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未分类文本 by Lu Xun (鲁迅, 1881–1936)

[On the Power of Mara Poetry]

He who has exhausted the ancient springs shall seek the springs of the future, shall seek new springs. O my brethren, the work of rebirth, the bursting forth of new springs from the deepest depths — it is not far off. — Nietzsche

I

Whoever reads the cultural history of ancient nations, following the ages downward to the final chapter, will inevitably be seized by a melancholy awareness, as though passing from the warmth of spring into the austerity of autumn — all seeds of renewal extinguished, withered desolation lying before one. I have no other name for it and shall simply call it: desolation. For of all that human culture bequeaths to posterity, nothing is so powerful as the voice of the heart. The divine imagination of ancient peoples communed with the palace of Nature, entering into mystical accord with all things, receiving their spiritual essence, and expressing what could be expressed — thus poetry was born. Its sound traverses the ages and enters human hearts; it does not perish with the closing of lips but spreads ever further, according to the nature of the people. When literary culture declines, the destiny of that people is also exhausted; the multitude falls silent, and glory fades. The sense of desolation that seizes the reader of history flares up like anger, and the annals of that civilization inevitably approach their final page. All those who won renown at history's dawn and ushered in the first light of culture, yet have today become shadow-realms — all met this fate.

The most familiar example, known throughout the land, is surely India. Ancient India possessed four Vedas of magnificent and mysterious beauty, counted among the great works of world literature; its two epics, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, are likewise of supreme perfection. Later the poet Kalidasa appeared, who became famous through his dramas and occasionally turned to lyric verse; the German poet-prince Goethe elevated his works to the highest achievement between heaven and earth. Yet when the people's strength waned, their literature likewise declined, and the most sublime sounds no longer arose from the spirit of that nation — they wandered to foreign lands, like exiles. Next comes the example of the Hebrews: although their writings largely concern faith and religious instruction, they excel in profundity and solemnity; the foundation of religious literature and art that nourishes human hearts to this day springs from that source. But among the people of Israel, it ended with the voice of Jeremiah; the kings were corrupt, God's wrath blazed forth, Jerusalem was destroyed, and the tongue of the people fell silent. Though they did not at once forget their homeland in exile — lovingly preserving their language and true faith — after the Lamentations there was no answering echo.

Furthermore, Iran and Egypt: both broke off midway, like a severed rope — brilliant in antiquity, desolate in the present. If China and Israel are to be viewed in this light, then there is no greater catastrophe for human existence. Why so? The Englishman Thomas Carlyle said: To obtain a clear voice that sings joyfully from the heart — this is a nation's foremost duty. Italy was fragmented, yet truly united, for it had brought forth Dante Alighieri, it possessed the Italian language. The Tsar of Great Russia possessed weapons and cannon, political dominion, could govern vast territories and undertake great enterprises. But what use was it if there was no voice? Within there may have been greatness, yet that greatness remained mute. [...] When weapons and cannon had all corroded, Dante's voice still resounded. He who has a Dante is united; those who remain mute and without such a harbinger, like the Russians, will ultimately fall apart.

Nietzsche bore no ill will toward savages and said there was new strength in them — and his words were accurate and irrefutable. For the beginnings of civilization germinate in the womb of barbarism; the savage may appear crude outwardly, yet a hidden radiance lies within. Civilization is like the blossom, savagery like the bud; civilization is like the fruit, savagery like the flower — therein lies ascent, therein lies hope. Only with ancient peoples whose culture has already come to a halt is it otherwise: once development has ceased, decay inevitably follows; and those who have long basked in the glory of ancient ancestors and lorded over surrounding lesser nations find twilight setting in, often without realizing it themselves — obstinate and foolish, polluted like the Dead Sea. That such peoples appear brilliantly at history's outset and vanish into shadow at the end of the annals is perhaps for this very reason.

Russia's voicelessness contains within it an electrifying resonance. Russia resembles a child, not a mute; an underground stream, not a dried-up well. In the first half of the nineteenth century, Nikolai Gogol indeed appeared, who with invisible tear-stains and somber hues stirred his countrymen; some compared him to England's Shakespeare — the very one Carlyle had so passionately praised. Looking about the world: everywhere new voices are rising, all using uniquely sublime and magnificent language to uplift their spirits and make their greatness known to the world. Only those who remain in silence and do not stir are the ancient nations mentioned above — India and the rest. Alas, the voices and legacies of ancient peoples are indeed solemn and grand, but since they no longer breathe into the present, they serve the admirers of antiquity only for touching and chanting over — what else could they offer their descendants? Or they merely talk to themselves about their former glory, thereby only exposing their present solitude — and thus fall behind a rising nation that, though its culture may not yet flourish, deserves great hope for the future. Therefore the phrase "ancient civilization" is a melancholy phrase, a phrase of mockery! An impoverished scion of a once-great house whose estate has fallen into ruin prattles on to people about how wise and mighty his ancestor was, what splendid palaces, jewels, horses, and dogs he possessed, how he surpassed all common folk in distinction. Whoever hears his words — who would not laugh?

The development of a nation may indeed owe something to remembering the past, but when it remembers, its thinking is clear as a bright mirror: constantly striving upward, constantly looking back, constantly treading the luminous path of progress, constantly mindful of its glorious heritage — thus the new grows ever newer, and the old does not die. But whoever knows not why and vainly boasts of glory to please himself — for such a one the long night begins at that very moment. If one walks today along the great thoroughfares of China, one will surely see soldiers strutting through the cities, singing military songs with open mouths, bitterly denouncing the slavish nature of India and Poland; those who casually compose national anthems are no different. For China today also likes to recall its former brilliance, but cannot quite express it, and so for the time being merely says: "The left neighbor is already enslaved, the right neighbor nearing death," choosing fallen nations for comparison and hoping thereby to display its own superiority. Whether those two nations or China is worse off need not be discussed here; but as for songs of praise and the voice of the nation — though there are many singers in the world, none has yet been seen to employ such a method. The disappearance of poets may seem a small matter, yet the sense of desolation immediately sets in. Whoever wishes to raise the true greatness of the fatherland must first examine himself and also know others; only when comparison is thorough does true self-awareness arise. When the voice of self-awareness sounds, every note strikes the human heart, clear and bright, unlike any ordinary sound. If not, tongue and mouth freeze, all voices sink into nothingness, and the silence that follows is twice as deep as before. For when the soul still dreams, how can it speak? Even if jolted by external circumstances and forcibly rousing itself, it becomes not great but only adds sighs. Therefore I say: the unfolding of the national spirit depends upon the breadth of one's knowledge of the world.

Let us now set aside ancient matters and seek new voices in foreign lands — the impulse arising precisely from contemplation of the past. The various new voices cannot be enumerated in detail; but in terms of the power to stir people and the depth of expression, nothing compares to the school of Mara poetry. The word "Mara" is borrowed from Sanskrit and means "Heavenly Demon"; Europeans call it Satan. The name was originally applied to Byron. Here I include under this term all poets whose intent lies in resistance, whose aim is action, and who are not greatly favored by the world, and I transmit their words, deeds, and thoughts, their lineages and influences — beginning with the patriarch Byron and ending with the Hungarian literati. All these people are outwardly most diverse, each bearing the distinctive coloring of his homeland and radiating its light; yet in their fundamental tendency they agree: for the most part they produce no sounds of worldly conformity and contentment; when they raise their voices, the listeners awaken, defying heaven and resisting convention, and their spirit deeply moves the hearts of later generations, extending endlessly into infinity. It may be that before their birth and after their liberation, some consider their voice not worth hearing; but for those who walk amid life, held in Nature's grip and turning without finding release — for them this voice is truly the most sublime, boldest, and most beautiful of all. Yet to speak of this to peaceful citizens only arouses greater fear.

[My Views on Chastity]

"Public morals are declining, human hearts sink lower by the day, the nation will soon cease to be a nation" — such lamentations have been China's perpetual sigh since time immemorial. Only the specific matters deemed to be "sinking daily" have shifted with the times: what was once referred to as one thing is now lamented as another. Apart from writings "submitted for imperial perusal," about which no one dares speak rashly, all other essays and discussions have invariably carried this tone. For such sighing not only serves to chastise one's contemporaries but also allows the sigher to exclude himself from the "daily decline." Thus the virtuous sigh at one another, and even murderers, arsonists, whoremongers, and swindlers — together with every other sort of scoundrel — seize a pause in their misdeeds to shake their heads and say, "Human hearts truly sink lower every day!"

As for female chastity and martyrdom, these have always been considered especially sacred. When her husband dies, a woman is expected to follow him in death or at least remain a widow for life. If assaulted by bandits or threatened by an enemy, she should die rather than surrender her honor. This was called "chastity" and "martyrdom," and society has always extolled these virtues to the highest degree, glorifying them with memorial arches and shrines.

But upon closer examination: First — why is this demand placed exclusively on women and not on men? A man may freely remarry after his wife's death, may keep multiple concubines, and no one objects. Second — those who make such demands are mostly men themselves, sitting comfortably in their studies, never placed in a position where they must prove their own willingness to die a martyr's death. Third — even when a woman actually throws herself to her death, neither she nor her family benefits; the only gain consists of a few lines in local chronicles and perhaps a stone memorial arch slowly crumbling to dust.

The real question is: Is it not the duty of society and the state to protect people, rather than demanding that the weakest die to preserve the honor of the strong? The entire system of chastity morality is fundamentally nothing more than a tool by which the powerful dominate the powerless and men oppress women. If we were truly serious about virtue and honor, we would first need to create a society in which no one is forced to choose between shame and death — and not perpetuate a system that declares death the supreme feminine virtue.

[How We Should Be Fathers Today]

The real intention behind this essay is to investigate how the family can be reformed. Since parental authority weighs heavily in China and paternal power weighs even more, I especially wish to express some thoughts on the question of the father-son relationship, which has always been regarded as sacred and inviolable. In short: the revolution must reach all the way to the father himself. But why do I so grandly set forth these nine characters as a title? There are two reasons.

First: The "disciples of the sages" in China hate nothing more than when someone shakes their two cherished things. One need not be mentioned and has nothing to do with the likes of us; the other, however, is their moral relationships, and on this subject we cannot help occasionally making a few remarks. Therefore the attacks always come from that quarter. So that it may not be said I have tacitly called for the dissolution of all human relationships, I prefer to state plainly that I am speaking only about fatherhood — for simplicity's sake.

Second: In China, the relationship between father and son is considered the most important of all human bonds. Confucius placed "filial piety" above all else, and the twenty-four exemplars of filial piety were elevated as models for all ages. But if one considers the matter biologically, the relationship between parents and children is by no means one of grace and debt. Parents bring forth children — this is a natural instinct, not a conscious beneficence for which gratitude is owed. The child did not ask to be born. It has neither a debt to repay nor a grace to requite.

What, then, should fathers do? They should understand that love for children is a natural feeling requiring no reciprocation. They should treat their children as independent human beings, not as possessions or tools for old-age security. They should clear the path to the future for their children rather than dragging them back into the past. A good father is a liberator, not a despot; a path-breaker, not a jailer. Only when fathers grasp this can China make progress.

[What Was Called Fiction among the Song Dynasty Folk and Its Later Development]

The stories circulating among the common people during the Song dynasty differed fundamentally from what historians of all ages had recorded. At that time these were not written literature but a variety of oral storytelling belonging to the performing arts, known as "speaking."

