Lu Xun Complete Works/en/Yecao
Wild Grass (野草)
Prose Poems by Lu Xun (鲁迅), 1924-1926
Translated from the Chinese
Table of Contents
- Epigraph
- Autumn Night
- Farewell of the Shadow
- The Beggar
- My Lost Love
- Revenge
- Revenge (II)
- Hope
- Snow
- The Kite
- A Good Story
- The Dog's Retort
- The Good Hell Lost
- Epitaph
- On Argument
- Dead Fire
- Pressed Leaf
- The Tremor of the Line of Decay
- Amid Faint Bloodstains
- Such a Warrior
- The Wise Man, the Fool, and the Slave
- An Awakening
- The Passerby
- After Death
Epigraph
Epigraph
When I am silent, I feel fulfilled; the moment I open my mouth, I feel emptiness.
The life of the past has died. Over this death I feel great joy, for through it I know that it once lived. The dead life has decayed. Over this decay I feel great joy, for through it I know that it was not emptiness.
The mud of life lies cast away upon the ground; it grows no tall trees, only wild grass — this is my fault.
Wild grass: its roots are not deep, its flowers and leaves are not beautiful, yet it absorbs dew, absorbs water, absorbs the blood and flesh of the long dead, each blade seizing its own existence. Yet even while existing, it will be trampled, it will be cut down, until it dies and decays.
But I am calm and glad. I shall laugh aloud; I shall sing.
I love my wild grass, but I loathe the ground that adorns itself with wild grass.
The subterranean fire courses beneath the earth, surging; once the lava erupts, it will burn away all wild grass and tall trees alike, and then there will be nothing left to decay.
But I am calm and glad. I shall laugh aloud; I shall sing.
Heaven and earth are so solemnly still that I cannot laugh aloud or sing. Even if heaven and earth were not so solemnly still, perhaps I still could not. With this clump of wild grass, at the threshold between light and dark, life and death, past and future, I bear witness before friends and foes, humans and beasts, lovers and non-lovers.
For myself, for friends and foes, humans and beasts, lovers and non-lovers, I hope that the death and decay of this wild grass will come swiftly. Otherwise, I shall never have lived, and that would be more unfortunate still than death and decay.
Go then, wild grass, together with my epigraph!
April 26, 1927, recorded by Lu Xun at the Baiyun House in Guangzhou.
原文 / Original: 题辞
题辞
当我沉默着的时候，我觉得充实；我将开口，同时感到空虚。
过去的生命已经死亡。我对于这死亡有大欢喜，因为我借此知道它曾经存活。死亡的生命已经朽腐。我对于这朽腐有大欢喜，因为我借此知道它还非空虚。
生命的泥委弃在地面上，不生乔木，只生野草，这是我的罪过。
野草，根本不深，花叶不美，然而吸取露，吸取水，吸取陈死人的血和肉，各各夺取它的生存。当生存时，还是将遭践踏，将遭删刈，直至于死亡而朽腐。
但我坦然，欣然。我将大笑，我将歌唱。
我自爱我的野草，但我憎恶这以野草作装饰的地面。
地火在地下运行，奔突；熔岩一旦喷出，将烧尽一切野草，以及乔木，于是并且无可朽腐。
但我坦然，欣然。我将大笑，我将歌唱。
天地有如此静穆，我不能大笑而且歌唱。天地即不如此静穆，我或者也将不能。我以这一丛野草，在明与暗，生与死，过去与未来之际，献于友与仇，人与兽，爱者与不爱者之前作证。
为我自己，为友与仇，人与兽，爱者与不爱者，我希望这野草的死亡与朽腐，火速到来。要不然，我先就未曾生存，这实在比死亡与朽腐更其不幸。
去罢，野草，连着我的题辞！
一九二七年四月二十六日，鲁迅记于广州之白云楼上。
Autumn Night
Autumn Night
In my back garden, beyond the wall, I can see two trees — one is a jujube tree, and the other is also a jujube tree.
The night sky above them, strange and high — never in my life have I seen such a strange and high sky. It seems about to leave the human world behind, so that people looking up can see it no more. Yet now it is extraordinarily blue, glittering with the eyes of dozens of stars — cold eyes. At the corners of its mouth appears a smile, as though it considers this profoundly meaningful, and it scatters thick frost over the wildflowers and grasses in my garden.
I do not know the true names of those flowers and grasses, nor what people call them. I remember one kind that once bore tiny pink blossoms; it is blooming still, but tinier than ever. In the cold night air it dreams, shivering — dreams of the coming of spring, dreams of the coming of autumn, dreams that a gaunt poet wipes his tears on its last petal and tells it that although autumn comes and winter comes, spring will follow after, with butterflies fluttering wildly and bees singing their spring songs. At this it smiles, though its color is frozen a pitiful red, and goes on shivering.
The jujube trees — they have shed practically all their leaves. Before, one or two children still came to knock down the jujubes others had left behind; now not a single one remains, even the leaves have all fallen. It knows the dream of the little pink flower: after autumn must come spring; it also knows the dream of the fallen leaves: after spring comes autumn again. It has shed practically all its leaves, only bare branches remain, yet freed from the arching form it bore when the whole tree was full of fruit and leaves, it stretches luxuriously. A few branches, though, still hang low, guarding the bark wounds inflicted by the poles of the fruit pickers, while the straightest and longest branches already thrust silently, iron-like, into the strange and high sky, making it flicker its spectral eyes; thrust straight at the full moon in the sky, until the moon blanches with embarrassment.
The spectral-eyed sky becomes even more extraordinarily blue, grows uneasy, as though wanting to leave the human world, to escape the jujube trees, leaving only the moon behind. Yet the moon too steals away eastward in secret. And the bare branches, possessing nothing, still thrust silently, iron-like, into the strange and high sky, determined to put it to death, regardless of the many bewitching eyes it deploys.
With a screech, a nocturnal bird of prey flies past.
Suddenly I hear laughter at midnight, a titter, as though not wanting to disturb those asleep, yet the air all around echoes the laughter. At midnight, no one else is present; I recognize at once that the sound comes from my own mouth, and at once the laughter drives me back into my room. I turn the lamp wick higher immediately.
On the rear windowpane comes a tapping — many small flying insects crash against it. Before long, several come in, probably through a hole in the window paper. Once inside, they crash tapping against the glass lampshade. One plunges in from above and meets the flame — and I believe this flame is real. Two or three others rest on the paper shade of the lamp, panting. The shade was changed just last night: snow-white paper, folded into wave-like creases, with a scarlet gardenia branch painted in one corner.
When the scarlet gardenia blooms, the jujube tree will again dream the little pink flower's dream, bending into a lush green arc... I hear the midnight laughter again; hastily I cut short my reverie and gaze at the little green insects resting on the white paper shade, large-headed and slender-tailed, like sunflower seeds, only half the size of a grain of wheat, their whole bodies a lovely, pitiable jade green. I yawn, light a cigarette, blow out the smoke, and silently, by lamplight, offer a libation to these exquisite jade-green heroes.
September 15, 1924.
原文 / Original: 秋夜
秋夜
在我的后园，可以看见墙外有两株树，一株是枣树，还有一株也是枣树。
这上面的夜的天空，奇怪而高，我生平没有见过这样的奇怪而高的天空。他仿佛要离开人间而去，使人们仰面不再看见。然而现在却非常之蓝，闪闪地着几十个星星的眼，冷眼。他的口角上现出微笑，似乎自以为大有深意，而将繁霜洒在我的园里的野花草上。
我不知道那些花草真叫什么名字，人们叫他们什么名字。我记得有一种开过极细小的粉红花，现在还开着，但是更极细小了，她在冷的夜气中，瑟缩地做梦，梦见春的到来，梦见秋的到来，梦见瘦的诗人将眼泪擦在她最末的花瓣上，告诉她秋虽然来，冬虽然来，而此后接着还是春，胡蝶乱飞，蜜蜂都唱起春词来了。她于是一笑，虽然颜色冻得红惨惨地，仍然瑟缩着。
枣树，他们简直落尽了叶子。先前，还有一两个孩子来打他们别人打剩的枣子，现在是一个也不剩了，连叶子也落尽了，他知道小粉红花的梦，秋后要有春；他也知道落叶的梦，春后还是秋。他简直落尽叶子，单剩干子，然而脱了当初满树是果实和叶子时候的弧形，欠伸得很舒服。但是，有几枝还低亚着，护定他从打枣的竿梢所得的皮伤，而最直最长的几枝，却已默默地铁似的直刺着奇怪而高的天空，使天空闪...
Farewell of the Shadow
Farewell of the Shadow
When a person sleeps into an hour unknown, then the shadow comes to say farewell, and speaks those words —
There is that which displeases me in heaven; I will not go. There is that which displeases me in hell; I will not go. There is that which displeases me in your future golden world; I will not go.
Yet you yourself are what displeases me.
Friend, I no longer wish to follow you; I do not wish to stay.
I do not wish to!
Alas, alas, I do not wish to — I would rather wander in a place that is no place.
I am nothing but a shadow, about to leave you and sink into darkness. Yet darkness will swallow me, and light will make me vanish.
Yet I do not wish to wander between light and dark; I would rather sink into darkness.
Yet in the end I do wander between light and dark, not knowing whether it is dusk or dawn. For now I raise my grey-black hand and pretend to drain a glass of wine; I shall set out alone into the distance at an hour unknown.
Alas, alas — if it is dusk, the night will naturally come and engulf me; otherwise I shall be erased by daylight, if this is the dawn.
Friend, the hour draws near.
I shall wander into the darkness, into a place that is no place.
You still wish for a parting gift from me. What can I offer you? If there must be something, it is still nothing but darkness and emptiness. But I am willing to be only darkness, which may vanish in your daylight; I am willing to be only emptiness, which will never claim space in your heart.
Let it be so, friend — I set out alone into the distance, not only without you, but without any other shadow in the darkness. Only I shall be engulfed by darkness, and that world will belong entirely to me.
September 24, 1924.
原文 / Original: 影的告别
影的告别
人睡到不知道时候的时候，就会有影来告别，说出那些话——
有我所不乐意的在天堂里，我不愿去；有我所不乐意的在地狱里，我不愿去；有我所不乐意的在你们将来的黄金世界里，我不愿去。
然而你就是我所不乐意的。
朋友，我不想跟随你了，我不愿住。
我不愿意！
呜乎呜乎，我不愿意，我不如彷徨于无地。
我不过一个影，要别你而沉没在黑暗里了。然而黑暗又会吞并我，然而光明又会使我消失。
然而我不愿彷徨于明暗之间，我不如在黑暗里沉没。
然而我终于彷徨于明暗之间，我不知道是黄昏还是黎明。我姑且举灰黑的手装作喝干一杯酒，我将在不知道时候的时候独自远行。
呜乎呜乎，倘若黄昏，黑夜自然会来沉没我，否则我要被白天消失，如果现是黎明。
朋友，时候近了。
我将向黑暗里彷徨于无地。
你还想我的赠品。我能献你甚么呢？无已，则仍是黑暗和虚空而已。但是，我愿意只是黑暗，或者会消失于你的白天；我愿意只是虚空，决不占你的心地。
我愿意这样，朋友——我独自远行，不但没有你，并且再没有别的影在黑暗里。只有我被黑暗沉没，那世界全属于我自己。
一九二四年九月二十四日。
The Beggar
The Beggar
I walk along the high, crumbling wall, treading on loose ash and dust. A few others walk too, each on their own. A light breeze rises; the branches of the tall trees showing above the wall, their leaves not yet withered, sway above my head.
