，我們豈敢，只要有幾千個讀者肯給以支持，就頂好頂好了。現在已經出版的，是—— 　　１．《不走正路的安得倫》蘇聯聶維洛夫作，曹靖華譯，魯迅序。作者是一個最偉大的農民作家，描寫動盪中的農民生活的好手，可惜在十年前就死掉了。這一個中篇小說，所敘的是革命開初，頭腦單純的革命者在鄉村裏怎樣受農民的反對而失敗，寫得又生動，又詼諧。譯者深通俄國文字，又在列寧格拉的大學裏教授中國文學有年，所以難解的土話，都可以隨時詢問，其譯文的可靠，是早為讀書界所深悉的，內附藹支的插畫五幅，也是別開生面的作品。現已出版，每本實價大洋二角半。 　　２．《解放了的董·吉訶德》蘇聯盧那卡爾斯基作，易嘉譯。這是一個大篇十幕的戲劇，寫著這胡塗固執的董·吉訶德，怎樣因遊俠而大碰釘子，雖由革命得到解放，也還是無路可走。並且襯以奸雄和美人，寫得又滑稽，又深刻。前年曾經魯迅從德文重譯一幕，登《北斗》雜誌上，旋因知道德譯頗有刪節，便即停筆。續登的是易嘉直接譯出的完全本，但雜誌不久停辦，仍未登完，同人今居然得到全稿，實為可喜，所以特地趕緊校刊，以公同好。每幕並有畢斯凱萊夫木刻裝飾一幀，大小共十三幀，尤可賞心悅目，為德譯本所不及。每本實價五角。 　　正在校印中的，還有—— 　　３．《山民牧唱》西班牙巴羅哈作，魯迅譯。西班牙的作家，中國大抵只知道伊本納茲，但文學的本領，巴羅哈實遠在其上。日本譯有《選集》一冊，所記的都是山地住民，跋司珂族的風俗習慣，譯者曾選譯數篇登《奔流》上，頗為讀者所讚許。這是《選集》的全譯。不日出書。 　　４．《NoaNoa》法國戈庚作，羅憮譯。作者是法國畫界的猛將，他厭惡了所謂文明社會，逃到野蠻島泰息諦去，生活了好幾年。這書就是那時的記錄，裏面寫著所謂「文明人」的沒落，和純真的野蠻人被這沒落的「文明人」所毒害的情形，並及島上的人情風俗，神話等。譯者是一個無名的人，但譯筆卻並不在有名的人物之下。有木刻插畫十二幅。現已付印。	The prevailing spirit of speculation has driven from the publishing world those few who genuinely worked for the sake of literature and art. Even when such people occasionally appear, they soon either change course or fail. We are merely a handful of young people whose abilities are not yet sufficient, but we want to try once more. First, we are printing a small series on literature and art — the "Literary and Art Chain Series." Why "small"? That is a matter of our capacity; for now there is nothing to be done about it. But the editors we have engaged are editors willing to take responsibility, and the manuscripts we collect are reliable manuscripts. In short: our present intention is a good one — we simply wish to become a small series that will never deceive. As for grandiose schemes of "breaking the fifty-thousand-copy mark" — we would not dare. If only a few thousand readers would lend us their support, that would be the very best we could hope for. The titles already published are: 1. *Andron Who Wouldn't Take the Proper Road*, by Neverov (Soviet Union), translated by Cao Jinghua, with a preface by Lu Xun. The author was one of the greatest peasant writers, a master at depicting the turbulent life of the peasantry. Regrettably, he died ten years ago. This novella recounts how, in the early days of the revolution, a simple-minded revolutionary in the countryside was opposed by the peasants and met with failure. It is vividly and humorously written. The translator is thoroughly versed in Russian, and having taught Chinese literature for years at a university in Leningrad, he was able to consult on difficult dialectal expressions at any time. The reliability of his translations has long been well known in the reading world. The volume includes five illustrations by Aizhi, which are likewise works of a fresh and original character. Now published; each copy priced at twenty-five fen. 2. *Don Quixote Liberated*, by Lunacharsky (Soviet Union), translated by Yi Jia. This is a grand drama in ten acts, depicting how that muddled, obstinate Don Quixote, through his knight-errantry, keeps running headlong into walls, and though liberated by the revolution, still finds no way forward. With villains and beauties as foils, it is written with both comedy and profundity. Two years ago, Lu Xun had retranslated one act from the German and published it in *Beidou* magazine, but upon learning that the German translation contained considerable deletions, he promptly laid down his pen. What followed was Yi Jia's complete translation directly from the Russian, but the magazine soon ceased publication and the translation was never finished there. Our group has now managed to obtain the complete manuscript — a cause for true delight — and so we have hastened to proofread and publish it for fellow enthusiasts. Each act