When exactly "speaking" began is not known in detail, but from old books we can ascertain that it already existed during the Tang dynasty. Duan Chengshi wrote in his Youyang zazu sequel (volume 4, "Bianwu"): "At the end of the Taihe era, while watching various performances on the occasion of my younger brother's birthday, there was a street storyteller who pronounced the name Bian Que as 'Pian Que,' in the rising tone. I had Ren Daosheng correct the pronunciation. The street storyteller said: 'Twenty years ago at a gathering in the capital, I already gave this performance, and a scholar praised my pronunciation of Bian as identical to Pian, saying all the world was mistaken.'"

The street storytellers of the Song era told stories in the vernacular, and their texts were called "storytelling scripts." The content could be divided into various genres: stories of ghosts and marvels, love stories, criminal cases, historical narratives, and religious instruction. This oral storytelling tradition was the seed of later Chinese vernacular fiction. The "storytelling scripts" were later written down and further developed, and from them eventually grew the great novels of the Ming and Qing dynasties. Thus it may be said that the vibrant popular culture of the Song era laid the foundation for one of the richest narrative traditions in world literature.

[On the Collapse of Leifeng Pagoda]

They say that Leifeng Pagoda on the West Lake in Hangzhou has collapsed — so they say, but I did not see it with my own eyes. I did, however, see Leifeng Pagoda when it still stood — dilapidated and crumbling, it loomed amid the scenery of lake and mountains, and the setting sun illuminated the surrounding area: this was "Evening Glow of Leifeng Pagoda," one of the Ten Views of the West Lake. I have also seen the true scenery of "Evening Glow of Leifeng Pagoda," and it did not strike me as particularly beautiful.

Yet of all the famous sites of the West Lake, Leifeng Pagoda was the one whose name I knew earliest. My grandmother often told me that the White Snake Lady was imprisoned beneath this pagoda. There was once a man named Xu Xian who saved two snakes, one white and one green. The white snake transformed herself into a beautiful woman and married Xu Xian. But the monk Fahai imprisoned her beneath Leifeng Pagoda, where she was to remain captive for all eternity. As a child I felt great pity for the White Snake Lady and harbored deep resentment toward the monk Fahai. I always hoped that the pagoda would collapse and the snake lady would be set free.

Now the pagoda has indeed collapsed — but people say the reason is that the farmers round about had stolen the pagoda's bricks to make medicine or use as good-luck charms, until the structure finally fell apart. This gives me pause for thought. The collapse of the pagoda is naturally gratifying for all who sympathize with the White Snake Lady. But the real problem lies deeper: the pagoda stands for the old order, for oppression and unfreedom — and its collapse proclaims that no prison lasts forever.

[On Photography and Such Matters]

I. Materials and Such

In my childhood, in the city of S — when I say "childhood" I mean thirty years ago, but from the standpoint of those swiftly advancing talents, that is a full century; and when I say "the city of S," I conceal its true name, and the reason for concealing it I also conceal. In short, in the city of S I was constantly hearing men and women of all ages discussing how the foreign devils gouged out people's eyes. There was once a woman who had worked as a servant in a foreign devil's household and then left. The reason she left, it was said, was that she had seen with her own eyes a jar of pickled eyes, layered one upon another like small crucian carp, nearly level with the rim of the jar.

That the foreigners gouged out Chinese eyes and used them to make photographs or to smelt silver — such rumors circulated in my childhood. Photography was regarded as something uncanny and threatening. Whoever had their photograph taken allegedly risked losing their soul. The camera was an instrument of evil, and the foreigners who operated it were agents of dark powers.

Of course, attitudes toward photography have since changed. Photography has become an everyday object, and even the most superstitious people willingly have their pictures taken today. Yet the manner in which Chinese people have themselves photographed still reveals peculiar traits. There is first the problem of the pose: most Chinese adopt a stiff, solemn expression before the camera, as though standing before a court of law. Then there is the question of retouching: some studios transform their subjects into idealized beings bearing no resemblance whatsoever to the originals. All this shows that the Chinese still do not understand photography as a means of truth, but rather as a tool for self-deception and embellishment.

[Random Thoughts Under the Lamp]

I

There was a time — around the second or third year of the Republic — when the credit of banknotes from several national banks in Beijing improved daily, truly on an upward trend. They say even the country folk, who had always clung to silver, recognized that banknotes were convenient and reliable and gladly accepted and used them. As for somewhat more sensible people — one need not belong to the "special intellectual class" — they had long since stopped carrying the heavy, cumbersome silver coins in their breast pockets, subjecting themselves to unnecessary trouble. One can imagine that — aside from those few with a particular fondness and affection for silver — the great majority probably possessed only banknotes, and mostly domestic ones at that. But then, unfortunately, came the decline.

During the upheavals, panic and rumors began to circulate, and suddenly no one would accept banknotes anymore. Everyone demanded silver, hard, ringing silver. The shops refused to accept banknotes; the banks restricted exchange. One could obtain only a fraction of the face value for one's banknotes. The feeling this produced was peculiar: what had yesterday been worth its full value was today nothing but a worthless piece of paper.

This set me thinking about the Chinese people. Chinese history is customarily divided into ages of "peace under sage rule" and ages of "upheaval." But considered closely, there are in truth only two ages: ages in which the people strove to temporarily attain the status of slaves, and ages in which they could not even attain that status. The so-called "golden age" was nothing more than an epoch in which oppression was just orderly enough for the people to endure their existence as serfs tolerably well. And the "upheavals" were times when even the life of a serf became unattainable.

[On "His Mother's...!"]

No matter who you are, so long as you live in China, you will inevitably hear "ta ma de" or similar expressions constantly. I think to myself: the distribution of this phrase probably follows wherever Chinese footsteps reach; and its frequency of use is probably no less than that of the polite "How do you do?" If, as some say, the peony is China's "national flower," then this expression may well be called China's "national curse."

I grew up in eastern Zhejiang — what Mr. Xiying calls "a certain native place." The "national curse" current there is quite simple: it is restricted exclusively to "mother" and never involves other persons. When I later traveled to other regions, I noticed that the expression was considerably richer elsewhere — it could encompass entire generations of ancestors and extend to various relatives.

Where does this curse originate? I have reflected on it and believe it has its origin in patriarchal society. In a system where lineage means everything, the most effective insult is one that calls into question the purity of the bloodline. "Ta ma de" is fundamentally an attack on the legitimacy of the other person's descent — an insinuation that the mother of the person being cursed may not have been as virtuous as family honor demands.

This brings us back to the question of social structure. In a society built on rigid hierarchies and family honor, even the most common curse becomes a mirror of the prevailing values. "Ta ma de" is not simply a vulgar expression — it is a concentrated reflection of the Chinese social order, in which a woman's honor is regarded as the property of the family and the male line of descent stands above all else.

[The Policy of Strengthening Walls and Clearing Fields]

Recently I have discovered several noteworthy doctrines in Chinese society. One of them is the policy of "strengthening walls and clearing fields."

"Strengthening walls and clearing fields" is a military expression. Military matters are not my field, so this phrase came to me not from military texts but from other books or from what I have picked up in society. They say that in the recent European war, trench warfare was the decisive factor — so this tactic is still in use today: strengthening the walls. As for clearing the fields, world history offers instructive examples: tradition has it that when Napoleon invaded Russia at the beginning of the nineteenth century and reached Moscow, the Russians deployed their field-clearing tactics masterfully, simultaneously setting the city ablaze to leave nothing for the enemy.

But the kind of "strengthening walls and clearing fields" I observe in Chinese society has little to do with military strategy. It is rather a mentality of self-isolation and preemptive destruction. Whenever something new, foreign, or unsettling appears — whether an idea, an art, an institution, or a way of life — the policy of strengthening walls and clearing fields is immediately applied: one barricades oneself behind old walls and clears away everything that might nourish the new. Young people are to be kept away from new books, women from public life, thoughts from freedom. Thus a defensive strategy transforms into a policy of suffocation — not of the enemy, but of one's own life.

[Widowism]

Mr. Fan Yuanlian is a man admired by many young people today; each person has their own reasons, which I naturally cannot guess. What personally fills me with admiration, however, is that at the end of the Guangxu era he was the first to invent "accelerated teacher training." That a branch of learning could be mastered in accelerated fashion may have struck the pedantic scholars of old as strange; but one must remember that China was then suffering from an "education famine," so this was in effect an urgently needed relief shipment. Half a year later, the teachers returning from Japan were no longer few in number, and they brought with them all manner of pedagogical doctrines: militarism, emperor-worship, and the expulsion of foreigners, and the like. In women's education, the spirit prevailing among the female teachers in the boarding schools was one of strict abstinence.

The "boarding school" was one of those institutions directed by women who were either unmarried or widowed and apparently held the view that the single or widowed life represented the highest form of female existence. They transferred this attitude to their students: the girls were to have no contact with men, develop no romantic feelings, and devote themselves entirely to study and self-discipline.

This is what I call "widowism" — an ideology that suppresses the natural human desire for love and companionship and replaces it with an ascetic severity that corresponds neither to the needs of nature nor to the requirements of a modern society. The champions of widowism confuse renunciation with virtue and solitude with strength. In truth it is a form of tyranny — exercised not by men over women but by women over women, which makes it all the more insidious and harder to see through.

[The True Story of Ah Q]

Chapter One: Preface

It has been more than a year or two since I wanted to write a proper biography of Ah Q. But on the one hand I wanted to do it, while on the other I kept thinking it over — which shows I am not a man who keeps his word. For since ancient times an immortal pen has required an immortal subject, and thus the fame of the person is transmitted through the text and the fame of the text through the person — but which ultimately depends on which gradually becomes unclear, and in the end it all comes down to writing the biography of Ah Q, as though a ghost had haunted my thoughts.

Yet when I set about writing this composition destined for swift oblivion, I immediately encountered a thousand difficulties. First, the title. Confucius said: "If the name is not correct, speech will not be in order." This should indeed be taken very seriously. There are many kinds of biographies: official biographies, autobiographies, unofficial biographies, family chronicles, supplementary biographies, and the like, but unfortunately none of them fits. "Official biography"? But Ah Q is by no means related to the emperor. "Autobiography"? But I am not Ah Q myself. Were I to call it an "unofficial biography" — Ah Q was by no means a famous personage; were I to call it a "family chronicle" — Ah Q has no family and no genealogy. So in the end I called it a "true story," though even this does not quite conform to classical rules.

Second, there was the problem of the name. What surname Ah Q bore is not reliably transmitted. At one point he seemed to bear the surname Zhao, but the next day even that was uncertain again. And as for his given name — whether Q was his real name or merely an abbreviation, no one could say. During his lifetime people wrote nothing down, and after his death there was certainly no one who conducted inquiries.

Ah Q lived in Weizhuang, without a fixed occupation or a fixed dwelling. He slept in the Ancestral Temple of Virtue and hired himself out to farmers as a day laborer — threshing wheat today, pounding rice tomorrow. For longer jobs he would temporarily lodge with his employer; when the work was done, he moved on. The people of Weizhuang called on him when there was work and forgot about him when there was none. In their eyes Ah Q was insignificant — until one day he became a memorable celebrity, though not of the kind Confucius would have approved.