A light breeze rises; on all sides, nothing but ash and dust.
A child begs from me, also wearing a lined jacket, not looking the least bit sorrowful, blocking my way with kowtows, following me with plaintive cries.
I loathe his tone, his manner. I despise the fact that he is not sad at all, that it is practically a game; I am disgusted by his pursuing me with plaintive cries.
I walk on. A few others walk too, each on their own. A light breeze rises; on all sides, nothing but ash and dust.
Another child begs from me, also wearing a lined jacket, also not looking sorrowful, but mute, hands outstretched, making gestures.
I despise those gestures. And perhaps he is not mute at all; this is merely a method of begging.
I give no alms; I have no charitable heart; I merely place myself above the almsgiver and bestow weariness, suspicion, loathing.
I walk along the collapsed mud wall, broken bricks stacked in the gap, nothing behind the wall. A light breeze rises, sending autumn cold through my lined jacket; on all sides, nothing but ash and dust.
I think about how I shall beg: Shall I speak — in what tone? Pretend to be mute — with what gestures?...
A few others walk on, each on their own.
I shall receive no alms, no charitable heart; I shall receive the weariness, suspicion, and loathing of those who place themselves above the almsgiver.
I shall beg with inaction and silence... At the very least I shall obtain nothingness.
A light breeze rises; on all sides, nothing but ash and dust. A few others walk on, each on their own. Ash and dust, ash and dust...
......
Ash and dust...
September 24, 1924.
原文 / Original: 求乞者
求乞者
我顺着剥落的高墙走路，踏着松的灰土。另外有几个人，各自走路。微风起来，露在墙头的高树的枝条带着还未干枯的叶子在我头上摇动。
微风起来，四面都是灰土。
一个孩子向我求乞，也穿着夹衣，也不见得悲戚，而拦着磕头，追着哀呼。
我厌恶他的声调，态度。我憎恶他并不悲哀，近于儿戏；我烦厌他这追着哀呼。
我走路。另外有几个人各自走路。微风起来，四面都是灰土。
一个孩子向我求乞，也穿着夹衣，也不见得悲戚，但是哑的，摊开手，装着手势。
我就憎恶他这手势。而且，他或者并不哑，这不过是一种求乞的法子。
我不布施，我无布施心，我但居布施者之上，给与烦腻，疑心，憎恶。
我顺着倒败的泥墙走路，断砖叠在墙缺口，墙里面没有什么。微风起来，送秋寒穿透我的夹衣；四面都是灰土。
我想着我将用什么方法求乞：发声，用怎样声调？装哑，用怎样手势？……
另外有几个人各自走路。
我将得不到布施，得不到布施心；我将得到自居于布施之上者的烦腻，疑心，憎恶。
我将用无所为和沉默求乞……我至少将得到虚无。
微风起来，四面都是灰土。另外有几个人各自走路。灰土，灰土，……
…………
灰土……
一九二四年九...
My Lost Love
My Lost Love
— A new doggerel in the antique style
My beloved lives on the mountainside; I want to seek her, but the mountain is too high, I lower my head — no use — tears stain my robe.
My love gives me a scarf with a hundred butterflies; what do I give in return: an owl. From then on she turns her back and ignores me. Why — oh why — does my heart tremble so.
My beloved lives in the bustling market; I want to seek her, but the crowd is too thick, I raise my head — no use — tears stain my ears.
My love gives me a painting of two swallows; what do I give in return: candied hawthorn on a stick. From then on she turns her back and ignores me. Why — oh why — am I utterly confused.
My beloved lives by the riverside; I want to seek her, but the water is too deep, I tilt my head — no use — tears stain my collar.
My love gives me a gold watch chain; what do I give in return: medicine to induce sweating. From then on she turns her back and ignores me. Why — oh why — have I got a nervous breakdown.
My beloved lives in a grand mansion; I want to seek her, alas, I have no automobile, I shake my head — no use — tears fall like tangled hemp.
My love gives me a rose; what do I give in return: a scarlet snake. From then on she turns her back and ignores me. Why — oh why — let her go, then!
October 3, 1924.
原文 / Original: 我的失恋
我的失恋
——拟古的新打油诗
我的所爱在山腰； 想去寻她山太高， 低头无法泪沾袍。
爱人赠我百蝶巾； 回她什么：猫头鹰。 从此翻脸不理我， 不知何故兮使我心惊。
我的所爱在闹市； 想去寻她人拥挤， 仰头无法泪沾耳。
爱人赠我双燕图； 回她什么：冰糖壶卢。 从此翻脸不理我， 不知何故兮使我胡涂。
我的所爱在河滨； 想去寻她河水深， 歪头无法泪沾襟。
爱人赠我金表索； 回她什么：发汗药。 从此翻脸不理我， 不知何故兮使我神经衰弱。
我的所爱在豪家； 想去寻她兮没有汽车， 摇头无法泪如麻。
爱人赠我玫瑰花； 回她什么：赤练蛇。 从此翻脸不理我， 不知何故兮——由她去罢。
一九二四年十月三日。
Revenge
Revenge
Human skin is perhaps less than half a line thick; just behind it, bright red hot blood courses through vessels denser than the legions of caterpillars that crawl across walls, radiating warmth. And so, each bewitches, inflames, and draws the other with this warmth, desperately craving to nestle, to kiss, to embrace — to attain the intoxicated great joy of life.
But if one were to thrust a sharp blade just once through this peach-pink, gossamer skin, one would see bright red hot blood gush out like arrows, pouring all its warmth directly upon the slayer; next, one would bestow icy breath, reveal pallid lips, dissolve the slayer's humanity into blankness — and so attain the great joy of life's soaring pinnacle; and the self would remain forever immersed in the great joy of life's soaring pinnacle.
And so, there they stand, the two of them, naked, gripping blades, facing each other upon a vast and desolate steppe.
They are about to embrace, about to kill... Passersby rush in from all sides, packed as densely as caterpillars climbing a wall, as ants trying to carry a fish head. Their clothes are fine, but their hands are empty. Yet they rush in from all sides, craning their necks desperately, eager to feast their eyes on this embrace or slaughter. Already they taste on their own tongues the fresh flavor of sweat or blood.
But the two stand facing each other upon the vast and desolate steppe, naked, gripping blades — yet neither embracing nor killing, nor showing the slightest intention to embrace or kill.
The two remain so until eternity; their full, living bodies have begun to wither, yet they show not the slightest intention to embrace or kill.
The passersby thereupon grow bored; they feel boredom drilling into their pores, feel boredom crawling out from their own hearts through their pores, creeping across the steppe and drilling into the pores of others. They feel their throats and tongues go dry, their necks grow weary; at last they stare at one another and slowly drift away; they even feel so withered that they have lost all zest for life.
And so nothing remains but the vast and desolate steppe, and the two standing within it, naked, gripping blades, withered; with the gaze of the dead they contemplate the withering of the passersby — a bloodless great massacre — and remain forever immersed in the great joy of life's soaring pinnacle.
December 20, 1924.
原文 / Original: 复仇
复仇
人的皮肤之厚，大概不到半分，鲜红的热血，就循着那后面，在比密密层层地爬在墙壁上的槐蚕更其密的血管里奔流，散出温热。于是各以这温热互相蛊惑，煽动，牵引，拚命地希求偎倚，接吻，拥抱，以得生命的沉酣的大欢喜。
但倘若用一柄尖锐的利刃，只一击，穿透这桃红色的，菲薄的皮肤，将见那鲜红的热血激箭似的以所有温热直接灌溉杀戮者；其次，则给以冰冷的呼吸，示以淡白的嘴唇，使之人性茫然，得到生命的飞扬的极致的大欢喜；而其自身，则永远沉浸于生命的飞扬的极致的大欢喜中。
这样，所以，有他们俩裸着全身，捏着利刃，对立于广漠的旷野之上。
他们俩将要拥抱，将要杀戮……路人们从四面奔来，密密层层地，如槐蚕爬上墙壁，如马蚁要扛鲞头。衣服都漂亮，手倒空的。然而从四面奔来，而且拚命地伸长颈子，要赏鉴这拥抱或杀戮。他们已经豫觉着事后的自己的舌上的汗或血的鲜味。
然而他们俩对立着，在广漠的旷野之上，裸着全身，捏着利刃，然而也不拥抱，也不杀戮，而且也不见有拥抱或杀戮之意。
他们俩这样地至于永久，圆活的身体，已将干枯，然而毫不见有拥抱或杀戮之意。
路人们于是乎无聊；觉得有无聊钻进他们的毛孔，觉得有无聊从他们自己的...
Revenge (II)
Revenge (II)
Because he considered himself the Son of God, the King of Israel, he went to be nailed to the cross.
The soldiers dressed him in a purple robe, put a crown of thorns on him, and hailed him; they struck his head with a reed, spat on him, knelt before him; when they had finished mocking him, they took off the purple robe and put his own clothes back on him. Behold, they strike his head, spit on him, worship him... He refused to drink the wine mixed with myrrh; he wanted to taste clearly and distinctly how the Israelites dealt with their Son of God, and to pity their future forever, while hating their present.
On all sides, nothing but hostility — pitiable and accursed.
Clang, clang — the nail point pierces through the palm; they are crucifying their Son of God, pitiable people, and the pain feels gentle to him. Clang, clang — the nail point pierces through the instep, shattering a bone; the agony penetrates to the marrow, yet they themselves are crucifying their Son of God, accursed people, and the pain feels comfortable to him. The cross is raised; he hangs in the void.
He did not drink the wine mixed with myrrh; he wanted to taste clearly and distinctly how the Israelites dealt with their Son of God, and to pity their future forever, while hating their present.
Passersby revile him; the chief priests and scribes mock him; the two robbers crucified with him deride him. Behold, those crucified with him... On all sides, nothing but hostility — pitiable and accursed.
In the agony of his hands and feet, he savors the sorrow of the pitiable people who crucify the Son of God, and the joy of the accursed people who would crucify the Son of God — and the Son of God is about to be crucified. Suddenly the great agony of shattered bone penetrates to the marrow, and he sinks into great joy and great compassion.
His abdomen heaves — a wave of compassion and curse and agony.
The whole earth went dark.
"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?!" (Which is to say: My God, why have you forsaken me?!) God has forsaken him; in the end he was merely a "Son of Man." Yet the Israelites have crucified even the "Son of Man."
Those who crucified the "Son of Man" are more bloodstained and more blood-reeking than those who would have crucified the "Son of God."
December 20, 1924.