is adorned with a woodcut decoration by Piskaryov, thirteen pieces in all, large and small, which are a feast for the eyes and surpass the German edition. Each copy priced at fifty fen. Currently being proofread and printed: 3. *Idylls of the Mountain Folk*, by Baroja (Spain), translated by Lu Xun. Of Spanish writers, China generally knows only Blasco Ibáñez, but in literary skill Baroja far surpasses him. A Japanese *Selected Works* in one volume records the customs and ways of the mountain-dwelling Basque people. The translator previously published selected translations in *Benliu* [Torrent], which were well received by readers. This is the complete translation of the *Selected Works*. Publication forthcoming. 4. *Noa Noa*, by Gauguin (France), translated by Luo Wu. The author was a fierce champion of French painting who, disgusted with so-called civilized society, fled to the savage island of Tahiti and lived there for several years. This book is a record of that time, describing the decline of so-called "civilized man" and how the pure and genuine savages were poisoned by these declining "civilized" people, along with the island's customs, manners, and myths. The translator is an unknown figure, but the quality of the translation is in no way inferior to that of famous names. With twelve woodcut illustrations. Now in press.
=== 第60节 ===	== Section 60 ==
《譯文》出版已滿一年了。也還有幾個讀者。現因突然發生很難繼續的原因，只得暫時中止。但已經積集的材料，是費過譯者校者排者的一番力氣的，而且材料也大都不無意義之作，從此廢棄，殊覺可惜：所以仍然集成一冊，算作終刊，呈給讀者，以盡貢獻的微意，也作為告別的紀念罷。 　　譯文社同人公啟。二十四年九月十六日。	*Yiwen* [Translated Literature] has now been in publication for a full year. It still has a few readers. Now, owing to the sudden emergence of reasons that make continuation very difficult, we have no choice but to suspend publication for the time being. However, the materials already accumulated have cost the translators, proofreaders, and typesetters considerable effort, and most of these materials are by no means without merit. To abandon them henceforth would be truly regrettable. Therefore we have gathered them into one final volume, to serve as a closing issue and present to our readers — as a small token of our contribution, and also as a memento of farewell. A public statement from the members of the Yiwen Society. September 16th, Year 24 [1935].
=== 第61节 ===	== Section 61 ==
本卷所收，都是文藝論文，作者既系大家，譯者又是名手，信而且達，並世無兩。其中《寫實主義文學論》與《高爾基論文選集》兩種，尤為煌煌巨製。此外論說，亦無一不佳，足以益人，足以傳世。全書六百七十餘頁，玻璃版插畫九幅。僅印五百部，佳紙精裝，內一百部皮脊麻布面，金頂，每本實價三元五角；四百部全絨面，藍頂，每本實價二元五角，函購加郵費二角三分。好書易盡，欲購從速。下卷亦已付印，准於本年內出書。上海北四川路底內山書店代售。	All the contents of this volume are essays on literary theory. The authors are masters of their fields, and the translators are renowned adepts — faithful and yet fluent, a combination without equal in our time. Among them, *On Realist Literature* and *Selected Essays of Gorky* are particularly monumental works. The other essays, too, are without exception excellent — sufficient to edify, sufficient to endure. The complete book runs to over six hundred and seventy pages, with nine collotype illustrations. Only five hundred copies have been printed, on fine paper with elegant binding: one hundred copies with leather spine and linen covers, gilt top edge, priced at three yuan and fifty fen per copy; four hundred copies in full cloth covers, blue top edge, priced at two yuan and fifty fen per copy. Mail orders incur an additional postage fee of twenty-three fen. Good books sell out quickly — those who wish to purchase should do so without delay. The second volume is also in press and is scheduled for publication within the year. Available at the Uchiyama Bookstore, at the end of North Sichuan Road, Shanghai.