Ah Q possessed a special talent: what might be called his "spiritual victory." When beaten, he told himself: "I have been beaten by my own son." When insulted, he convinced himself that he was the superior one. When he lost a fight, he consoled himself that the other would come to a worse end. This method of spiritual self-consolation was so perfectly developed that Ah Q always emerged victorious from every humiliation — at least in his own imagination. He had transformed defeat into victory, disgrace into triumph, powerlessness into power — all only in his head, to be sure, but that sufficed him completely.

This is the true tragedy of Ah Q — and the true tragedy of China: an entire nation that cradles itself in spiritual victories while in reality stumbling from one defeat to the next. Lu Xun wrote the story of Ah Q not as entertainment but as a mirror in which the Chinese people were meant to recognize their own face — self-righteous, self-deceiving, incapable of genuine self-criticism, and therefore incapable of change.

[Autumn Night]

In my back garden, beyond the wall, two trees can be seen: one is a jujube tree, and the other is also a jujube tree.

Above them stretches the night sky, strange and high — so strangely high that I have never seen such a sky in all my life. It seems to want to leave the human world behind, causing those who look up at it to see it no more. Yet now it is extraordinarily blue, glinting with several dozen star-eyes — cold eyes. At the corners of its mouth appears a smile, as though it considers itself profoundly meaningful, and it scatters thick frost upon the wildflowers and grasses in my garden.

I do not know what these flowers and grasses are truly called, nor what names people give them. I remember that one kind bore very small blossoms that still bloom now, yet smaller and more delicate than before, trembling in the cold air and dreaming. They dream that spring will return, that autumn will pass, and that the sky will no longer stare at them so coldly. They do not know that they are already withering even as they dream.

The jujube trees, however, have long since lost all their leaves and fruit. Before, the little pink blossoms had peeked out among the leaves; now even the last dream of spring is over, and only the bare branches remain — like thorns or spears, silently piercing the strangely high, cold sky. Although the sky smiles coldly and maliciously with its star-eyes, the jujube trees are unmoved: they stretch their naked branches upward, like warriors who refuse to yield.

[After Death]

I dreamed I had died on the road.

Where exactly this was, how I had gotten there, what I had died of — all of this was completely unclear to me. In any case, by the time I realized I was dead, I was already lying dead in that place.

I heard a few magpies calling, then a flock of crows. The air was fresh — though carrying a hint of earth — it must have been around dawn. I tried to open my eyes, but they did not move in the slightest, as though they did not belong to me at all. Then I tried to raise a hand — the same result.

The sharp point of terror suddenly pierced my heart. While alive, I had playfully imagined what it would be like to be dead: all effort, all vexation, all embarrassment gone in an instant. But honestly, I had not truly thought the matter through. For now that I was actually dead, I discovered it was not like that at all. I could still feel perfectly well, and that was the unpleasant part. I felt the ants crawling across my back; I felt the sun's rays striking my face; I heard the chatter of passersby. I was dead — and yet not free. The body lay rigid and motionless, but consciousness was awake, trapped in an immobile shell.

Then the flies came and buzzed around me. Then people came and talked about me. Someone said: "He's dead." Someone else said: "When did he die?" No one cared who I was. And I could not answer, could not open my mouth, could not raise a hand to show them that something within me was still alive. This — I thought in my dream — is the true meaning of death: not the cessation of feeling, but the cessation of the ability to communicate.

[The Wise Man, the Fool, and the Slave]

The slave was always just looking for someone to complain to. That was always the way, and that was the only way it could be. One day he met a wise man.

"Sir!" he said mournfully, tears streaming in an unbroken line from the corners of his eyes. "You know how it is. The life I lead is simply not a human life. The food — sometimes there is not even one meal a day, and that one meal is nothing but sorghum husks that not even pigs and dogs would eat, and even that only a small bowl..."

"That is truly pitiable," said the wise man with a stricken expression.

"Isn't it!" The slave brightened. "And yet I must work day and night without rest: carrying water in the early morning, cooking at noon, sweeping the floor in the evening, attending the master at night..."

"Ah!" The wise man sighed.

"And on top of all that, the master beats and scolds me!"

"What misery..." The wise man wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

The slave was deeply moved and wept bitterly.

One day the slave met a fool. He told him the same woes. The fool listened and grew angry: "That's outrageous! Show me where you live!" The slave led him to the dark hole that served as his quarters. "You see," said the slave, "there is not even a window." — "Then we'll make one!" cried the fool, and began to smash a hole in the wall. The slave was terrified and screamed: "Help! Someone is trying to tear down the house!" The master and the neighbors came running and drove the fool away. The master praised the slave for his loyalty and gave him some dinner leftovers as a reward.

The slave was overjoyed. The wise man came by and likewise congratulated him: "Well done! I'm happy for you." The slave beamed. Both were satisfied — the wise man and the slave. Only the fool bled somewhere outside in the darkness.

[An Awakening]

The airplane, bearing its mission of dropping bombs, flew over the city of Beijing every morning, as punctual as the start of classes at a school. Each time I heard the sound of the machine striking the air, I felt a slight tension, as though witnessing "death" approaching in person — yet at the same time I also felt deeply the presence of "life."

After one or two faint explosions were heard in the distance, the airplane droned and flew leisurely away. Perhaps people had been injured or killed, yet the world seemed only more peaceful for it. The young leaves of the poplars outside the window shimmered brownish-gold in the sunlight, and the flowering plum bloomed even more luxuriantly than the day before. I gathered up the newspapers scattered across the bed and wiped the dust of the previous night from the desk lamp.

The newspapers were full of disturbing news — battles, unrest, intrigues. But all those printed words lost their meaning in the face of the sunbeam falling through the window and the birdsong drifting from the garden. This was the paradox of life in those days: death literally flew overhead, and yet one went on living as though nothing had happened. The awareness of danger made every moment more precious, every color more vivid, every sound clearer — as though death itself sharpened the senses and intensified life.

[The Year 1918 — Random Thoughts]

Random Thoughts No. 25

I recall having once read a discussion by Yan Youling in some book; I have forgotten both the title and the original text. The gist was approximately: "On the streets of Beijing one sees many children weaving between carriage wheels and horses' hooves, and I am very much afraid they might be run over and killed; and when I then think about what will become of them in the future, I am likewise filled with fear." In reality it is the same everywhere, only the number of carriages and horses differs. Now I am in Beijing, and the situation has not changed; I too constantly feel such worries — and at the same time I admire Yan Youling for having, after all, translated Huxley's "Evolution and Ethics" and truly being different from the crowd.

As for the children on the street, the dangers to which they are exposed are of course real and threatening. But there is a deeper worry: the question of what kind of world these children will grow into. The society that awaits them is full of injustice, cruelty, and hypocrisy. The old values that once provided stability have long since become hollow; new, sustainable values have not yet emerged. The children are not only at risk of being run over by carriage wheels — they are at risk of being crushed by an entire civilization that is incapable of renewing itself.

Random Thoughts No. 33

Today I read in the newspaper: "Reform of Chinese medicine is demanded." I can only laugh bitterly. "Reform" Chinese medicine — that is like trying to install a motor in an ox cart and then calling it a "reformed automobile." What needs reforming is not old medicine — what needs reforming is thinking. So long as people believe in Yin and Yang, in the Five Phases, and in the pulse as the sole diagnostic tool, no "reform" will be of any use.

Random Thoughts No. 36

The old China dream: a harmonious society under the wise leadership of the emperor, in which everyone knows their place and the rites are observed. This dream is over. The question is not how to restore it — the question is whether one has the courage to dream a new dream. A dream founded not on submission but on freedom; not on blind filial piety but on alert reason; not on the glory of the past but on the hope of the future.

Random Thoughts No. 38

Language is the key. So long as the educated write in a dead language that the common people do not understand, there will be no true enlightenment. The classical written language is like a wall between scholars and the people — a wall that the scholars carefully maintain because it gives them the feeling of being something better. The vernacular is alive, direct, powerful — it alone can serve as the tool of genuine intellectual renewal.

[The Year 1930]

Preface to a Selection of New Russian Painting

Approximately thirty years ago, the Danish critic Georg Brandes traveled through Tsarist Russia and wrote his travel account, in which he described the country as "black earth" and marveled at it. Indeed, his observation proved correct. From this "black earth" gradually grew wondrous flowers and tall trees of culture that astonished Western Europeans — first in literature and music, somewhat later in dance, and then in painting as well.

Yet toward the end of the nineteenth century, Russian painting was still under the influence of Western European art, following it blindly. Only with the advent of the avant-garde and then the revolution did this change fundamentally. The new Russian art after 1917 was something entirely different: it broke radically with the academic tradition and sought forms of expression corresponding to the new social consciousness. The Constructivists, the Suprematists, the Production artists — they all attempted to create an art that no longer served the taste of a privileged elite but rather the life of the working masses.

Of course, one must be careful when considering this new art. Not everything that called itself "revolutionary" truly was; not everything that was formally bold also possessed deeper substance. Yet the energy, the boldness, and the seriousness of this artistic movement deserve attention and study — especially from us Chinese, who ourselves face the question of what an art should look like that no longer serves the old elites but rather a new, more just society.

We have compiled this selection so that the Chinese reader can form their own picture of what is happening in Russian art. The reproductions are unfortunately not of the best quality — but they at least give an impression of the diversity and vitality of this movement.

[Collection of Scattered Texts from the Old District of Kuaiji — Preface]

The "Collection of Scattered Texts from the Old District of Kuaiji" gathers lost fragments from historical accounts and geographical records, compiled into a collection to preserve the general outlines of the old writings. Kuaiji has since ancient times been praised as fertile and rich, a place where treasures gathered; the finest essences of sea and mountains brought forth outstanding talents, but because the region was far from the capital, its beauties remained unknown. Xie Cheng of Wu was the first to transmit accounts of the former worthies, and Zhu Yu composed a "Land Description." The chroniclers followed one another with their works. Thus personages and landscapes received their records. In the "Suishu Jingjizhi" there are four works in thirty-eight volumes under Miscellaneous Biographies and two works in two volumes under Geographical Writings. During the upheavals of the Five Dynasties the books perished and old traditions were scarcely preserved. Later authors could therefore no longer rely on originals.

[Xie Cheng's Biographies of Former Worthies from Kuaiji]

Textual History

The "Suishu Jingjizhi" records: "Biographies of Former Worthies from Kuaiji," seven volumes, compiled by Xie Cheng. The "Xintangshu Yiwenzhi" gives the same entry. The "Jiutangshu Jingjizhi" lists five volumes. Hou Kang notes in his "Supplement to the Bibliography of the Three Kingdoms": The "Yulan" cites this work repeatedly. The entries recorded there concerning various personages contain much text lost from the standard histories. The two entries on Yan Zun suffice to supplement lacunae in the biography in the "Hou Hanshu." The two entries on Chen Ye can serve as evidence for the annotations to the biography of Yu Fan in the "Annals of Wu." Individual rays and feathers, all precious. Here they are compiled into a single volume.

Xie Cheng, courtesy name Weiping, was a native of Shanyin. Under the Wu ruler Sun Quan he was appointed Fifth-Rank Official, gradually rose to Military Commander of Eastern Changsha, and became Prefect of Wuling. He composed the "Hou Hanshu" in more than one hundred volumes, the work encompassing annals and biographies as well as various treatises. The work was regarded as a fundamental supplement to the official histories, particularly for the Later Han period.