原文 / Original: 复仇（其二）
复仇（其二）
因为他自以为神之子，以色列的王，所以去钉十字架。
兵丁们给他穿上紫袍，戴上荆冠，庆贺他；又拿一根苇子打他的头，吐他，屈膝拜他；戏弄完了，就给他脱了紫袍，仍穿他自己的衣服。看哪，他们打他的头，吐他，拜他……他不肯喝那用没药调和的酒，要分明地玩味以色列人怎样对付他们的神之子，而且较永久地悲悯他们的前途，然而仇恨他们的现在。
四面都是敌意，可悲悯的，可咒诅的。
丁丁地响，钉尖从掌心穿透，他们要钉杀他们的神之子了，可悯的人们呵，使他痛得柔和。丁丁地响，钉尖从脚背穿透，钉碎了一块骨，痛楚也透到心髓中，然而他们自己钉杀着他们的神之子了，可咒诅的人们呵，这使他痛得舒服。十字架竖起来了；他悬在虚空中。
他没有喝那用没药调和的酒，要分明地玩味以色列人怎样对付他们的神之子，而且较永久地悲悯他们的前途，然而仇恨他们的现在。
路人都辱骂他，祭司长和文士也戏弄他，和他同钉的两个强盗也讥诮他。看哪，和他同钉的……四面都是敌意，可悲悯的，可咒诅的。
他在手足的痛楚中，玩味着可悯的人们的钉杀神之子的悲哀和可咒诅的人们要钉杀神之子，而神之子就要被钉杀了的欢喜。突然间，碎骨的大痛楚透到心髓了，...
Hope
Hope
My heart is unusually lonely.
Yet my heart is very calm: without love or hate, without sorrow or joy, without color or sound.
I must be old. My hair is already grey — is that not plain enough? My hands tremble — is that not plain enough? Then surely my soul's hands must tremble too, and its hair must have turned grey.
But that was many years ago.
Before that, my heart too was filled with blood-drenched songs: blood and iron, flames and poison, restoration and vengeance. Then suddenly all this became empty, though sometimes I deliberately filled it with helpless, self-deceiving hope. Hope, hope — with this shield of hope I fended off the dark night within the void, though behind the shield still lurked the dark night of the void.
And yet, in just this way, my youth was gradually consumed. Did I not know long ago that my youth had passed? But I believed that youth outside myself still endured: stars, moonlight, stiff-fallen butterflies, flowers in the dark, the ominous cry of the owl, the cuckoo's blood-cry, the dimness of laughter, the soaring dance of love... Though it was a sorrowful and ephemeral youth, it was youth after all.
But why is it so lonely now? Has even the youth outside myself departed — have even the young people of the world grown old?
I must confront this dark night within the void myself. I set down the shield of hope and heard Petőfi Sándor's (1823-49) song "Hope": What is hope? A harlot: she bewitches everyone, gives herself to all; once you have sacrificed your most precious treasure — your youth — she casts you aside.
This great lyric poet, Hungary's patriot, died on the lance-point of a Cossack for his fatherland, seventy-five years ago now. Sorrowful his death, yet more sorrowful still that his poetry has not died to this day.
But what a wretched life! Even one as proud and valiant as Petőfi at last halted before the dark night and gazed back at the vast East. He said: Despair is as vain as hope. If I must go on stealing a life in this "vanity" between light and dark, I shall still seek that vanished, sorrowful, ephemeral youth — if need be outside myself. For once the youth outside me is extinguished, the twilight within me will wither too.
Yet now there are no stars and no moonlight, no stiff-fallen butterflies, no dimness of laughter, no soaring dance of love. Yet the young people are quite calm.
I must confront this dark night within the void myself; even if I cannot find youth outside myself, I must at least cast my own twilight into the balance. But where is the dark night? Now there are no stars, no moonlight, no dimness of laughter, no soaring dance of love; the young people are quite calm, and before me there is not even a true dark night. Despair is as vain as hope!
January 1, 1925.
原文 / Original: 希望
希望
我的心分外地寂寞。
然而我的心很平安：没有爱憎，没有哀乐，也没有颜色和声音。
我大概老了。我的头发已经苍白，不是很明白的事么？我的手颤抖着，不是很明白的事么？那么，我的魂灵的手一定也颤抖着，头发也一定苍白了。
然而这是许多年前的事了。
这以前，我的心也曾充满过血腥的歌声：血和铁，火焰和毒，恢复和报仇。而忽而这些都空虚了，但有时故意地填以没奈何的自欺的希望。希望，希望，用这希望的盾，抗拒那空虚中的暗夜的袭来，虽然盾后面也依然是空虚中的暗夜。
然而就是如此，陆续地耗尽了我的青春。我早先岂不知我的青春已经逝去了？但以为身外的青春固在：星，月光，僵坠的胡蝶，暗中的花，猫头鹰的不祥之言，杜鹃的啼血，笑的渺茫，爱的翔舞……。虽然是悲凉漂渺的青春罢，然而究竟是青春。
然而现在何以如此寂寞？难道连身外的青春也都逝去，世上的青年也多衰老了么？
我只得由我来肉薄这空虚中的暗夜了。我放下了希望之盾，我听到Petőfi Sándor（1823—49）的"希望"之歌：希望是甚么？是娼妓：她对谁都蛊惑，将一切都献给；待你牺牲了极多的宝贝——你的青春——她就弃掉你。
这伟大的抒情诗人，匈牙利...
Snow
Snow
The rain of warm countries has never turned into cold, hard, glittering snowflakes. Learned people find it monotonous — does it consider itself unfortunate? But the snow of the South is of a supremely lush and ravishing beauty; it is the still-hidden tidings of youth, the skin of a maiden in the full bloom of health. In the snowy wilderness stand blood-red pearl camellias, single-petaled plum blossoms white tinged with blue-green, deep yellow bell-shaped wintersweet; beneath the snow, cold green weeds still grow. Butterflies there are certainly none; whether bees came to gather nectar from the camellias and plum blossoms, I cannot clearly remember. But before my eyes I seem to see winter flowers blooming in the snowy wilderness, many bees busily flying about, and I hear them humming at their work.
Children blow on their little hands, frozen red as purple ginger buds, and come seven or eight together to mold a snow luohan. Because they do not succeed, someone's father comes to help. The luohan grows much taller than the children, though it is only a pile narrow at the top and broad at the bottom, and in the end no one can tell whether it is a bottle gourd or a luohan; but it is very pure white, very bright, held together by its own moisture, gleaming as a whole. The children use longan pits for his eyeballs and steal rouge from someone's mother's cosmetic box to paint on his lips. This time it is truly a great arhat. And so he sits in the snow with blazing eyes and bright red lips.
The next day a few children come to visit him; they clap their hands before him, nod, and laugh. But at last he sits alone. Sunny days come and dissolve his skin; cold nights coat him with a layer of ice, turning him into a kind of opaque crystal; more sunny days make him something unnameable, and the rouge on his lips has faded entirely.
But the snowflakes of the North, after swirling wildly, remain forever like powder, like sand; they never cling together, scattered on rooftops, on the ground, on dead grass — that is all. The snow on rooftops has long since melted, because of the warmth from the fires of those who dwell beneath. As for the rest, under clear skies, when a whirlwind suddenly comes, they fly up vigorously, glittering brilliantly in the sunlight, like a great fog harboring flames, swirling and rising, filling the entire sky, making it swirl and rise and glitter.
Upon the boundless steppe, beneath the bitter sky, what swirls and rises, glittering, is the spirit of rain...
Yes, that is lonely snow, dead rain — the spirit of rain.
January 18, 1925.
原文 / Original: 雪
雪
暖国的雨，向来没有变过冰冷的坚硬的灿烂的雪花。博识的人们觉得他单调，他自己也以为不幸否耶？江南的雪，可是滋润美艳之至了；那是还在隐约着的青春的消息，是极壮健的处子的皮肤。雪野中有血红的宝珠山茶，白中隐青的单瓣梅花，深黄的磬口的蜡梅花；雪下面还有冷绿的杂草。胡蝶确乎没有；蜜蜂是否来采山茶花和梅花的蜜，我可记不真切了。但我的眼前仿佛看见冬花开在雪野中，有许多蜜蜂们忙碌地飞着，也听得他们嗡嗡地闹着。
孩子们呵着冻得通红，像紫芽姜一般的小手，七八个一齐来塑雪罗汉。因为不成功，谁的父亲也来帮忙了。罗汉就塑得比孩子们高得多，虽然不过是上小下大的一堆，终于分不清是壶卢还是罗汉；然而很洁白，很明艳，以自身的滋润相粘结，整个地闪闪地生光。孩子们用龙眼核给他做眼珠，又从谁的母亲的脂粉奁中偷得胭脂来涂在嘴唇上。这回确是一个大阿罗汉了。他也就目光灼灼地嘴唇通红地坐在雪地里。
第二天还有几个孩子来访问他；对了他拍手，点头，嘻笑。但他终于独自坐着了。晴天又来消释他的皮肤，寒夜又使他结一层冰，化作不透明的水晶模样；连续的晴天又使他成为不知道算什么，而嘴上的胭脂也褪尽了。
但是，朔方的雪花在纷飞之后，却永...
The Kite
The Kite
In Beijing's winter, snow still covers the ground, grey-black bare branches fork against the clear sky, and in the distance one or two kites float — for me, a cause of astonishment and sorrow.
In my hometown, kite season is the second month of spring; if one hears the rustling of wind-wheels and looks up, one can see an ink-colored crab kite or a pale blue centipede kite. There are also solitary tile-kites, without wind-wheels, flying very low, looking forlorn and wretched. But at that time the willows on the ground have already budded, the early mountain peaches have put forth blossoms, and together with the children's adornments in the sky, they form a single scene of spring gentleness. Where am I now? On all sides there is still the killing severity of deep winter, yet the long-departed spring of my long-departed hometown ripples through this very sky.
But I never liked flying kites — not only did I not like it, I loathed it, for I considered it the pastime of good-for-nothing children. The opposite of me was my little brother, about ten years old at the time, often ill, pitifully thin, yet he loved kites more than anything. He could not afford to buy one, and I would not let him fly one, so he could only stand with his mouth open, staring at the sky in a daze, sometimes for half a day. When a crab kite suddenly fell in the distance, he cried out; when two tile-kites untangled themselves, he jumped for joy. All this, in my eyes, was laughable and contemptible.
One day it suddenly occurred to me that I had hardly seen him for days, though I remembered seeing him collecting dry bamboo in the back garden. As if suddenly enlightened, I ran to a seldom-visited little room piled with odds and ends, pushed open the door, and indeed found him amid the dusty clutter. He sat on a small stool before a large bench; startled, he stood up, went pale, and shrank. Leaning against the bench was the bamboo frame of a butterfly kite, not yet covered with paper; on the bench lay a pair of small wind-wheels for the eyes, being decorated with strips of red paper, nearly finished. In the satisfaction of uncovering his secret, I was also furious that he had gone behind my back to painstakingly craft a good-for-nothing's toy. I immediately reached out and snapped one wing-bone of the butterfly, threw the wind-wheels on the ground, and trampled them flat. In age and strength, he was no match for me; naturally I won complete victory, and walked out haughtily, leaving him standing in the little room in despair. What became of him afterward, I did not know, nor did I care.
But my punishment came at last, long after we had parted, when I was already middle-aged. I happened to read a foreign book about children and learned that play is a child's most legitimate activity, and toys are the angels of childhood. Then that scene of spiritual cruelty from childhood, unremembered for twenty years, suddenly unrolled before my eyes, and my heart seemed to turn into a block of lead, sinking very, very heavily.
But the heart did not sink all the way to breaking; it only sank heavily, very heavily, sinking and sinking.
I also knew how to make amends: give him a kite, encourage him to fly it, urge him to fly it, fly it with him. We would shout, run, laugh. — But by then he, like me, had long since grown a beard.
I also knew there was another way to make amends: ask for his forgiveness, and wait for him to say, "I don't blame you at all." Then my heart would surely feel light — that was indeed a feasible solution. Once when we met, the lines of life's hardships had already been carved deep in both our faces, and my heart was heavy. Gradually we began talking about childhood memories, and I told him about this incident, confessing the foolishness of my youth. "I don't blame you at all" — I thought he was about to say it, I would immediately receive forgiveness, and my heart would be at ease from then on.
"Did that really happen?" he said, laughing in surprise, as though hearing someone else's story. He remembered nothing.
When everything is utterly forgotten, without any resentment — what is there to forgive? Forgiveness without resentment is nothing but a lie.
What more can I hope for? My heart can only remain heavy.
Now the spring of my hometown floats again in the sky of this foreign place, bringing me long-vanished childhood memories and with them an ungrasping sorrow. I might as well retreat into the killing severity of winter — but on all sides it is plainly deep winter, pressing upon me with its fierce cold.
January 24, 1925.
原文 / Original: 风筝
风筝
北京的冬季，地上还有积雪，灰黑色的秃树枝丫叉于晴朗的天空中，而远处有一二风筝浮动，在我是一种惊异和悲哀。
故乡的风筝时节，是春二月，倘听到沙沙的风轮声，仰头便能看见一个淡墨色的蟹风筝或嫩蓝色的蜈蚣风筝。还有寂寞的瓦片风筝，没有风轮，又放得很低，伶仃地显出憔悴可怜模样。但此时地上的杨柳已经发芽，早的山桃也多吐蕾，和孩子们的天上的点缀相照应，打成一片春日的温和。我现在在那里呢？四面都还是严冬的肃杀，而久经诀别的故乡的久经逝去的春天，却就在这天空中荡漾了。
但我是向来不爱放风筝的，不但不爱，并且嫌恶他，因为我以为这是没出息孩子所做的玩艺。和我相反的是我的小兄弟，他那时大概十岁内外罢，多病，瘦得不堪，然而最喜欢风筝，自己买不起，我又不许放，他只得张着小嘴，呆看着空中出神，有时至于小半日。远处的蟹风筝突然落下来了，他惊呼；两个瓦片风筝的缠绕解开了，他高兴得跳跃。他的这些，在我看来都是笑柄，可鄙的。
有一天，我忽然想起，似乎多日不很看见他了，但记得曾见他在后园拾枯竹。我恍然大悟似的，便跑向少有人去的一间堆积杂物的小屋去，推开门，果然就在尘封的什物堆中发见了他。他向着大方凳，坐在小凳上...
A Good Story
A Good Story
The lamp was gradually shrinking, announcing that the kerosene was nearly gone; it was not good kerosene either, and had long since smoked the shade dim. Firecrackers crackled all around, tobacco smoke drifted at my side — it was a drowsy night.
I closed my eyes, leaned back, and rested against the chair; my hand holding the Chuxueji lay on my knee.
In the haze I saw a good story.
This story was very beautiful, elegant, and delightful. Many beautiful people and beautiful things interwove like a sky of cloud brocade, and ten thousand rushing stars seemed to fly within it, unfolding at the same time, endlessly.
I seemed to remember once sitting in a small boat along the Shanyin road, and the tallow trees on both banks, young grain, wildflowers, chickens, dogs, thickets and bare trees, thatched huts, pagodas, temples, farmers and village women, village girls, drying clothes, monks, straw cloaks and hats, sky, clouds, bamboo... — all reflected in the clear, jade-green little river, and with each stroke of the oar, each carried glittering sunlight, together with the duckweed and fish in the water, all rippling together. Every reflection, every object dissolved, swayed, expanded, and merged into one another; but no sooner merged than they drew back, returning nearly to their original forms. Their edges were jagged as summer cloudheads, rimmed with sunlight, sending out a mercurial flame. Every river I had ever traveled was like this.
The story I now saw was the same. Against the blue sky at the bottom of the water, all things crisscrossed, weaving into a single piece, always alive, always unfolding — I could see no end to it.
The few gaunt hollyhocks beneath the withered willow by the riverbank must have been planted by a village girl. Bright red and spotted red blossoms floated in the water, suddenly scattering and stretching into threads of rouge-water, yet without halos. Thatched huts, dogs, pagodas, village girls, clouds... all floated too. The bright red blossoms were each stretched long — now they were wildly splashing red brocade ribbons.
The ribbons wove into the dog, the dog into the white cloud, the white cloud into the village girl... In the next instant they were already drawing back. But the spotted red blossom shadows had also scattered and stretched, about to weave into the pagoda, village girl, dog, thatched hut, and cloud.
The story I saw now became clear — beautiful, elegant, delightful, and distinct. Above the blue sky were countless beautiful people and beautiful things; I saw them one by one, knew them one by one.
I was about to gaze at them intently...
Just as I was about to gaze at them, I started violently, opened my eyes — the cloud brocade was already crumpled and disordered, as if someone had thrown a large stone into the river; the waves shot up sharply, tearing the whole page of reflections to shreds. Unconsciously I clutched the Chuxueji that had nearly fallen to the floor; before my eyes a few rainbow-colored fragments still remained.
How I loved this good story! While the fragments were still there, I wanted to recapture it, complete it, keep it. I threw down the book, leaned forward and reached for the brush — but there was not a single fragment left, only the dim lamplight; I was no longer in the little boat.
But I shall always remember having seen this good story, in the drowsy night...
February 24, 1925.
原文 / Original: 好的故事
好的故事
灯火渐渐地缩小了，在预告石油的已经不多；石油又不是老牌，早熏得灯罩很昏暗。鞭爆的繁响在四近，烟草的烟雾在身边：是昏沉的夜。
我闭了眼睛，向后一仰，靠在椅背上；捏着《初学记》的手搁在膝髁上。
我在蒙胧中，看见一个好的故事。
这故事很美丽，幽雅，有趣。许多美的人和美的事，错综起来像一天云锦，而且万颗奔星似的飞动着，同时又展开去，以至于无穷。
我仿佛记得曾坐小船经过山阴道，两岸边的乌桕，新禾，野花，鸡，狗，丛树和枯树，茅屋，塔，伽蓝，农夫和村妇，村女，晒着的衣裳，和尚，蓑笠，天，云，竹，……都倒影在澄碧的小河中，随着每一打桨，各各夹带了闪烁的日光，并水里的萍藻游鱼，一同荡漾。诸影诸物，无不解散，而且摇动，扩大，互相融和；刚一融和，却又退缩，复近于原形。边缘都参差如夏云头，镶着日光，发出水银色焰。凡是我所经过的河，都是如此。
现在我所见的故事也如此。水中的青天的底子，一切事物统在上面交错，织成一篇，永是生动，永是展开，我看不见这一篇的结束。
河边枯柳树下的几株瘦削的一丈红，该是村女种的罢。大红花和斑红花，都在水里面浮动，忽而碎散，拉长了，缕缕的胭脂水，然而没有晕。茅屋，...
The Dog's Retort
The Dog's Retort
I dreamed I was walking through a narrow alley, my clothes and shoes in tatters, like a beggar. A dog began barking behind me.
Haughtily I turned and shouted: "Hey! Silence! You snobbish dog!"
"Hee hee!" He laughed, and went on: "I wouldn't dare — I am ashamed not to be the equal of a human." "What?!" I was furious, feeling this was the ultimate insult. "I am ashamed: I still cannot tell copper from silver; still cannot tell cotton from silk; still cannot tell officials from commoners; still cannot tell masters from slaves; still cannot..."
I fled.
"Wait! Let us talk a bit more..." He called loudly after me.
I fled straight ahead, as fast as I could, until I fled out of the dream and lay in my own bed.
April 23, 1925.
原文 / Original: 狗的驳诘
狗的驳诘
我梦见自己在隘巷中行走，衣履破碎，像乞食者。一条狗在背后叫起来了。
我傲慢地回顾，叱咤说："呔！住口！你这势利的狗！"
"嘻嘻！"他笑了，还接着说，"不敢，愧不如人呢。""什么！？"我气愤了，觉得这是一个极端的侮辱。"我惭愧：我终于还不知道分别铜和银；还不知道分别布和绸；还不知道分别官和民；还不知道分别主和奴；还不知道……"
我逃走了。
"且慢！我们再谈谈……"他在后面大声挽留。
我一径逃走，尽力地走，直到逃出梦境，躺在自己的床上。
一九二五年四月二十三日。
The Good Hell Lost
The Good Hell Lost
I dreamed I lay on my bed in a desolate, frozen wilderness, beside Hell. The cries of all the ghosts were hushed yet orderly, harmonizing with the roar of flames, the boiling of oil, the vibration of steel pitchforks, creating an intoxicating great music that proclaimed to all three realms: peace in the underworld.
A magnificent man stood before me, beautiful, compassionate, his whole body radiant — but I knew he was the Devil.
"All is over, all is over! The pitiful ghosts have lost their good Hell!" he said in grief and fury, sat down, and told me a story he knew —
"When heaven and earth turned honey-colored, that was when the Devil defeated the gods and seized the great power to rule all things. He took the Kingdom of Heaven, took the human world, and took Hell. He appeared in person in Hell, sat at its center, his whole body radiant, illuminating all the ghosts.
"Hell had long been in disrepair: the sword-trees had lost their gleam; the boiling oil no longer surged at its edges; the great fire-masses sometimes produced only wisps of blue smoke, and in the distance mandara flowers sprouted, tiny and pitifully pale.
"The ghosts awoke in cold oil and lukewarm fire, saw the little Hell-flowers in the Devil's radiance, pitifully pale, and were deeply bewitched; in an instant they remembered the human world, meditated for no one knows how many years, and then all together, facing the human world, uttered a single cry of rebellion against Hell.
"Humanity answered at once, championed justice, and fought the Devil. At last deploying great strategies and casting great nets, they forced the Devil to flee from Hell. The final victory: humanity's banner now stood upon the gates of Hell!
"When the ghosts cheered in unison, humanity's emissary for reorganizing Hell had already arrived, sat at the center, and with human authority commanded all the ghosts.
"When the ghosts uttered another cry of rebellion, they had already become traitors to humanity and received the punishment of eternal damnation — exiled to the heart of the sword-tree forest.
"Humanity now held full sway over Hell — and their authority exceeded even the Devil's. Humanity set the decay in order: first they gave the ox-headed wardens the highest fodder; then they stoked the fires, sharpened the knife-mountains, and transformed Hell entirely, washing away every trace of its former decline.