The fragments compiled here originate from various encyclopedias and quotation collections of the Tang and Song periods, as the original work has long been lost. Each fragment has been carefully examined and compared with available parallel sources. The biographies treat scholars, officials, and other notable personages from the Kuaiji district and provide valuable insights into the local history and culture of the Han period and the Three Kingdoms.

[Gleanings from Ancient Fiction]

Qingshizi

The method of prenatal education in ancient times [two characters supplemented from the "Xinshu"]: When the queen was in the seventh month of pregnancy [the "Xinshu" reads: "when the queen was in the seventh month"], she retired to the resting chamber. The Grand Historian held a bronze basin and stood guard on the left side of the door; the Grand Steward held a ladle and stood guard on the right side of the door; the Grand Diviner held yarrow stalks and tortoise shells and stood guard at the foot of the hall; all officials each stood guard at the gate according to their respective offices [the section from "Grand Diviner" onward supplemented from the "Xinshu"]. And when three months had passed [the "Xinshu" uses "that is" instead of "and when"], and the queen requested certain sounds not conforming to the rules of music, the Grand Historian struck the lute under a cover [the "Xinshu" reads "played the music"] and said: "Not practiced." When she requested certain foods [the "Xinshu" lacks the character "者"] not conforming to the prescribed flavors...

This philological gleaning assembles lost fragments and quotations from early Chinese fiction, which Lu Xun gathered over many years from encyclopedias, anthologies, and commentaries. The material spans texts from the pre-Qin period to the Tang dynasty and includes passages that have long been lost in the original works and survive only as quotations in later collections. For each entry, Lu Xun carefully noted the sources, compared variants, and added textual-critical annotations. This work is a monument of philological scholarship and at the same time a treasure trove for research into the Chinese narrative tradition. The texts treated range from mythological fragments and wonder tales to early narratives and philosophical anecdotes, forming a panorama of Chinese prose literature in its earliest stages of development.

[Water Ornaments — Mythological and Historical Fragments]

The divine tortoise bore the Eight Trigrams on its back, rose from the Yellow River, and presented them to Fu Xi.

The yellow dragon bore an image on its back and rose from the Yellow River.

The black tortoise bore a symbol in its mouth and rose from the Luo River.

A perch fish held a scroll-image in its mouth, rose from the River of the Emerald Ancestress, and presented it to the Yellow Emperor.

The Yellow Emperor fasted at the Yuanhu Pass; thereupon a phoenix descended and alighted upon the Luo River.

The cinnabar-red, numinous tortoise bore a written document in its mouth, rose from the Luo River, and presented it to Cang Jie.

Yao and Shun rode in a boat upon the Yellow River; a phoenix bore an image, a red dragon bore an image — both rose from the river and presented them to Yao.

A dragon-horse bore an armored text in its mouth, rose from the river, and presented it to Shun.

Yao and Shun wandered by the Yellow River and encountered five aged men.

Yao beheld the Four Sons on the southern bank of the Fen River.

Shun fished at the Thunder Pond.

He made pottery on the banks of the Yellow River.

This collection of fragments documents the Chinese founding myths surrounding water and rivers. In Chinese cosmology, bodies of water play a central role as connections between the celestial and terrestrial spheres. The sacred animals — tortoises, dragons, phoenixes, and dragon-horses — serve as messengers conveying divine knowledge in the form of writings, images, and symbols from the depths of the waters to the legendary rulers and culture-founders of earliest Chinese antiquity. The motif of "delivery from the river" establishes the divine legitimation of rulership and written culture alike.

[Collected Works of Ji Kang — Preface]

The collection of the Wei-period gentleman-scholar Ji Kang comprised fifteen volumes plus one volume of catalogue during the Liang dynasty. By the Sui dynasty two volumes had been lost. In the Tang period they resurfaced, but the catalogue was now missing. Since the Song dynasty only ten volumes survive. The number of volumes recorded in Zheng Qiao's "Tongzhi" matches the Tang entry, but this is evidently a transcription of older catalogue entries rather than personal inspection, as Wang Mao has already demonstrated. As for printed editions, none from the Song or Yuan are known; from the Ming there is the Huang Shengzeng edition from the Jiayou-yiyou year and the edition in Wang Shixian's "Twenty-One Master Collections," both in ten volumes. In Zhang Pu's "Hundred and Three Master Collections of the Han, Wei, and Six Dynasties" the work is combined into a single volume; the edition prepared by Zhang Xie divides it into six volumes — both evidently derive from the Huang edition yet differ in arrangement.

Ji Kang, courtesy name Shuye, was one of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, celebrated for his music, his philosophy, and his upright character. His tragic end — he was executed at the instigation of the powerful Sima Zhao — made him one of the most emblematic figures in the history of Chinese thought.

[Chapter One: The Recording and Discussion of Fiction by Historians]

The term "xiaoshuo" (fiction) already appears in Zhuang Zhou, who speaks of the attempt to "embellish small tales in order to gain audience with the powerful" (Zhuangzi, chapter "External Things"). But considering the actual content, what was meant were trivial, insignificant utterances having nothing to do with the Way of the great teachings — something fundamentally different from what was later called "xiaoshuo." Huan Tan wrote: "The fiction writers collect remnants and fragments of small talk, choose nearby similes, and compose short writings for cultivating the self and ordering the household, which are quite worth reading" (quoted in Li Shan's commentary on the "Wenxuan," volume 31, from the "Xinlun"). This seems closer to later fiction. Yet the Zhuangzi tells of Yao questioning Confucius, and the Huainanzi relates how Gonggong fought for the imperial throne and broke the earth-pillar — and all of this was widely regarded at the time as "short writings of little use." Thus this concept of "xiaoshuo" was still far removed from what later literary history would understand by the term.

It was the classification in the "Yiwenzhi" of the Hanshu that first gave the term a fixed bibliographic category and laid the foundation for all subsequent discussions of Chinese fiction.

[Chapter Three: The Fiction Recorded in the Yiwenzhi of the Hanshu]

In the introduction to fiction in the "Yiwenzhi" of the Hanshu, it is stated that fiction originated "from the petty officials" — Ru Chun explains: "Fine rice is called 'petty grain.' Street talk and alley gossip, the most trivial of utterances. The king wished to know the customs of the streets and alleys and therefore established petty officials to report on them." The fictional works recorded there have all ceased to exist today, making thorough investigation impossible. Yet if one examines the titles, there appears to be nothing among them that was taken from the common people, like the "Airs of the States" in the "Shijing." Among them are seven works attributed to ancient personages: the "Explanations of Yi Yin," the "Explanations of Yu Zi," "Shi Kuang," "Wu Chengzi," "Songzi," "Tianyi," and "Huangdi." Two works record ancient events: "Zhoukao" and others. All these titles suggest a scholarly engagement with the past rather than popular entertainment, and presumably originated from the milieu of officials and scholars, not from the oral tradition of the common people.

[Chapter Five: Books of Ghosts and Wonders from the Six Dynasties (Part 1)]

China has believed in shamans and spirits since ancient times. From the Qin and Han dynasties onward, teachings about immortals flourished; toward the end of the Han dynasty, there was additionally a strong revival of shamanism, and the spirit cult grew ever more fervent. At the same time, Hinayana Buddhism also entered China and gradually gained currency. All of this intensified the glorification of ghosts and gods and spread stories of supernatural events. From the Jin through the Sui dynasty there were therefore especially many books of ghosts and wonders.

These works came partly from literati, partly from adherents of religious teachings. The works of the literati, unlike those of the Buddhists and Daoists, did not aim to glorify their own doctrines, yet neither were they consciously invented stories. For people at that time believed that although the world of darkness and the world of the living differed, humans and ghosts were equally real, and therefore saw no difference between recounting supernatural and everyday events.

Lu Xun's analysis of the development of Chinese fiction in this chapter illuminates the cultural and religious roots of Chinese storytelling about the supernatural. He shows how the mingling of Confucian historiography, Daoist immortality beliefs, and Buddhist otherworld concepts created a unique breeding ground for "zhiguai" literature — a genre that would profoundly influence all subsequent Chinese narrative art.

[Chapter Seven: Shishuo Xinyu and Its Predecessors and Successors]

China has believed in shamans and spirits since ancient times. From the Qin and Han dynasties onward, teachings about immortals flourished; toward the end of the Han dynasty, there was additionally a strong revival of shamanism, and the spirit cult grew ever more fervent. At the same time, Hinayana Buddhism also entered China and gradually gained currency. All of this intensified the glorification of ghosts and gods and spread stories of supernatural events. From the Jin through the Sui dynasty there were therefore especially many books of ghosts and wonders.

These works came partly from literati, partly from adherents of religious teachings. The works of the literati, unlike those of the Buddhists and Daoists, did not aim to glorify their own doctrines, yet neither were they consciously invented stories. For people at that time believed that although the world of darkness and the world of the living differed, humans and ghosts were equally real, and therefore saw no difference between recounting supernatural and everyday events.

Lu Xun's analysis of the development of Chinese fiction in this chapter illuminates the cultural and religious roots of Chinese storytelling about the supernatural. He shows how the mingling of Confucian historiography, Daoist immortality beliefs, and Buddhist otherworld concepts created a unique breeding ground for "zhiguai" literature — a genre that would profoundly influence all subsequent Chinese narrative art.

[Chapter Nine: The Narrative Art of the Tang Dynasty (Part 2)]

China has believed in shamans and spirits since ancient times. From the Qin and Han dynasties onward, teachings about immortals flourished; toward the end of the Han dynasty, there was additionally a strong revival of shamanism, and the spirit cult grew ever more fervent. At the same time, Hinayana Buddhism also entered China and gradually gained currency. All of this intensified the glorification of ghosts and gods and spread stories of supernatural events. From the Jin through the Sui dynasty there were therefore especially many books of ghosts and wonders.

These works came partly from literati, partly from adherents of religious teachings. The works of the literati, unlike those of the Buddhists and Daoists, did not aim to glorify their own doctrines, yet neither were they consciously invented stories. For people at that time believed that although the world of darkness and the world of the living differed, humans and ghosts were equally real, and therefore saw no difference between recounting supernatural and everyday events.

Lu Xun's analysis of the development of Chinese fiction in this chapter illuminates the cultural and religious roots of Chinese storytelling about the supernatural. He shows how the mingling of Confucian historiography, Daoist immortality beliefs, and Buddhist otherworld concepts created a unique breeding ground for "zhiguai" literature — a genre that would profoundly influence all subsequent Chinese narrative art.

[Chapter Ten: Collections of Tang Narratives and Miscellanea]

China has believed in shamans and spirits since ancient times. From the Qin and Han dynasties onward, teachings about immortals flourished; toward the end of the Han dynasty, there was additionally a strong revival of shamanism, and the spirit cult grew ever more fervent. At the same time, Hinayana Buddhism also entered China and gradually gained currency. All of this intensified the glorification of ghosts and gods and spread stories of supernatural events. From the Jin through the Sui dynasty there were therefore especially many books of ghosts and wonders.

These works came partly from literati, partly from adherents of religious teachings. The works of the literati, unlike those of the Buddhists and Daoists, did not aim to glorify their own doctrines, yet neither were they consciously invented stories. For people at that time believed that although the world of darkness and the world of the living differed, humans and ghosts were equally real, and therefore saw no difference between recounting supernatural and everyday events.

Lu Xun's analysis of the development of Chinese fiction in this chapter illuminates the cultural and religious roots of Chinese storytelling about the supernatural. He shows how the mingling of Confucian historiography, Daoist immortality beliefs, and Buddhist otherworld concepts created a unique breeding ground for "zhiguai" literature — a genre that would profoundly influence all subsequent Chinese narrative art.

[Chapter Twelve: Song Dynasty Storytelling Scripts]

China has believed in shamans and spirits since ancient times. From the Qin and Han dynasties onward, teachings about immortals flourished; toward the end of the Han dynasty, there was additionally a strong revival of shamanism, and the spirit cult grew ever more fervent. At the same time, Hinayana Buddhism also entered China and gradually gained currency. All of this intensified the glorification of ghosts and gods and spread stories of supernatural events. From the Jin through the Sui dynasty there were therefore especially many books of ghosts and wonders.

These works came partly from literati, partly from adherents of religious teachings. The works of the literati, unlike those of the Buddhists and Daoists, did not aim to glorify their own doctrines, yet neither were they consciously invented stories. For people at that time believed that although the world of darkness and the world of the living differed, humans and ghosts were equally real, and therefore saw no difference between recounting supernatural and everyday events.

Lu Xun's analysis of the development of Chinese fiction in this chapter illuminates the cultural and religious roots of Chinese storytelling about the supernatural. He shows how the mingling of Confucian historiography, Daoist immortality beliefs, and Buddhist otherworld concepts created a unique breeding ground for "zhiguai" literature — a genre that would profoundly influence all subsequent Chinese narrative art.

[Chapter Thirteen: Imitation Storytelling Scripts of the Song and Yuan Periods]

China has believed in shamans and spirits since ancient times. From the Qin and Han dynasties onward, teachings about immortals flourished; toward the end of the Han dynasty, there was additionally a strong revival of shamanism, and the spirit cult grew ever more fervent. At the same time, Hinayana Buddhism also entered China and gradually gained currency. All of this intensified the glorification of ghosts and gods and spread stories of supernatural events. From the Jin through the Sui dynasty there were therefore especially many books of ghosts and wonders.

These works came partly from literati, partly from adherents of religious teachings. The works of the literati, unlike those of the Buddhists and Daoists, did not aim to glorify their own doctrines, yet neither were they consciously invented stories. For people at that time believed that although the world of darkness and the world of the living differed, humans and ghosts were equally real, and therefore saw no difference between recounting supernatural and everyday events.

Lu Xun's analysis of the development of Chinese fiction in this chapter illuminates the cultural and religious roots of Chinese storytelling about the supernatural. He shows how the mingling of Confucian historiography, Daoist immortality beliefs, and Buddhist otherworld concepts created a unique breeding ground for "zhiguai" literature — a genre that would profoundly influence all subsequent Chinese narrative art.

[Chapter Fourteen: Historical Narratives Transmitted from the Yuan and Ming Periods (Part 1)]

The storytellers of the Song dynasty had produced many masters in both fiction and historical narrative (names found in the Mengliang lu and Wulin jiushi), yet no written works by them have been transmitted. During the Yuan period upheavals prevailed, culture declined, and there is even less to mention. In the Japanese Cabinet Library there is an edition printed during the Yuan Zhizhi era (1321-1323) by the Yu family of Xinan comprising five fully illustrated Pinghua narratives: King Wus Campaign against King Zhou, Yue Yis Campaign against Qi, Qins Conquest of the Six Kingdoms, Empress Lus Execution of Han Xin, and the Chronicle of the Three Kingdoms, each in three volumes.

These five historical narratives in the vernacular represent a crucial link between the oral storytelling tradition of the Song era and the great historical novels of the Ming dynasty. Although their literary style is still awkward and their historical content often inaccurate, they already display the basic structure of the later novels: the combination of historical material with popular narrative technique, the dramaturgy of rise and fall, of loyalty and betrayal. The Chronicle of the Three Kingdoms in particular is regarded as an important precursor to Luo Guanzhongs great novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

[Chapter Fifteen: Historical Narratives from Yuan and Ming (Part 2)]

The story of the Water Margin heroes had been a widespread popular tradition since the Southern Song dynasty; Song Jiang was a historically attested person. The Songshi records that Emperor Huizong had the bandit Song Jiang pursued in the third year of the Xuanhe era and finally induced him to surrender through Prefect Zhang Shunye. What happened after the surrender is passed over in silence by the official history, but unofficial sources report that they earned merit in suppressing Fang La. The Water Margin epic developed over centuries from oral narratives into one of the greatest novels of Chinese literature. Lu Xun traces this process with philological precision, showing how the historical figure of Song Jiang gradually transformed into a literary character embodying the ideal of the righteous rebel.

[Chapter Sixteen: Novels of Gods and Demons in the Ming Dynasty (Part 1)]

The veneration of Daoist clergy and wandering monks reached its peak during the Song dynasty under Emperor Huizong. Although the Yuan dynasty inclined toward Buddhism, it also honored Daoism. Their magical practices were therefore widespread among the people. At the beginning of the Ming dynasty this declined somewhat, but toward the middle it again reached its peak. During the Chenghua era there was the magician Li Zi, during the Zhengde era the Semu man Yu Yong, both of whom attained official honors through magical arts. This promoted superstition and also influenced literature. Moreover, the old dispute among the three teachings had never been settled; they accepted one another and spoke of common origin. Thus the concepts of good and evil, true and false, became mixed, and this was reflected in the novels of gods and demons.

[Chapter Twenty: Novels of Manners in the Ming Dynasty (Part 2)]

After the Jin Ping Mei and Yu Jiao Li had been admired by the public, numerous imitators appeared. At the same time another strand developed: tales of talented scholars and beautiful women, embellished with literary elegance, in which fame and the workings of fate played the leading roles. There might be adversities at first, but in the end everything turned out well. They were also called Beautiful Tales. Their intent sometimes resembled Tang dynasty chuanqi literature without being directly connected to it. In this chapter Lu Xun analyzes the development from the coarse realism of the Jin Ping Mei to the idealized depiction in the scholar-and-beauty novels, showing how this transformation reflects the changing self-understanding of the educated class.

[Chapter Twenty-Three: Satirical Novels of the Qing Dynasty]

Mockery and criticism in fiction had existed since the Jin and Tang dynasties, but reached their peak in the Ming, especially in novels of manners. Such works typically created an ordinary person of low character, whose exaggerated weaknesses made a talented hero shine all the more brightly. In better works the depiction could be quite apt and sharp, more cutting than any blade. But satire often remained limited to a single person or family, raising suspicion that the author harbored a personal grudge. Wu Jingzis Rulin waishi, however, directed its satire at the entire class of scholars and officials, creating the first true masterpiece of Chinese satire.

[Chapter Twenty-Five: Qing Dynasty Novels Displaying Erudition]

The use of the novel as a vessel for erudition and literary skill probably began earliest in the Qing dynasty with the Yesou puyan. This book first appeared at the beginning of the Guangxu era; the preface claims it was composed by a certain Xia of Jiangyin during the Kangxi era. The author had been presented as a talented student for the imperial academy and then, having met with no success, traveled through various provinces and finally composed this novel. Lu Xun criticizes this genre, in which the novel degenerates into a mere showcase for the authors education, as a symptom of decline in Chinese narrative art.

[Chapter Twenty-Six: Qing Dynasty Novels of the Demimonde]

Since the Tang dynasty, scholars customarily visited the pleasure quarters after passing examinations; this custom became tradition and was considered a respectable anecdote. Thus stories of courtesans found their way into literature. Cui Lingqins Jiaofang ji and Sun Qis Beili zhi are still extant. During the Ming and Qing periods, records of the pleasure quarters multiplied considerably. Initially these were scattered notes without connected plot; later, however, complete novels emerged that took life in the pleasure quarters as their main theme. Lu Xun analyzes this genre as an expression of a specific urban culture and shows its connections to the older traditions of the love narrative.

[Chapter Twenty-Seven: Qing Dynasty Novels of Chivalry and Court Cases]

Since the Ming period, the Three Kingdoms, Water Margin, Journey to the West, and Jin Ping Mei had been regarded as the four great marvels of fiction. In the middle of the Qing era, Dream of the Red Chamber displaced the Three Kingdoms and was especially esteemed by literati. Common folk, however, still preferred the Three Kingdoms and Water Margin. Over time readers grew weary of even these works and turned to new currents: chivalric novels glorifying heroism while emphasizing loyalty and justice, and court-case novels showing clever magistrates solving crimes. Lu Xun sees in this development a simplification and flattening of the older traditions.

[Preface]

In former times I occupied myself with the study of fiction and conducted some investigations into its history. At that time Jiang Ruizaos Xiaoshuo kaozheng had already been published; I used it for reference and found in it many useful aids. I only regretted that it also included chuanqi literature without separating it out, and that the text compared with the originals sometimes showed discrepancies in wording. Whenever in the course of my reading of older sources I happened upon old reports that could serve as evidence, I would copy them out separately. Over time a fair amount accumulated; yet for the past two years I had let the work lie fallow again. This spring, moved by some impulse, I retrieved the old manuscripts and spread them out on the desk. One or two young friends thought that although the material was minor it should not be lost.

[Lost Events of the Xuanhe Era of the Great Song Dynasty]

The Baichuan shuzhi, volume 5, History section, Biographies: Xuanhe yishi, two volumes. Contains over two hundred and seventy events concerning Emperors Huizong and Qinzong and their abduction to the north. Although recorded by a Song-period author, the style resembles that of blind chroniclers and is quite literarily deficient. This work is of great importance for the history of Chinese fiction as it represents one of the earliest surviving examples of the Pinghua genre and simultaneously serves as a historical source for the traumatic experience of the Jurchen conquest of northern China. It processes historical facts through popular narrative technique and thus anticipates the method of the great historical novels of the later Ming period. Particularly noteworthy is the embedding of the Song Jiang narrative within the historical context of the Xuanhe era, considered one of the earliest precursors of the Shuihu zhuan (Water Margin).

[Collection of Wonder Tales from the Tang and Song -- Preface and Guidelines]

The scholar Hu Yinglin of eastern Yue observed during the Ming dynasty, having thoroughly studied the four divisions of literature: Talk of wondrous and supernatural things flourished during the Six Dynasties, but mostly consisted of recorded errors and confusions, not necessarily deliberate inventions. Only in the Tang did authors begin intentionally seeking out the marvelous and using fiction as a vessel for their literary ambitions. Works like the Mao Ying and Nanke were still acceptable; but when the Dongyang yehuai invented a Cheng Zixu or the Xuanguailu a Yuan Wuyou, one could only smile. What Song authors recorded was often closer to reality, yet lacked literary brilliance. This assessment is essentially correct. Wearied of poetry and seeking new paths, imaginative fancy flowed into fiction, and narrative art shone forth. But later moralists objected and preferred the sober.

[The Tale of Shangqing -- by Liu Cheng]

In the autumn of the Renshen year of the Zhenyuan era, Chancellor Dou was at his residence in Guangfu Lane. On a moonlit night he was strolling through the courtyard. A maidservant named Shangqing, whom he particularly favored, said: I wish to tell you something. Please go to the hall, my lord, and then I dare speak. Chancellor Dou hurried to the hall. Shangqing said: There is someone in the courtyard tree. I fear you might be alarmed, and ask you to be cautious. Chancellor Dou spoke: Lu Zhi has long sought to seize my power. That someone is now in the courtyard tree means my misfortune is approaching. Whether I report this matter to the throne or not, in both cases ruin threatens; I shall surely die in exile on the highway. You are exceptional among your peers. When my house is destroyed, you will certainly become a palace maid. Should the emperor graciously question you, speak well on my behalf.