"The mandara flowers withered at once. The oil boiled as before; the blades cut as before; the fire burned as before; the ghosts groaned as before, writhed as before — until they had no leisure to remember the good Hell they had lost.
"This is humanity's triumph and the ghosts' misfortune...
"Friend, you are beginning to suspect me. Yes, you are a human! I shall go seek wild beasts and evil spirits..."
June 16, 1925.
原文 / Original: 失掉的好地狱
失掉的好地狱
我梦见自己躺在床上，在荒寒的野外，地狱的旁边。一切鬼魂们的叫唤无不低微，然有秩序，与火焰的怒吼，油的沸腾，钢叉的震颤相和鸣，造成醉心的大乐，布告三界：地下太平。
有一伟大的男子站在我面前，美丽，慈悲，遍身有大光辉，然而我知道他是魔鬼。
"一切都已完结，一切都已完结！可怜的鬼魂们将那好的地狱失掉了！"他悲愤地说，于是坐下，讲给我一个他所知道的故事——
"天地作蜂蜜色的时候，就是魔鬼战胜天神，掌握了主宰一切的大威权的时候。他收得天国，收得人间，也收得地狱。他于是亲临地狱，坐在中央，遍身发大光辉，照见一切鬼众。
"地狱原已废弛得很久了：剑树消却光芒；沸油的边际早不腾涌；大火聚有时不过冒些青烟，远处还萌生曼陀罗花，花极细小，惨白可怜。
"鬼魂们在冷油温火里醒来，从魔鬼的光辉中看见地狱小花，惨白可怜，被大蛊惑，倏忽间记起人世，默想至不知几多年，遂同时向着人间，发一声反狱的绝叫。
"人类便应声而起，仗义执言，与魔鬼战斗。终于运大谋略，布大网罗，使魔鬼并且不得不从地狱出走。最后的胜利，是地狱门上也竖了人类的旌旗！
"当鬼魂们一齐欢呼时，人类的整饬地狱使者已临地狱，坐在中...
Epitaph
Epitaph
I dreamed I stood facing a tombstone, reading its inscription. The stone seemed made of sandstone, much worn away, covered with thick moss, only a few lines remaining —
...he caught a chill in the midst of ecstatic song; from heaven he saw the abyss. In all eyes he saw nothingness; in utter hopelessness he found salvation...
...a wandering soul transformed into a long serpent, with venomous fangs. Not to bite others — it bit itself, until it perished...
...Depart!...
I went around to the back and then saw the solitary grave, barren of grass and trees, already crumbling. Through the great crack I glimpsed the corpse — chest and abdomen torn open, heart and liver gone. Yet the face showed no expression of sorrow or joy, only a haze like smoke.
In fear and doubt I could not turn fast enough, yet I had already read the remaining words on the reverse of the stone —
...to tear out one's own heart and eat it, to know its true taste. The pain of the wound is so cruel — how can one know the true taste?...
...when the pain subsides, eat it slowly. But the heart has already grown old — how then can one know the true taste?...
...Answer me. Otherwise — depart!...
I was about to leave. But the corpse had sat up in the grave, lips unmoving, yet it spoke —
"When I have become dust, you will see my smile!"
I hurried away, not daring to look back, fearing to see it following me.
June 17, 1925.
原文 / Original: 墓碣文
墓碣文
我梦见自己正和墓碣对立，读着上面的刻辞。那墓碣似是沙石所制，剥落很多，又有苔藓丛生，仅存有限的文句——
……于浩歌狂热之际中寒；于天上看见深渊。于一切眼中看见无所有；于无所希望中得救。……
……有一游魂，化为长蛇，口有毒牙。不以啮人，自啮其身，终以殒颠。……
……离开！……
我绕到碣后，才见孤坟，上无草木，且已颓坏。即从大阙口中，窥见死尸，胸腹俱破，中无心肝。而脸上却绝不显哀乐之状，但蒙蒙如烟然。
我在疑惧中不及回身，然而已看见墓碣阴面的残存的文句——
……抉心自食，欲知本味。创痛酷烈，本味何能知？……
……痛定之后，徐徐食之。然其心已陈旧，本味又何由知？……
……答我。否则，离开！……
我就要离开。而死尸已在坟中坐起，口唇不动，然而说——
"待我成尘时，你将见我的微笑！"
我疾走，不敢反顾，生怕看见他的追随。
一九二五年六月十七日。
On Argument
On Argument
I dreamed I was in the classroom of my primary school, preparing a composition, asking my teacher about the method of argument.
"Difficult!" The teacher looked at me, his gaze shooting sideways over the rim of his spectacles. "Let me tell you something —
"A family had a boy, and the whole household was overjoyed. When the baby was one month old, they brought him out to show the guests — naturally hoping for a few auspicious remarks.
"One said: 'This child will be rich someday.' He received hearty thanks.
"Another said: 'This child will be an official someday.' He received a few compliments in return.
"Yet another said: 'This child will die someday.' He received a sound beating from everyone together.
"That the child will die is certain; that he will be rich and noble is probably a lie. Yet the liar is rewarded, and the truth-teller is beaten. Now you..."
"I would like neither to lie nor to be beaten. Then, teacher, how should I put it?"
"Then you must say: 'Ah! This child! Just look! How... Oh my! Ha ha! Hehe! He, hehehehe!'"
July 8, 1925.
原文 / Original: 立论
立论
我梦见自己正在小学校的讲堂上预备作文，向老师请教立论的方法。
"难！"老师从眼镜圈外斜射出眼光来，看着我，说。"我告诉你一件事——
"一家人家生了一个男孩，合家高兴透顶了。满月的时候，抱出来给客人看，——大概自然是想得一点好兆头。
"一个说：'这孩子将来要发财的。'他于是得到一番感谢。
"一个说：'这孩子将来要做官的。'他于是收回几句恭维。
"一个说：'这孩子将来是要死的。'他于是得到一顿大家合力的痛打。
"说要死的必然，说富贵的许谎。但说谎的得好报，说必然的遭打。你……"
"我愿意既不谎人，也不遭打。那么，老师，我得怎么说呢？"
"那么，你得说：'啊呀！这孩子呵！您瞧！多么……。阿唷！哈哈！Hehe！he，hehehehe！'"
一九二五年七月八日。
Dead Fire
Dead Fire
I dreamed I was racing among icebergs.
Towering icebergs reaching to the frozen sky; overhead, frozen clouds like fish scales. At the foot of the mountains, a forest of ice trees with branches and needles like pine and fir. Everything freezing, everything pale blue-white.
Then suddenly I fell into an ice valley.
Above, below, on all sides — freezing, pale blue-white. Yet upon all the pale blue-white ice lay countless red shadows, tangled like a coral net. I looked down at my feet — there was fire.
It was dead fire. It had the shape of blazing flames, yet did not stir in the least, frozen solid like coral branches; at its tip, solidified black smoke, as though it had just emerged from a burning house and was therefore scorched. Thus reflected in the ice walls all around, and the reflections reflecting each other, multiplied into infinity, turning the ice valley the color of red coral.
Ha ha!
As a child I loved to watch the spray raised by swift ships and the fierce flames shooting from blast furnaces. Not only did I love to watch — I wanted to see clearly. But alas, they were ever-changing, never still. No matter how I stared, no fixed image remained. Dead flame, now I have found you at last!
I picked up the dead fire, about to examine it closely, but the cold seared my fingers; still I endured and stuffed it into my pocket. The ice valley all around turned instantly pale blue-white again. I pondered how to escape.
A thread of black smoke rose from my body like an iron-wire snake. The ice valley was instantly filled with flowing red flames, a great conflagration surrounding me. I looked down — the dead fire was burning, had burned through my clothes, and flowed upon the ice floor.
"Ah, friend! With your warmth you have awakened me," it said.
I hastily greeted it and asked its name.
"I was once abandoned in this ice valley," it said, not answering the question. "Those who abandoned me perished and vanished long ago. I too was nearly frozen to death. Had you not given me your warmth and made me burn again, I would soon have been extinguished."
"Your awakening delights me. I was just thinking of how to escape this ice valley; I wish to carry you with me, so that you never freeze again and may burn forever."
"Alas! Then I shall burn out!"
"Your burning out would grieve me. Then I shall leave you here."
"Alas! Then I shall freeze and be extinguished!"
"Then what shall we do?"
"But you yourself — what will you do?" it asked in return.
"I have already said: I want to get out of this ice valley..."
"Then I had better burn out!"
It suddenly leaped up like a red comet, carrying me out of the mouth of the ice valley. A great stone cart came racing toward us; I was crushed to death beneath its wheels — but I still had time to see the cart plunge into the ice valley.
"Ha ha! You will never encounter dead fire again!" I said, laughing triumphantly, as if I wanted it this way.
April 23, 1925.
原文 / Original: 死火
死火
我梦见自己在冰山间奔驰。
这是高大的冰山，上接冰天，天上冻云弥漫，片片如鱼鳞模样。山麓有冰树林，枝叶都如松杉。一切冰冷，一切青白。
但我忽然坠在冰谷中。
上下四旁无不冰冷，青白。而一切青白冰上，却有红影无数，纠结如珊瑚网。我俯看脚下，有火焰在。
这是死火。有炎炎的形，但毫不摇动，全体冰结，像珊瑚枝；尖端还有凝固的黑烟，疑这才从火宅中出，所以枯焦。这样，映在冰的四壁，而且互相反映，化为无量数影，使这冰谷，成红珊瑚色。
哈哈！
当我幼小的时候，本就爱看快舰激起的浪花，洪炉喷出的烈焰。不但爱看，还想看清。可惜他们都息息变幻，永无定形。虽然凝视又凝视，总不留下怎样一定的迹象。死的火焰，现在先得到了你了！
我拾起死火，正要细看，那冷气已使我的指头焦灼；但是，我还熬着，将他塞入衣袋中间。冰谷四面，登时完全青白。我一面思索着走出冰谷的法子。
我的身上喷出一缕黑烟，上升如铁线蛇。冰谷四面，又登时满有红焰流动，如大火聚，将我包围。我低头一看，死火已经燃烧，烧穿了我的衣裳，流在冰地上了。
"唉，朋友！你用了你的温热，将我惊醒了。"他说。
我连忙和他招呼，问他名姓。
"我原先被...
Pressed Leaf
Pressed Leaf
Reading the Yanmen-ji under the lamp, a pressed, dried maple leaf suddenly fell from the pages.
This reminded me of late autumn last year. Heavy frost had fallen in the night, most leaves already shed, and the little maple tree in front of the courtyard had turned red. I had paced around the tree, examining the colors of the leaves closely — when they were green I had never paid such attention. The whole tree was not red; most leaves were pale crimson, and a few bore patches of deep green on a scarlet ground. One leaf alone had a tiny wormhole, edged in black, and amid the mottling of red, yellow, and green, it gazed at you like a bright eye. I thought: this is a diseased leaf! So I plucked it and placed it in the Yanmen-ji I had just bought. I suppose I wished these colors — moth-eaten yet splendid, about to fall — might be preserved a while, and not scatter with all the other leaves.
But tonight it lies before me, wax-yellow, and that eye no longer glows as it did last year. In a few more years, when the old colors have faded from my memory, perhaps even I will not know why it lies pressed between these pages. The splendor of the diseased leaf, about to fall, can apparently only be contemplated for the briefest moment — how much less the lush green. Looking out the window, even the hardiest trees have long since lost their leaves; the maple tree needs no mentioning. In late autumn there must be diseased leaves similar to last year's — but sadly, this year I have had no leisure to admire the autumn trees.
December 26, 1925.
原文 / Original: 腊叶
腊叶
灯下看《雁门集》，忽然翻出一片压干的枫叶来。
这使我记起去年的深秋。繁霜夜降，木叶多半凋零，庭前的一株小小的枫树也变成红色了。我曾绕树徘徊，细看叶片的颜色，当他青葱的时候是从没有这么注意的。他也并非全树通红，最多的是浅绛，有几片则在绯红地上，还带着几团浓绿。一片独有一点蛀孔，镶着乌黑的花边，在红，黄和绿的斑驳中，明眸似的向人凝视。我自念：这是病叶呵！便将他摘了下来，夹在刚才买到的《雁门集》里。大概是愿使这将坠的被蚀而斑斓的颜色，暂得保存，不即与群叶一同飘散罢。
但今夜他却黄蜡似的躺在我的眼前，那眸子也不复似去年一般灼灼。假使再过几年，旧时的颜色在我记忆中消去，怕连我也不知道他何以夹在书里面的原因了。将坠的病叶的斑斓，似乎也只能在极短时中相对，更何况是葱郁的呢。看看窗外，很能耐寒的树木也早经秃尽了；枫树更何消说得。当深秋时，想来也许有和这去年的模样相似的病叶的罢，但可惜我今年竟没有赏玩秋树的余闲。
一九二五年十二月二十六日。
The Tremor of the Line of Decay
The Tremor of the Line of Decay
I dreamed I was dreaming. I did not know where I was, yet before my eyes was the interior of a small hut, tightly shut in deep night — and at the same time I saw the dense forest of houseleek upon the roof.
The lampshade on the plank table had been freshly wiped, making the hut unusually bright. In the brightness, on the tattered bed, beneath a massive, hairy, unknown bulk of flesh, a frail and tiny body trembled — with hunger, pain, astonishment, shame, and joy. The slack yet still plump skin gleamed; the pale cheeks flushed faintly, as if rouge had been painted on lead.
The lamp too shrank with fright; dawn was already breaking in the east.
Yet in the air still rippled the waves of hunger, pain, astonishment, shame, and joy...
"Mama!" A girl of about two, startled awake by the sound of the door, called out from the corner where she lay on the floor, surrounded by rush mats.
"It's still early, sleep a bit more!" she said in alarm.
"Mama! I'm hungry, my stomach hurts. Will we have anything to eat today?"
"Today we have food. Soon the sesame-cake seller will come, and Mama will buy some for you." Relieved, she gripped the small silver coin in her palm more tightly; her faint voice trembled with sorrow as she walked to the corner, looked at her daughter, moved the mat aside, and lifted her onto the tattered bed.
"It's still early, sleep a bit more," she said, and at the same time raised her eyes and gazed — with nothing to tell anyone — at the sky above the dilapidated roof.
Suddenly a great new wave arose in the air, colliding with the former, swirling into a vortex, engulfing everything including me; I could not breathe through mouth or nose.
Groaning, I awoke; outside the window lay silver moonlight, and dawn seemed still far off.
I did not know where I was, yet before my eyes was the interior of a small hut shut tight in deep night — I knew I was continuing the dream. But many years had passed. The hut was now tidy inside and out; within were a young couple and a brood of children, all glaring at an aged woman with resentment and contempt.
"We can't show our faces to anyone, and it's all because of you," the man said angrily. "You think you raised her, but you actually ruined her — it would have been better if she'd starved to death as a child!"
"You're the one who made my whole life a humiliation!" the woman said.
"And you've dragged me down too!" the man said.
"And them too!" the woman said, pointing at the children.
The youngest was playing with a dry reed leaf; now he swung it through the air like a steel sword and cried: "Kill!"
The corners of the old woman's mouth convulsed; for a moment she froze, then everything grew calm. Before long, she stood up coldly, bony as a stone statue. She opened the plank door, stepped out into the deep night, leaving behind all the cold curses and venomous laughter.
She walked and walked in the deep night, until she reached a boundless wilderness; on all sides wilderness, above only the high sky, not a single insect or bird in flight. Naked, standing like a stone statue in the center of the wilderness, in a single instant she saw all of the past: hunger, pain, astonishment, shame, joy — and she trembled; harm, humiliation, ruin — and she convulsed; kill — and she grew calm. ...In another instant she merged everything together: longing and severance, tenderness and revenge, nurture and annihilation, blessing and curse... Then she raised both hands as high as she could toward the sky, and from between her lips there escaped sounds half human, half beast, not of the human world, and therefore without words.
When she uttered this wordless speech, the entire surface of her great body — like a stone statue, yet already abandoned and decayed — trembled. This trembling was like fish scales, point by point, each scale heaving like boiling water over fierce flame; the air instantly trembled with it, like the waves of a desolate sea in a tempest.
Then she raised her eyes to the sky, and even the wordless speech fell utterly silent; only the trembling remained, radiating like sunlight, sending the airborne waves into an immediate whirl, as if struck by a hurricane, surging wildly across the boundless wilderness.
I was having a nightmare — but I knew it was because I had placed my hand on my chest; in the dream I used all my strength to move that terribly heavy hand away.
June 29, 1925.
原文 / Original: 颓败线的颤动
颓败线的颤动
我梦见自己在做梦。自身不知所在，眼前却有一间在深夜中紧闭的小屋的内部，但也看见屋上瓦松的茂密的森林。
板桌上的灯罩是新拭的，照得屋子里分外明亮。在光明中，在破榻上，在初不相识的披毛的强悍的肉块底下，有瘦弱渺小的身躯，为饥饿，苦痛，惊异，羞辱，欢欣而颤动。弛缓，然而尚且丰腴的皮肤光润了；青白的两颊泛出轻红，如铅上涂了胭脂水。
灯火也因惊惧而缩小了，东方已经发白。
然而空中还弥漫地摇动着饥饿，苦痛，惊异，羞辱，欢欣的波涛……。
"妈！"约略两岁的女孩被门的开阖声惊醒，在草席围着的屋角的地上叫起来了。
"还早哩，再睡一会罢！"她惊惶地说。
"妈！我饿，肚子痛。我们今天能有什么吃的？"
"我们今天有吃的了。等一会有卖烧饼的来，妈就买给你。"她欣慰地更加紧捏着掌中的小银片，低微的声音悲凉地发抖，走近屋角去一看她的女儿，移开草席，抱起来放在破榻上。
"还早哩，再睡一会罢。"她说着，同时抬起眼睛，无可告诉地一看破旧的屋顶以上的天空。
空中突然另起了一个很大的波涛，和先前的相撞击，回旋而成旋涡，将一切并我尽行淹没，口鼻都不能呼吸。
我呻吟着醒来，窗外满是如银的月色，...
Amid Faint Bloodstains
Amid Faint Bloodstains
— In memory of certain dead, living, and yet unborn
The Creator of our time is still a coward.
In secret he makes heaven and earth change, yet dares not destroy this planet; in secret he makes living things decay, yet dares not preserve all corpses forever; in secret he makes humanity bleed, yet dares not keep the color of blood forever fresh; in secret he makes humanity suffer, yet dares not let humanity remember forever.
He thinks only of his own kind — the cowards among humanity. He uses ruins and deserted graves to set off fine houses; he uses time to dilute suffering and bloodstains; day after day he pours out a cup of bittersweet wine, neither too little nor too much, just enough for a slight intoxication, and hands it to the human world, so that the drinkers may weep and sing, half awake, half drunk, half knowing, half ignorant, half wanting to die, half wanting to live. He must ensure that all want to live too; he has not yet the courage to annihilate humanity.
A few ruins and deserted graves lie scattered upon the earth, reflected in faint bloodstains; among them people chew upon the dim sorrow of self and others. But they will not spit it out, for they think it better than emptiness, each calling themselves "the heaven-punished," to justify their chewing of dim sorrow, and tremblingly await the coming of new sorrows. The new — it frightens them, yet they long to encounter it.
These are all the Creator's good citizens. He needs them just so.
But from the human world emerges the rebellious hero; he stands tall, seeing through all the ruins and deserted graves, past and present, remembering all deep, vast, and ancient suffering, facing all the layered clotted blood, knowing all the dead, the just-born, the soon-to-be-born, and the unborn. He has seen through the Creator's tricks; he will rise to awaken humanity — or to annihilate these good citizens of the Creator utterly.
The Creator, the coward, is ashamed, and hides. Heaven and earth change color in the hero's eyes.
April 8, 1926.
原文 / Original: 淡淡的血痕中
淡淡的血痕中
——记念几个死者和生者和未生者
目前的造物主，还是一个怯弱者。
他暗暗地使天变地异，却不敢毁灭一个这地球；暗暗地使生物衰亡，却不敢长存一切尸体；暗暗地使人类流血，却不敢使血色永远鲜浓；暗暗地使人类受苦，却不敢使人类永远记得。
他专为他的同类——人类中的怯弱者——设想，用废墟荒坟来衬托华屋，用时光来冲淡苦痛和血痕；日日斟出一杯微甘的苦酒，不太少，不太多，以能微醉为度，递给人间，使饮者可以哭，可以歌，也如醒，也如醉，若有知，若无知，也欲死，也欲生。他必须使一切也欲生；他还没有灭尽人类的勇气。
几片废墟和几个荒坟散在地上，映以淡淡的血痕，人们都在其间咀嚼着人我的渺茫的悲苦。但是不肯吐弃，以为究竟胜于空虚，各各自称为"天之僇民"，以作咀嚼着人我的渺茫的悲苦的辩解，而且悚息着静待新的悲苦的到来。新的，这就使他们恐惧，而又渴欲相遇。
这都是造物主的良民。他就需要这样。
叛逆的猛士出于人间；他屹立着，洞见一切已改和现有的废墟和荒坟，记得一切深广和久远的苦痛，正视一切重叠淤积的凝血，深知一切已死，方生，将生和未生。他看透了造化的把戏；他将要起来使人类苏生，或者使人类灭尽，这...
Such a Warrior
Such a Warrior
There should be such a warrior — no longer ignorant as an African native carrying a gleaming Mauser rifle; nor exhausted as a Chinese Green Standard soldier yet wearing a Mauser pistol. He has no armor of cowhide and scrap iron; he has only himself, but he carries the barbarian's javelin, thrown with a single cast.
He enters the ranks of Nothingness; all he meets nod at him in the same way. He knows this nodding is the enemy's weapon, a weapon that kills without bloodshed; many warriors have perished by it, as by artillery shells — even the bravest cannot bring their strength to bear.
On their heads they bear all manner of banners, embroidered with fine titles: Philanthropist, Scholar, Man of Letters, Elder, Youth, Aesthete, Gentleman... Below, they wear all manner of cloaks, embroidered with fine patterns: Learning, Morality, National Tradition, the Will of the People, Logic, Justice, Eastern Civilization...