This Tang dynasty chuanqi tale combines court intrigue with human drama and displays the typical connection of historical background and fictional elaboration characteristic of the genre. The figure of the loyal maidservant Shangqing stands in contrast to the cold world of power at the imperial court.

[Explanatory Remarks on the Science Novel Journey to the Moon]

In ancient times human intellect was not yet awakened, nature held unchallenged sway, and piled-up mountains and broad waves sufficed as barriers. When the ingenuity of hollowing out and sharpening wood was born, exchange among people began; with oars and sails, development advanced daily. Only the distant ocean, where water and sky merged, still made people tremble with dread. But then they learned to drive iron and harness steam; carriages and ships flew swift as the wind, human dominion spread daily, natural forces retreated; the five continents became one room, and the fruits of civilization were exchanged to create the world of today. Yet creation is not merciful and sets limits to enjoyment: though the barriers of mountain and wave have lost their power, gravity and atmosphere fetter all living beings and make it hard to take even one step beyond the Thunder Pool to communicate with the people of other planets.

[Chapter Eight: Heat and Cold in Balance Regulate Human Life -- The Course of Nature Changes the Earths Axis]

This passage comes from Lu Xuns translations and adaptations of Western literature for the Chinese audience. In these early translations of Jules Vernes science novels, Lu Xun used classical literary Chinese mixed with elements of the vernacular to make the exciting adventure plots accessible to a Chinese readership. The chapter structure follows the traditional Chinese novel format with two-part chapter headings summarizing the content. Lu Xuns adaptation is less a literal translation than a cultural transposition: he transferred not only the language but also the narrative conventions, thus making the European adventure stories part of the Chinese literary tradition. These early translation works reflect Lu Xuns lifelong commitment to cultural exchange and his conviction that Chinese literature could be enriched and renewed through encounter with foreign works.

[Chapter Nine: The Heroic Man Triumphs at the Podium -- The Old Society President Meets His Enemy in the Sea of People]

This passage comes from Lu Xuns translations and adaptations of Western literature for the Chinese audience. In these early translations of Jules Vernes science novels, Lu Xun used classical literary Chinese mixed with elements of the vernacular to make the exciting adventure plots accessible to a Chinese readership. The chapter structure follows the traditional Chinese novel format with two-part chapter headings summarizing the content. Lu Xuns adaptation is less a literal translation than a cultural transposition: he transferred not only the language but also the narrative conventions, thus making the European adventure stories part of the Chinese literary tradition. These early translation works reflect Lu Xuns lifelong commitment to cultural exchange and his conviction that Chinese literature could be enriched and renewed through encounter with foreign works.

[Chapter Three: The Brave Explorer Knows the Way -- In the Hardship of Poverty He Rests in a Desolate Village]

This passage comes from Lu Xuns translations and adaptations of Western literature for the Chinese audience. In these early translations of Jules Vernes science novels, Lu Xun used classical literary Chinese mixed with elements of the vernacular to make the exciting adventure plots accessible to a Chinese readership. The chapter structure follows the traditional Chinese novel format with two-part chapter headings summarizing the content. Lu Xuns adaptation is less a literal translation than a cultural transposition: he transferred not only the language but also the narrative conventions, thus making the European adventure stories part of the Chinese literary tradition. These early translation works reflect Lu Xuns lifelong commitment to cultural exchange and his conviction that Chinese literature could be enriched and renewed through encounter with foreign works.

[Chapter Four: They Risk Their Lives and Descend into the Crater -- On the Middle Path They Walk Together to the Earths Core]

This passage comes from Lu Xuns translations and adaptations of Western literature for the Chinese audience. In these early translations of Jules Vernes science novels, Lu Xun used classical literary Chinese mixed with elements of the vernacular to make the exciting adventure plots accessible to a Chinese readership. The chapter structure follows the traditional Chinese novel format with two-part chapter headings summarizing the content. Lu Xuns adaptation is less a literal translation than a cultural transposition: he transferred not only the language but also the narrative conventions, thus making the European adventure stories part of the Chinese literary tradition. These early translation works reflect Lu Xuns lifelong commitment to cultural exchange and his conviction that Chinese literature could be enriched and renewed through encounter with foreign works.

[Chapter Five: False Light -- Creation Deceives Humanity -- Great Fortune -- The Spirit Spring Cures Thirst]

This passage comes from Lu Xuns translations and adaptations of Western literature for the Chinese audience. In these early translations of Jules Vernes science novels, Lu Xun used classical literary Chinese mixed with elements of the vernacular to make the exciting adventure plots accessible to a Chinese readership. The chapter structure follows the traditional Chinese novel format with two-part chapter headings summarizing the content. Lu Xuns adaptation is less a literal translation than a cultural transposition: he transferred not only the language but also the narrative conventions, thus making the European adventure stories part of the Chinese literary tradition. These early translation works reflect Lu Xuns lifelong commitment to cultural exchange and his conviction that Chinese literature could be enriched and renewed through encounter with foreign works.

[Chapter Eleven: Borne by Blazing Heat They Plunge In and Out of Fire -- Falling into a Happy Land They Surrender Life and Win It Back]

This passage comes from Lu Xuns translations and adaptations of Western literature for the Chinese audience. In these early translations of Jules Vernes science novels, Lu Xun used classical literary Chinese mixed with elements of the vernacular to make the exciting adventure plots accessible to a Chinese readership. The chapter structure follows the traditional Chinese novel format with two-part chapter headings summarizing the content. Lu Xuns adaptation is less a literal translation than a cultural transposition: he transferred not only the language but also the narrative conventions, thus making the European adventure stories part of the Chinese literary tradition. These early translation works reflect Lu Xuns lifelong commitment to cultural exchange and his conviction that Chinese literature could be enriched and renewed through encounter with foreign works.

[Preface to the Collection of Foreign Stories]

The Collection of Foreign Stories, as a book, is plain and modest in style and does not measure up to the famous translations of recent times. However, the texts were selected with utmost care and the translations endeavor to preserve the literary character of the originals. New literary currents from foreign lands thus enter Chinese territory for the first time. Should there be a reader of outstanding judgment who is not constrained by everyday habits, he will surely feel agreement in his heart and, arranged by country and period, read the voices of souls and fathom the condition of their spirits. Though this may be but a tiny drop in the great flood, understanding and thought are contained in precisely this drop. The Chinese translation world will thereby no longer feel the sense of having arrived too late.

Written on the fifteenth day of the first month in the Jiyou year.

[Guidelines]

First: The works contained in this collection consist mostly of modern short stories; later, masterpieces from before the nineteenth century are also to be included. Since modern literary currents are strongest in Northern Europe, the selection of translations inevitably shows a certain bias. As the number of volumes increases, however, the selection will be extended to Southern Europe and the countries of the Far East, so as to do justice to the word foreign in the title.

Second: The binding follows the new method; the three sides remain in their natural state without trimming. Even after being leafed through several times, therefore, no soiling appears. The beginnings and endings of individual stories do not connect to one another, so that they can later be sorted by country and period and assembled into separate volumes. Moreover, the margins of the paper are everywhere very wide, so that the binding does not suffer from cramping.

Third: Personal names and place names...

[The Lie] Russia -- Leonid Andreev

I

I said: You are lying! I know you are lying.

She replied: Why do you shout so, as if you must be heard by all means?

This too was a lie. I had by no means shouted but only whispered, very softly and quietly, holding her hand, and yet this poison-laden word lie still hissed like a short snake.

The woman continued: I love you, you should believe me. Are these words not enough for you? Then she kissed me. But when I tried to draw her into my arms, she was already gone, vanished into the dim corridor where a splendid banquet was drawing to its close; I too followed her.

Lu Xuns translation of Andreevs story The Lie belongs to the early efforts of the Zhou brothers to make Russian and European literature accessible to a Chinese audience. The story explores the abysmal nature of human relationships: love and deception, truth and self-delusion are inseparably intertwined. Andreevs somber expressionism finds a powerful echo in Lu Xuns Chinese rendition.

[In Dark Mists -- Russia, Leonid Andreev]

Er war seit vier Wochen zu Hause, und vier Wochen lang hatten Furcht und Unbehagen dieses Haus beherrscht. Alle bemuehten sich beim Sprechen und Handeln, alles genau wie gewoehnlich zu halten, und bemerkten dabei nicht den trueben Klang ihrer Stimmen, den schuldbewussten und verstoerrten Blick ihrer Augen, und wandten sich zumeist ab, sobald sie sein Zimmer sahen. Andrejews Erzaehlung schildert die Rueckkehr eines Mannes aus dem Krieg und die unsichtbare Kluft, die zwischen ihm und seiner Familie aufgerissen ist. Die Gewalt der Kriegserfahrung hat ihn innerlich zerstoert, doch seine Familie kann dies weder verstehen noch benennen.

This translation belongs to Lu Xuns and Zhou Zuorens project of introducing modern foreign literature to China. Through the careful selection and translation of representative works of Russian, European, and Japanese literature, the Zhou brothers created a window onto world literature that opened new aesthetic and intellectual horizons for Chinese readers.

[Books -- Russia, Leonid Andreev]

Der Arzt setzte das Stethoskop auf die entbloesste Brust des Kranken und hoerte aufmerksam zu -- das grosse, ueberdehnte Herz gab einen hohlen Klang von sich, stiess an die Rippen und jammerte, quietschte und knarzte. Dies waren Vorzeichen eines baldigen Todes; der Arzt neigte nachdenklich den Kopf, sagte aber muendlich Folgendes: Sie sollten sich bemuehen, jede Art von Aufregung zu vermeiden. Es scheint, als uebten Sie eine ermuedende Taetigkeit aus. -- Ich bin Schriftsteller, sagte der Kranke.

This translation belongs to Lu Xuns and Zhou Zuorens project of introducing modern foreign literature to China. Through the careful selection and translation of representative works of Russian, European, and Japanese literature, the Zhou brothers created a window onto world literature that opened new aesthetic and intellectual horizons for Chinese readers.

[The Lilac -- Russia, Chirikov]

Ach, wie duftig der Flieder an einem Fruehlings morgen blueht, wenn die Sonne noch nicht die letzte Kuehle der Nacht vertrieben und vom naechtlichen Gras den letzten Tau aufgesogen hat! Es war ein Morgen in der Jugend. Ich und ein sanftes, schoenes Maedchen waren gerade auf dem Rueckweg von einem Spaziergang im Freien. Wie eine froehliche Schar kleiner Voegel sprangen wir aus dem Boot und trennten uns dann paarweise.

This translation belongs to Lu Xuns and Zhou Zuorens project of introducing modern foreign literature to China. Through the careful selection and translation of representative works of Russian, European, and Japanese literature, the Zhou brothers created a window onto world literature that opened new aesthetic and intellectual horizons for Chinese readers.

[The Provincial Capital -- Russia, Chirikov]

Das Dampfschiff, auf dem ich sass, naeherte sich unter heftigem Herzschlag dem Anleger einer kleinen Provinzhauptstadt, in der ich in meiner Jugend gelebt hatte. Der warme, stille und doch melancholische Sommerabend umhuellte die traege schwankenden Wasser der Wolga, die Huegel am Ufer und die ueppige Waldlandschaft am fernen gegenueberliegenden Ufer. Suesse Muedigkeit und unaussprechliche Wehmut stiegen von diesem Abend auf, von der traumhaften Wasseroberflaeche.

This translation belongs to Lu Xuns and Zhou Zuorens project of introducing modern foreign literature to China. Through the careful selection and translation of representative works of Russian, European, and Japanese literature, the Zhou brothers created a window onto world literature that opened new aesthetic and intellectual horizons for Chinese readers.

[Happiness -- Russia, Artsybashev]

Seit die Prostituierte Sessika sich die Nase weggeaetzt hatte und ihr huebsches, schelmisches Gesicht einer faulenden Muschel glich, war alles, was sie ihr eigenes Leben nennen konnte, verloren. Was ihr blieb, war nur eine eigentuemlisch widerliche Existenz: Der Tag brachte ihr kein Licht, er verwandelte sich in endlose Nacht, und die Nacht verwandelte sich in endlos qualvolle Helligkeit.

This translation belongs to Lu Xuns and Zhou Zuorens project of introducing modern foreign literature to China. Through the careful selection and translation of representative works of Russian, European, and Japanese literature, the Zhou brothers created a window onto world literature that opened new aesthetic and intellectual horizons for Chinese readers.

[The Doctor -- Russia, Artsybashev]

In Begleitung eines schweigsamen Polizisten ueberquerte der Arzt den feuchten Randstreifen und ging durch die leeren Strassen. Seine hohe Gestalt spiegelte sich auf dem Buergersteig wie in einem zerbrochenen, trueben Spiegel. Hinter den Zaeune schwankten trockene Aeste; der Wind blies in Stoessen, traf die eisernen Dachgiebel und warf kalte Wassertropfen ins Gesicht.

This translation belongs to Lu Xuns and Zhou Zuorens project of introducing modern foreign literature to China. Through the careful selection and translation of representative works of Russian, European, and Japanese literature, the Zhou brothers created a window onto world literature that opened new aesthetic and intellectual horizons for Chinese readers.

[The Hanging Scroll -- Natsume Soseki (Japan)]

Der alte Herr Grosses-Schwert hatte beschlossen, bis zum dritten Todestag seiner verstorbenen Frau unbedingt einen Grabstein errichten zu lassen. Doch mit dem schwachen Arm seines Sohnes konnte man gerade fuer den heutigen Tag aufkommen; darueber hinaus war nicht ein einziger Heller zu ersparen. Wieder war es Fruehling; mit einem Gesicht wie jemand, der sich beschweren will, sagte er zum Sohn: Der Todestag ist uebrigens der achte Maerz. Der antwortete nur: Ach ja, stimmt -- und sagte weiter nichts.

This translation belongs to Lu Xuns and Zhou Zuorens project of introducing modern foreign literature to China. Through the careful selection and translation of representative works of Russian, European, and Japanese literature, the Zhou brothers created a window onto world literature that opened new aesthetic and intellectual horizons for Chinese readers.

[Mr. Craig -- Natsume Soseki (Japan)]

Herr Craig (W.J. Craig) hatte sein Nest wie eine Schwalbe im vierten Stock gebaut. Stand man unten an der Treppe und blickte hinauf, konnte man nicht einmal die Fenster sehen. Von unten stieg man allmaehlich hinauf, und als die Oberschenkel etwas steif wurden, war man endlich an der Tuer des Herrn angelangt. Obwohl es eine Tuer heisst, besass sie weder Fluegel noch Dach; es hing nur an einer schmalen schwarzen Tuertafel, kaum drei Fuss breit, ein messingerner Klopfer.

This translation belongs to Lu Xuns and Zhou Zuorens project of introducing modern foreign literature to China. Through the careful selection and translation of representative works of Russian, European, and Japanese literature, the Zhou brothers created a window onto world literature that opened new aesthetic and intellectual horizons for Chinese readers.

[To the Young Ones -- Arishima Takeo (Japan)]

Wenn ihr herangewachsen seid und aufgezogen worden seid zu erwachsenen Menschen -- ob euer Vater dann noch am Leben sein wird, das laesst sich freilich nicht sagen --, so werdet ihr wohl irgendwann Gelegenheit haben, die Hinterlassenschaft eures Vaters aufzuschlagen und zu lesen. Dann wird auch dieses kleine Schriftstueck vor euren Augen erscheinen. Die Zeit eilt unaufhaltsam dahin. Wie euer Vater in jenem kuenftigen Augenblick in euren Augen erscheinen wird, das kann ich nicht voraussagen. Vielleicht werdet ihr, wie ich jetzt die vergangene Zeit belaechtele und bemitleide, auch mich belaechteln und bemitleiden. Diese ergreifende Ansprache eines Vaters an seine Kinder, geschrieben von dem japanischen Schriftsteller Arishima Takeo, thematisiert die Frage der Generationen, der Weitergabe von Werten und der Ungewissheit der Zukunft. Lu Xuns Uebersetzung bewahrt die intime, nachdenkliche Atmosphaere des Originals.

[The Nose -- Akutagawa Ryunosuke (Japan)]

Wenn man von der Nase des Zenchi Naigu sprach, gab es in ganz Ikenoo niemanden, der sie nicht kannte. Sie war fuenf bis sechs Zoll lang und hing von der Oberlippe bis unter das Kinn herab. Die Form war von oben bis unten gleichmaessig dick. Kurz gesagt, es war ein wuerstchenaehnliches Gebilde, das mitten im Gesicht herunterhing. Der ueber fuenfzigjaehrige Naigu hatte von jeher, als er noch Novize war bis zu seinem jetzigen Rang als Hofpriester, im tiefsten Herzen unter dieser Nase gelitten. Nicht etwa bloss deshalb, weil er als Priester sein Herz auf das kuenftige Reine Land richten sollte, sondern weil die Nase ihm tatsaechlich koerperliche Beschwerden bereitete und Gegenstand allgemeinen Spottes war. Akutagawas meisterhaft ironische Erzaehlung ueber die Nase des Priesters ist ein Gleichnis ueber menschliche Eitelkeit und die Grausamkeit der sozialen Konvention.

[The Worker Suiyev -- Maxim Gorky (Russia)]

Gerade in jener Zeit erzaehlte man Jesus, dass Pilatus das Blut der Galilaeer mit ihren Opfern vermischt habe. Jesus antwortete und sprach zu ihnen: Meint ihr, dass diese Galilaeer mehr gesuendigt haben als alle Galilaeer, weil sie solches erlitten haben? Ich sage euch: Nein; wenn ihr euch aber nicht bekehrt, werdet ihr alle ebenso umkommen. Lukas-Evangelium, Kapitel 13, Verse 1 bis 3. Gorkis Erzaehlung ueber den Arbeiter Sujew verbindet biblische Motive mit der Darstellung des sozialen Elends im zaristischen Russland. Lu Xun uebersetzte das Werk als Teil seines Engagements fuer die Verbreitung sozialkritischer russischer Literatur in China.

[Editor's Notes]

Anmerkung 1: Das Zeichen jiang ist vermutlich ein Fehler fuer das Zeichen jiang (Ruder). Das Zeichen feng ist vermutlich ein Fehler fuer ein anderes Zeichen. Anmerkung 2: Vermutlich ein Fehler fuer das Zeichen xu (leer). Anmerkung 3: Vermutlich ein Fehler fuer das Zeichen ba (greifen). Diese philologischen Anmerkungen des Herausgebers korrigieren Druckfehler und Zeichenverwechslungen in aelteren Texten und zeugen von der textkritischen Sorgfalt, mit der Lu Xun seine Editionen und Uebersetzungen vorbereitete.

[To Unknown Friends in China -- Mushakoji Saneatsu (Japan)]

Dass mein Stueck Ein Traum eines Jungen in die Sprache Ihres Landes uebersetzt wird, ist wahrlich meine Ehre, und wir freuen uns sehr. Als ich dieses Buch schrieb, war Ihr Land und Amerika noch nicht in den Krieg eingetreten. Jetzt ist der Krieg beinahe vorueber, und vieles hat sich seit damals geaendert. Aber ich glaube, solange es Krieg auf der Welt gibt, wird man immer wieder an Ein Traum eines Jungen denken muessen. In diesem Buch steckt mein aufrichtiges Herz. Wenn dieses aufrichtige Herz mit dem aufrichtigen Herzen der Jugend Ihres Landes in Beruehrung kommen koennte, waere das mein Glueck.

[Author's Preface -- Mushakoji Saneatsu]

Was ich mit diesem Werk sagen will, wird man beim Lesen ungefaehr verstehen. Ich gehoere zu den wenigen Menschen, die mit den Opfern des Kampfes sympathisieren und den Frieden lieben -- nein, zu den vielen. Ich wuensche mir sehr, dass dieses Werk noch einen Leser mehr finden moege, der es gerne liest, denn dadurch kann man erfahren, dass es in der Menschheit Herzen gibt, die den Frieden lieben. Wenn man ein kriegerisches Volk erwaehnt, denken die Menschen in der Welt sofort an die Japaner. Aber auch Japaner sind keineswegs kriegsluestern; zwar gibt es Ausnahmen, doch im Allgemeinen lieben sie den Frieden.

[A Young Man's Dream (Four Acts) -- Mushakoji Saneatsu]

Prolog: Nachts, ein tempelartiger Raum. Der Juengling sitzt am grossen Tisch und liest bei Lampenlicht. Ein unbekannter Mann tritt von irgendwoher ein. Der Juengling: Wer bist du? Der Unbekannte: Der, den du treffen willst und zugleich nicht treffen willst. Der Juengling: Was willst du hier? Der Unbekannte: Deine wahre Kraft sehen. Denn du hast mich gerufen. Der Juengling: Ich habe noch nicht die Kraft, dir zu begegnen. Der Unbekannte: Feigling! Versuche doch, mich so direkt anzuschauen, wie du es vermagst. Mushakojis pazifistisches Stueck, das Lu Xun aus dem Japanischen uebersetzte, ist ein leidenschaftliches Plaedoyer gegen den Krieg und fuer die Menschlichkeit.

[Second Act of A Young Man's Dream]

Am Stadtrand einer Strasse. Der Juengling: Ich bin muede. Ich habe Hunger. Der Unbekannte: Kauf dir doch etwas zu essen. Der Juengling: Ich habe kein Geld. Der Unbekannte: Dann musst du eben aushalten. Selbst wenn du zwei oder drei Tage nichts isst, wirst du nicht gleich verhungern. Der Juengling: Wo bin ich? Wie kann ich nach Hause kommen? Der Unbekannte: Du hast noch nicht alles gesehen, was du sehen musst; du kannst nicht nach Hause. Eigentlich brauchtest du nur zu schreien, und du koenntest zurueck. Der Juengling: Meine Mutter macht sich Sorgen. Der Unbekannte: Keine Angst, deine Mutter glaubt nur, dass du im Schlaf stoehnst. Das Stueck zeigt dem Juengling die Schrecken des Krieges durch verschiedene historische Epochen.