But he raised his javelin.
They all swore in unison that their hearts were in the center of their chests, unlike other biased humans. They all wore breast-mirrors to prove that they themselves firmly believed their hearts were in the center.
But he raised his javelin.
He smiled, cast sideways — and struck them squarely in the heart.
All collapsed — but there was only a cloak, with nothing inside. The thing of Nothingness had escaped, victorious, for he was now a criminal who had slain philanthropists and their kind.
But he raised his javelin.
He strode through the ranks of Nothingness, seeing again the same nodding, the various banners, the various cloaks...
But he raised his javelin.
In the end he grew old and died in the ranks of Nothingness. In the end he was no warrior, but the thing of Nothingness was the victor.
In such circumstances, no one hears a battle cry: Peace.
Peace...
But he raised his javelin!
December 14, 1925.
原文 / Original: 这样的战士
这样的战士
要有这样的一种战士——已不是蒙昧如非洲土人而背着雪亮的毛瑟枪的；也并不疲惫如中国绿营兵而却佩着盒子炮。他毫无乞灵于牛皮和废铁的甲胄；他只有自己，但拿着蛮人所用的，脱手一掷的投枪。
他走进无物之阵，所遇见的都对他一式点头。他知道这点头就是敌人的武器，是杀人不见血的武器，许多战士都在此灭亡，正如炮弹一般，使猛士无所用其力。
那些头上有各种旗帜，绣出各样好名称：慈善家，学者，文士，长者，青年，雅人，君子……。头下有各样外套，绣出各式好花样：学问，道德，国粹，民意，逻辑，公义，东方文明……。
但他举起了投枪。
他们都同声立了誓来讲说，他们的心都在胸膛的中央，和别的偏心的人类两样。他们都在胸前放着护心镜，就为自己也深信心在胸膛中央的事作证。
但他举起了投枪。
他微笑，偏侧一掷，却正中了他们的心窝。
一切都颓然倒地；——然而只有一件外套，其中无物。无物之物已经脱走，得了胜利，因为他这时成了戕害慈善家等类的罪人。
但他举起了投枪。
他在无物之阵中大踏步走，再见一式的点头，各种的旗帜，各样的外套……。
但他举起了投枪。
他终于在无物之阵中老衰，寿终。他终于不是战士，...
The Wise Man, the Fool, and the Slave
The Wise Man, the Fool, and the Slave
The slave did nothing but seek people to tell his troubles to. That was all he did, and all he could do. One day he met a wise man.
"Sir!" he said sorrowfully, tears streaming in a line from the corners of his eyes. "You know how it is. My life is simply not fit for a human being. I may not even get one meal a day, and that meal is nothing but sorghum husks — not even pigs and dogs will eat them — and even so, only a tiny bowl..."
"That is truly pitiable," the wise man said sympathetically.
"Isn't it!" He brightened. "And the work knows no rest, day or night: carrying water at dawn, cooking in the evening, running errands in the morning, grinding flour at night, washing clothes in sunshine, holding umbrellas in rain, stoking the stove in winter, fanning in summer. At midnight I must simmer silver-ear fungus; waiting on the master when he wants money; never getting a share of the gambling winnings, and sometimes getting the whip besides..."
"Alas..." sighed the wise man, his eyes reddening as if about to weep.
"Sir! I cannot go on like this. I must find another way. But what way?..."
"I think things will improve for you..."
"Really? I hope so. But just pouring out my troubles and receiving your sympathy and comfort has already made me feel much better. It shows that justice in heaven has not perished..."
But a few days later he grew discontented again and sought someone else to complain to.
"Sir!" he said, weeping. "You know how it is. Where I live is worse than a pigsty. The master doesn't treat me as a human being; he treats his lapdog ten thousand times better..."
"Outrageous!" the man shouted, startling the slave. This man was a fool.
"Sir, I live in nothing but a wretched little hut — damp, dark, full of bedbugs — lie down and they bite you to pieces. It reeks, and there's not a single window..."
"Can't you ask your master to make a window?"
"How could I?..."
"Then take me to see it!"
The fool went with the slave to his room and at once began smashing the mud wall.
"Sir! What are you doing?" the slave cried in alarm.
"I'm making you a window!"
"You can't! The master will scold!"
"Let him!" He went on smashing.
"Help! A robber is destroying our house! Quick! He's about to break through!..." He wailed and screamed, rolling on the ground. A crowd of slaves came out and chased the fool away.
Hearing the commotion, the master came out last, slowly.
"A robber tried to destroy our house. I was the first to raise the alarm, and we all drove him away together," the slave said respectfully and triumphantly.
"Well done," the master praised him.
That day many well-wishers came, the wise man among them.
"Sir. This time, thanks to my service, the master praised me. You said earlier that things would improve — you were truly far-sighted..."
"Isn't that so..." the wise man replied, seeming to share his happiness.
December 26, 1925.
原文 / Original: 聪明人和傻子和奴才
聪明人和傻子和奴才
奴才总不过是寻人诉苦。只要这样，也只能这样。有一日，他遇到一个聪明人。
"先生！"他悲哀地说，眼泪联成一线，就从眼角上直流下来。"你知道的。我所过的简直不是人的生活。吃的是一天未必有一餐，这一餐又不过是高粱皮，连猪狗都不要吃的，尚且只有一小碗……。"
"这实在令人同情。"聪明人也惨然说。
"可不是么！"他高兴了。"可是做工是昼夜无休息的：清早担水晚烧饭，上午跑街夜磨面，晴洗衣裳雨张伞，冬烧汽炉夏打扇。半夜要煨银耳，侍候主人要钱；头钱从来没分，有时还挨皮鞭……。"
"唉唉……。"聪明人叹息着，眼圈有些发红，似乎要下泪。
"先生！我这样是敷衍不下去的。我总得另外想法子。可是什么法子呢？……"
"我想，你总会好起来……。"
"是么？但愿如此。可是我对先生诉了冤苦，又得你的同情和慰安，已经舒坦得不少了。可见天理没有灭绝……。"
但是，不几日，他又不平起来了，仍然寻人去诉苦。
"先生！"他流着眼泪说，"你知道的。我住的简直比猪窠还不如。主人并不将我当人；他对他的叭儿狗还要好到几万倍……。"
"混帐！"那人大叫起来，使他吃惊了。那人是一个傻子。
"先生，...
An Awakening
An Awakening
Airplanes, carrying their mission to drop bombs, flew over Beijing every morning as regularly as school classes. Whenever I heard the drone of engines striking the air, I felt a slight tension, as if watching "death" arrive, yet at the same time I felt deeply the presence of "life."
After vaguely hearing one or two explosions, the airplane buzzed away and flew off slowly. Perhaps people had been killed or wounded, yet the world seemed even more peaceful. The tender leaves of the white poplars outside my window gleamed dark gold in the sunlight; the cherry-plum was blooming more splendidly than yesterday. I gathered up the newspapers scattered across the bed, brushed away the pale fine dust that had settled on my desk overnight — my small square study was again what is called "bright windows and clean desks."
For some reason, I began editing the manuscripts of young writers that had long accumulated on my desk; I wanted to go through them all. As I read the works chronologically, the souls of these young people — who refused to put on rouge — stood one by one before me. They were graceful, sincere — ah, but then they suffered, groaned, grew angry, and at last coarse, my beloved youths!
Souls beaten coarse by wind and sand — because they are human souls, I love such souls; I would kiss this invisible, colorless, blood-drenched coarseness. In misty famous gardens, exotic flowers bloom, beautiful serene maidens stroll with transcendent nonchalance, a crane cries, and white clouds rise thickly... This naturally enchants, but I always remember that I live in the human world.
Weary, cigarette in hand, I closed my eyes in nameless thoughts and saw a very long dream. Suddenly I started awake; around me still hung the dusk; the smoke-curl rose in the still air like small summer clouds, slowly forming shapes that could not be named.
April 10, 1926.
原文 / Original: 一觉
一觉
飞机负了掷下炸弹的使命，像学校的上课似的，每日上午在北京城上飞行。每听得机件搏击空气的声音，我常觉到一种轻微的紧张，宛然目睹了"死"的袭来，但同时也深切地感着"生"的存在。
隐约听到一二爆发声以后，飞机嗡嗡地叫着，冉冉地飞去了。也许有人死伤了罢，然而天下却似乎更显得太平。窗外的白杨的嫩叶，在日光下发乌金光；榆叶梅也比昨日开得更烂漫。收拾了散乱满床的日报，拂去昨夜聚在书桌上的苍白的微尘，我的四方的小书斋，今日也依然是所谓"窗明几净"。
因为或一种原因，我开手编校那历来积压在我这里的青年作者的文稿了；我要全都给一个清理。我照作品的年月看下去，这些不肯涂脂抹粉的青年们的魂灵便依次屹立在我眼前。他们是绰约的，是纯真的，——阿，然而他们苦恼了，呻吟了，愤怒，而且终于粗暴了，我的可爱的青年们！
魂灵被风沙打击得粗暴，因为这是人的魂灵，我爱这样的魂灵；我愿意在无形无色的鲜血淋漓的粗暴上接吻。漂渺的名园中，奇花盛开着，红颜的静女正在超然无事地逍遥，鹤唳一声，白云郁然而起……。这自然使人神往的罢，然而我总记得我活在人间。
我疲劳着，捏着纸烟，在无名的思想中静静地合了眼睛，看见很长的梦。忽...
The Passerby
The Passerby
Time: The evening of some day. Place: Somewhere. Characters: Old Man — about seventy, white beard and hair, long black robe. Girl — about ten, dark hair, black eyes, white dress with black checks. Passerby — about thirty to forty, weary yet stubborn, dark gaze, black beard, tangled hair, short black jacket and trousers both tattered, barefoot in broken shoes, a bag under his arm, leaning on a bamboo staff as tall as himself.
To the east, a few scrub trees and rubble; to the west, a desolate, crumbling graveyard; between them a trace that may or may not be a path. A small earthen hut has a door facing this trace; beside the door, a dead tree stump.
(The Girl is about to help the Old Man up from the stump.)
OLD MAN: Child. Hey, child! Why have you stopped? GIRL (gazing east): Someone is coming. Let me look. OLD MAN: No need to look. Help me inside. The sun is setting. GIRL: I want to — look. OLD MAN: Oh, this child! Every day you see the sky, the earth, the wind — isn't that beautiful enough? Nothing is more beautiful. Yet you insist on watching someone. What appears at sunset will bring you no good... Let's go inside. GIRL: But he's already near. Oh, a beggar. OLD MAN: A beggar? I think not.
(The Passerby stumbles out from the scrub trees in the east, hesitates briefly, then slowly approaches the Old Man.)
PASSERBY: Good evening, sir. OLD MAN: Ah, good evening! Thank you. And you? PASSERBY: Sir, forgive my boldness — I would like to beg a glass of water. I am terribly thirsty from walking. There is neither pond nor puddle here. OLD MAN: Of course. Please sit down. (To the Girl) Child, bring water, and wash the cup clean.
(The Girl walks silently into the hut.)
OLD MAN: Please sit. What is your name? PASSERBY: Name? — I don't know. As long as I can remember, I have always been alone. I don't know what I was originally called. Along the way people have called me various things, all different; I can't remember clearly, and I have never heard the same name twice. OLD MAN: I see. Where have you come from? PASSERBY (slightly hesitant): I don't know. As long as I can remember, I have been walking like this. OLD MAN: Right. Then may I ask where you are going? PASSERBY: Of course. — But I don't know. As long as I can remember, I have been walking toward a place — up ahead. I only know I have walked many roads and now arrived here. I shall continue that way — (points west) — forward!
(The Girl carefully brings out a wooden cup and hands it over.)
PASSERBY (takes the cup): Thank you, miss. (Drinks the water in two gulps, returns the cup.) Thank you, miss. Such kindness is truly rare. I don't know how to express my gratitude! OLD MAN: Don't be so grateful. It does you no good. PASSERBY: True, it does me no good. But I've recovered some strength. I must go on. Sir, you've lived here long — do you know what lies ahead? OLD MAN: Ahead? Ahead are graves. PASSERBY (astonished): Graves? GIRL: No, no, no. There are so many wild lilies and wild roses there; I often go to play and look at them. PASSERBY (looks west, seems to smile): True. Those places have many wild lilies and wild roses; I've often gone to see them too. But they are graves. (To the Old Man) Sir, what lies beyond the graveyard? OLD MAN: Beyond? I don't know. I've never been. PASSERBY: You don't know?! GIRL: I don't know either. OLD MAN: I only know the south, the north, the east — the way you came. That is the place I know best, and perhaps the best place for you. Don't blame me for speaking too much, but as tired as you are, wouldn't it be better to turn back? For you may not be able to reach the end going forward. PASSERBY: May not reach the end?... (Ponders, suddenly starts.) That won't do! I must walk. Back there — every place has its labels, every place its landlord, every place its expulsion and its cages, every place its skin-deep smiles, every place its tears beyond the eyelids. I loathe it all; I will not turn back! OLD MAN: That's not entirely true. You would also find tears from the heart, shed for your sorrow. PASSERBY: No. I don't want to see their heartfelt tears; I don't want them to grieve for me! OLD MAN: Then (shakes his head) you must walk on. PASSERBY: Yes, I must walk on. Besides, there is always a voice ahead urging me, calling me, giving me no rest. Only my feet have long been torn, wounded, bleeding... I won't drink anyone's blood. I drink only water to replenish my blood. There has always been water along the way. But my strength has grown too thin — too much water in the blood, perhaps. Today I haven't found even a puddle. OLD MAN: Perhaps. The sun has set; I think you might as well rest a while, as I do. PASSERBY: But the voice ahead calls me on. OLD MAN: I know. PASSERBY: You know? You know that voice? OLD MAN: Yes. It seems to have called me once too. PASSERBY: Was it the same voice that calls me now? OLD MAN: I don't know. It called a few times; I ignored it, and it stopped, and I can barely remember. PASSERBY: Ah, ignored it... (Ponders, suddenly startles, listens.) No! I had better walk. I cannot rest. Only my feet are already torn. (Prepares to leave.) GIRL: Take this! (Hands him a strip of cloth.) Bandage your wounds. PASSERBY: Thank you (takes it), miss. This is truly... extraordinary kindness. It will help me walk farther. (Sits on a broken brick, tries to wrap the cloth around his ankle.) But no! (Struggles to stand.) Miss, take it back. I can't wrap it. And such great kindness — I cannot repay it. OLD MAN: Don't be so grateful. It does you no good. PASSERBY: True. But to me, this gift is the most precious thing. OLD MAN: Don't take it so seriously. PASSERBY: Yes. But I cannot. I'm afraid that if I accept a gift, I shall become like a vulture seeing a carcass — hovering nearby, wishing for her destruction so I can witness it; or cursing everything except her, including myself, for I would deserve the curse. But I haven't such strength; and even if I had, I wouldn't wish such a fate on her. I think this is safest. (To the Girl) Miss, this cloth is very fine, but a bit too small. Take it back. GIRL (frightened, steps back): I don't want it! Take it with you! PASSERBY (seems to smile): Oh... because I've touched it? GIRL (nods, points to the bag): Put it in there. To play with. PASSERBY (dejectedly steps back): But carrying this — how can I walk?... OLD MAN: If you can't rest, you can't carry it either. — Rest a while, and it won't matter. PASSERBY: Right, rest... (Ponders, suddenly startles, listens.) No, I can't! I'd better walk. OLD MAN: You really won't rest? PASSERBY: I want to rest. OLD MAN: Then rest a while. PASSERBY: But I can't... OLD MAN: You still think walking is better? PASSERBY: Yes. Walking is better. OLD MAN: Then you had better walk. PASSERBY (stretches): Good, I take my leave. I am deeply grateful. (To the Girl) Miss, take this back, please.
(The Girl, frightened, pulls back her hands, about to flee into the hut.)
OLD MAN: Take it with you. If it's too heavy, you can drop it in the graveyard anytime. GIRL (steps forward): Oh no, that won't do! PASSERBY: Oh no, that won't do. OLD MAN: Then hang it on the wild lilies and wild roses. GIRL (claps): Ha ha! Good! PASSERBY: Oh...
(Briefest silence.)
OLD MAN: Then farewell. Peace be with you. (Stands, to the Girl) Child, help me inside. Look, the sun has long set. (Turns to the door.) PASSERBY: Thank you. Peace be with you. (Paces, ponders, suddenly starts.) But I cannot! I must walk. I had better walk... (Immediately lifts his head and strides resolutely westward.)
(The Girl helps the Old Man into the hut, then closes the door. The Passerby stumbles into the wilderness, and the night follows behind him.)
March 2, 1925.
原文 / Original: 过客
过客
时：或一日的黄昏。 地：或一处。 人：老翁——约七十岁，白须发，黑长袍。 女孩——约十岁，紫发，乌眼珠，白地黑方格长衫。 过客——约三四十岁，状态困顿倔强，眼光阴沉，黑须，乱发，黑色短衣裤皆破碎，赤足著破鞋，胁下挂一个口袋，支着等身的竹杖。
东，是几株杂树和瓦砾；西，是荒凉破败的丛葬；其间有一条似路非路的痕迹。一间小土屋向这痕迹开着一扇门；门侧有一段枯树根。
（女孩正要将坐在树根上的老翁搀起。）
翁——孩子。喂，孩子！怎么不动了呢？ 孩——（向东望着，）有谁走来了，看一看罢。 翁——不用看他。扶我进去罢。太阳要下去了。 孩——我，——看一看。 翁——唉，你这孩子！天天看见天，看见土，看见风，还不够好看么？什么也不比这些好看。你偏是要看谁。太阳下去时候出现的东西，不会给你什么好处的。……还是进去罢。 孩——可是，已经近来了。阿阿，是一个乞丐。 翁——乞丐？不见得罢。
（过客从东面的杂树间跄踉走出，暂时踌蹰之后，慢慢地走近老翁去。）
客——老丈，你晚上好？ 翁——阿，好！托福。你好？ 客——老丈，我实在冒昧，我想在你那里讨一杯水喝。我走得渴极了。这地方又没有一个池...
After Death
After Death
I dreamed that I had died on the road.
Where this was, how I had got there, how I had died — none of this was clear to me. In short: by the time I realized I was already dead, I was already dead there.
I heard a few magpies cawing, then a flock of crows. The air was fresh — though with a touch of earthiness — it must have been about dawn. I tried to open my eyes, but they would not move in the slightest, as though they were not my eyes; then I tried to raise my hand — the same.
A terrible arrowhead of dread suddenly pierced my heart. In my lifetime I had once jokingly supposed: if a person's death meant only the destruction of the motor nerves while consciousness remained, that would be more terrible than complete death. My supposition had come true — I myself was its proof.
Footsteps — someone passing. A wheelbarrow was pushed past my head, probably heavily laden, squealing irritatingly. Everything looked rosy red — the sun must have risen. So my face was pointing east. But that was of no consequence. Muttering — onlookers.
More footsteps, one after another, stopping nearby, and more whispering: the crowd was growing. Suddenly I very much wanted to hear their comments. But at the same time I thought: what I had said in life about criticism being worthless was probably said against my own convictions — barely dead and already exposed. Still I listened; but no conclusion emerged, it came down only to this:
"Dead?..." "Hmm. — Well..." "Hmph!..." "Tsk... Alas!..."
I was very glad, for I had not heard a single familiar voice. Otherwise I might have caused them grief; or given them satisfaction; or furnished them with after-dinner gossip. All of which would have embarrassed me. Now no one could see me, so no one was affected. Good — I had wronged no one!
But an ant, probably, was crawling up my back, itching. I could not move at all. On the back of my hand I felt the pattern of a rush mat — the shroud was not bad. Only I didn't know who had paid for it — a pity! But damn those undertakers! A corner of my shirt was creased at the back, and they hadn't smoothed it.
A sudden gust of wind, something covered me from above, and they all flew off, saying as they left: "What a pity!..."
I nearly fainted with rage.
I immediately closed my eyes, out of disgust. After a while it was quiet — he had probably gone. But another ant seemed to be crawling up my neck, finally reaching my face, circling around the eye socket.
Who would have thought that a person's thoughts still change after death! Suddenly a force shattered the peace of my heart; at the same time many dreams unfolded before my eyes. A few friends wished me happiness, a few enemies wished me destruction. But I always went on living, neither happy nor destroyed, neither up nor down, failing to meet either side's expectations. And now I had died like a shadow, without even my enemies knowing — I wouldn't grant them even a shred of effortless joy... I felt I wanted to cry with satisfaction. This was probably my first weeping after death.
Yet in the end no tears fell; I only saw something like a spark flash before my eyes — and sat up.
July 12, 1925.
原文 / Original: 死后
死后
我梦见自己死在道路上。
这是那里，我怎么到这里来，怎么死的，这些事我全不明白。总之，待到我自己知道已经死掉的时候，就已经死在那里了。
听到几声喜鹊叫，接着是一阵乌老鸦。空气很清爽，——虽然也带些土气息，——大约正当黎明时候罢。我想睁开眼睛来，他却丝毫也不动，简直不像是我的眼睛；于是想抬手，也一样。
恐怖的利镞忽然穿透我的心了。在我生存时，曾经玩笑地设想：假使一个人的死亡，只是运动神经的废灭，而知觉还在，那就比全死了更可怕。我的预想竟的中了，我自己就在证实这预想。
听到脚步声，走路的罢。一辆独轮车从我的头边推过，大约是重载的，轧轧地叫得人心烦，还有些牙齿。很觉得满眼绯红，一定是太阳上来了。那么，我的脸是朝东的。但那都没有什么关系。切切嚓嚓的人声，看热闹的。
陆陆续续地又是脚步声，都到近旁就停下，还有更多的低语声：看的人多起来了。我忽然很想听听他们的议论。但同时想，我生存时说的什么批评不值一笑的话，大概是违心之论罢：才死，就露了破绽了。然而还是听；然而毕竟得不到结论，归纳起来不过是这样——
"死了？……" "嗡。——这……" "哼！……" "啧。……唉！……"
我十分...