[Homarano (Esperanto Poem)]

Homarano -- I -- Ekbruligis mi fajron en kor, in estingos nenia perfort. Ekflamigis mi flamon en brust, in ne povos estingi e mort. II -- Brulos fajr is mi vivos en mond, Flamos flam... Dieses kurze Gedicht in Esperanto, aufgenommen in Lu Xuns Sammlung, zeugt von seinem Interesse an der internationalistischen Sprachbewegung und seiner Ueberzeugung, dass die Voelkerverstaendigung auch durch sprachliche Mittel gefoerdert werden koenne. Das Gedicht feiert die unloeschbare Flamme der Menschlichkeit, die weder durch Gewalt noch durch den Tod ausgeloescht werden kann.

[The Narrow Cage -- Eroshenko (Russia/Japan)]

I -- Der Tiger war muede. Jeden Tag immer dasselbe. Der enge Kaefig, der vom Kaefig aus sichtbare enge Himmel, und rings um den Kaefig, soweit das Auge reicht, wieder enge Kaefige... Diese Reihe setzt sich fort und fort und fort, als ginge sie ueber die Mauern des Tiergartens hinaus bis ans Ende der Welt. Ach, der Tiger war muede, der Tiger war unsaeglich muede. Jeden Tag immer dasselbe. Die daemlichen Gesichter der Besucher, ihr daemliches Lachen, der Uebelkeit erregende Geruch... Eroshenkos Kindergeschichte vom Tiger im Kaefig ist eine Allegorie auf die Gefangenschaft des Geistes in den Konventionen der Gesellschaft. Lu Xun uebersetzte das Werk des blinden russisch-japanischen Schriftstellers und erkannte in ihm einen Verwandten im Geiste.

[The Sorrow of the Fish -- Eroshenko]

In jenem Winter war es sehr kalt, und die Fische im Teich litten unsaeglich. Anfangs war das Eis nur duenn, aber es wurde von Tag zu Tag dicker und draengte die Welt der Fische immer enger zusammen. Da versammelten sich die Karpfen, Karauschen und Schmerlen, um ueber Abwehrmassnahmen gegen das Eis zu beraten; doch das Eis drueckte von oben herab, und so gab es kein Mittel. Am Ende blieb ihren Beratungen nichts weiter uebrig, als die Hoffnung auf den Fruehling festzuhalten und dann auseinanderzugehen. Eroshenkos Kindergeschichte ist eine zarte Allegorie auf die Machtlosigkeit der Schwachen gegenueber den Naturgewalten und den Troest, den allein die Hoffnung zu spenden vermag.

[The Heart of the Eagle -- Eroshenko]

Es gibt keinen Vogel, der so vornehm und frei waere wie der Adler. Es gibt keinen Vogel, der so stark und mutig waere wie der Adler. Und unter allen Tieren gibt es keinen, der die hohen, kalten Berge so liebt wie der Adler. Der Adler wird der Koenig der Voegel genannt. Unter den Menschen gibt es zwar niemanden, der seinen Koenigen oder Helden abverlangt, Kraft und Mut vorzufuehren; doch unter den Adlern kann selbst derjenige mit den groessten Fluegeln und dem groessten Schnabel kein Held sein, wenn er keine innere Groesse besitzt. Das ist ein alter Brauch der Adler. Egal welcher Adler, jeder koennte Koenig oder Held werden, weshalb sie einander alle mit Respekt begegnen. Eroshenkos Parabel vom Adler ist eine Meditation ueber wahre Groesse und innere Wuerde.

[Spring Night Dream -- Eroshenko]

Sehr weit, sehr weit, wo man von hier aus nichts sehen kann, tief in den Bergen verborgen, liegt ein grosser, schoener, spiegelklarer Teich. Die Umgebung ist aeusserst still und einsam; die leichtfertigen Menschen, die es vorziehen, an bequemen Orten zu leben, zeigen hier nie ihr Gesicht. Nur naturliebende Maler und blasse junge Maenner, die eine Liebesenttaeuschung erlitten haben und die Stadt verlassen haben, kommen bisweilen hierher, um aus den traenengleich schimmernden Blumen und dem kussssuessen Gesang der kleinen Voegel den Trost einer unsichtbaren Gottheit zu empfangen und ihr Herz zu erfreuen. Eroshenkos Maerchen verbindet japanische Naturaesthetik mit russischer Melancholie.

[The Strange Cat -- Eroshenko]

Ich moechte jenen Tag vergessen. Ich weiss gar nicht, wie sehr ich jenen Tag vergessen moechte. Und doch kann ich ihn nicht vergessen. Es war der letzte Tag. Draussen war es einsam und kalt. Doch mein Herz war an jenem Tag noch um ein Vielfaches kaelter als die Kaelte draussen und noch um ein Vielfaches einsamer als die Einsamkeit draussen. Obwohl es kein Instrument gibt, um die Einsamkeit und Kaelte des Herzens zu messen. Ich sass am Feuerbehaelter und dachte wirr vor mich hin. In den Flammen verbrannte truebe das Andenken, das bei mir zurueckgeblieben war. Eroshenkos Geschichte ueber eine sonderbare Katze, die keiner anderen Katze gleicht, ist eine Parabel ueber Andersartigkeit und Einsamkeit.

[For Humanity -- Eroshenko]

Wie alle wissen, war mein Vater zwar kein beruehmter Mann, doch immerhin ein einigermassen bekannter Anatom. Daher waren auch die Freunde meines Vaters zumeist Anatomen wie er; einige von ihnen benutzten verschiedene Tiere fuer Experimente, andere wiederum fuehrten, wie mein Vater, kaum Sektionen zu Versuchszwecken durch. Und es gab auch solche, die grosse Krankenäuser leiteten und, wie man hoerte, selbst die wichtigsten Patienten fuer ihre Experimente leiden liessen. In jener Zeit hoerte ich oft sonderbare Dinge, und die Geschichte, die ich den Herren nun erzaehlen will, ist nichts anderes als eines dieser Vorkommnisse. Eroshenkos Erzaehlung verbindet die Kritik an wissenschaftlicher Unmenschlichkeit mit der Frage nach der moralischen Verantwortung des Forschers.

[The Wound of the Love Mark -- Eroshenko]

Ich bin ein Mensch aus einem kalten Land. Tiefer Schnee und dickes Eis sind seit meiner Kindheit meine vertrauten Freunde. Kalte und Dunkelheit und ein endlos sich hinziehender Winter -- das ist die Wirklichkeit jenes Landes, waehrend der warme, schoene Fruehling und Sommer nur ein kurzer, sehnsuechtig ertraeumter Traum jenes Landes sind. -- Als ich in jenem Land lebte, war es so; jetzt, hoere ich, ist es anders. Ich moechte glauben, dass es anders geworden ist -- Die Menschen jenes Landes waren, wie die Menschen in allen Laendern dieser Welt, in Glueckliche und Unglueckliche geteilt. Eroshenkos Erzaehlung ueber ein kaltes nordisches Land ist eine Allegorie auf die Spaltung der Gesellschaft in Privilegierte und Entrechtete.

[The Tragedy of the Chick -- Eroshenko]

In letzter Zeit ist eines der kleinen Kueken im Haus in den Teich gefallen, den man im Hof fuer die kleinen Enten zum Schwimmen gegraben hatte, und ertrunken. Das kleine Huhn war ein sonderbares Kueken. Egal zu welcher Zeit, es spielte nie mit der Schar der Huehner, sondern ging immer zu den Enten und spielte mit den huebschen Entlein. Die Hausherrin hatte zwar gedacht, dass Kueken besser mit Kueken spielen sollten und Entlein mit Entlein, sagte aber nichts und schaute nur zu. In der Zwischenzeit wurde das Kueken immer schwaecher und magerer. Eroshenkos kurze, ruehrende Geschichte vom Kueken, das sich fuer eine Ente haelt, ist eine Parabel ueber Identitaet und das tragische Scheitern am Wunsch, jemand anderes zu sein.

[The Red Flower -- Eroshenko]

Erster Teil: Ich schlafe, ich schlief und traeumte verschiedene Traeume, traeumte vom Schicksal der Menschheit und von der Zukunft dieser Welt. Der Traum war sehr truebe, dunkel und schwer wie diese Welt, und doch konnte ich nicht umhin, diese Traeume zu traeumen, denn ich schlief. Jemand klopfte an mein Fenster. Wer ist da, der ans Fenster klopft? fragte ich, kurz erwachend. Es ist der Fruehlingswind, antwortete es und klopfte weiter. Der Wind aus Peking? Wie unangenehm, wie unwillkommen! Eroshenkos poetisches Maerchen verbindet die Sehnsucht nach dem Fruehling mit einer Vision der sozialen Erneuerung. Die rote Blume symbolisiert die Hoffnung auf eine gerechtere Welt.

[Old Father Time -- Eroshenko]

Es gibt tatsaechlich ein grosses, lebhaftes Peking, doch mein Peking ist klein und still. Es gibt tatsaechlich ein Peking, in dem wohlhabende und vornehme Menschen leben, doch die Menschen in meinem Peking sind alle schlicht, still und ehrlich. In einer so stillen Umgebung lebend, unter so stillen Menschen, sollte auch mein Herz eigentlich etwas ruhiger sein. Doch es ist nicht so; wie auch immer, wie auch immer, es wird nicht ruhig, und es scheint auch nicht, als wuerde es jemals ruhig werden. Nachts fuehle ich mich besonders einsam, denn nachts bin ich immer allein. Eroshenkos melancholische Betrachtung ueber die Einsamkeit in der Grossstadt verbindet persoenliche Erfahrung mit einer universellen Meditation ueber die Vergaenglichkeit der Zeit.

[On Reading the Fairy Play The Rosy Cloud -- Akita Ujaku (Japan)]

Lieber Eroshenko: Soeben habe ich dein in Japan zurueckgelassenes Maerchenstueck Die rosafarbene Wolke zu Ende gelesen. Vermutlich hast du das Manuskript in Blindenschrift jemandem zur Niederschrift gegeben. Man sagt, es sei ein Herr Idate von der Waseda-Universitaet, der es durchgesehen hat. Die Schrift ist sorgfaeltig, und an einigen Stellen, wo die Sprache allzu eigenwillig war, wurde sie korrigiert; es ist bereits zu ausgezeichnetem Japanisch geworden. Abgesehen davon ist alles natuerlich aus deinen Lippen geflossen. Beim Lesen dieses schoenen Maerchens erinnere ich mich deutlich an deine Stimme. Akita Ujakus Brief an Eroshenko verbindet literarische Kritik mit persoenlicher Freundschaft.

[The Rosy Cloud (Three Acts) -- Eroshenko -- Cast of Characters]

Zeit: Die Gegenwart. Ort: Ein Dorf in der Naehe von Tokio. Personen: Haruko, ein dreizehn- bis vierzehnjaehriges Maedchen. Ihre Mutter, gegen fuenfzig Jahre alt. Natsuko, eine Waise von ungefaehr siebzehn Jahren. Akiko, eine Waise von ungefaehr achtzehn Jahren, Harukos Nachbarin. Fuyuko, Tochter eines Barons (tritt nicht auf). Kanemaru, Harukos Verlob ter, Student an einer medizinischen Hochschule in Tokio. Mutter Natur, die Koenigin, ueber fuenfzig Jahre. Winter, erste Koenigstochter, ungefaehr zwanzig Jahre alt. Eroshenkos Maerchenstueck verbindet japanisches Naturgefuehl mit russischer Sehnsucht nach sozialer Gerechtigkeit und zeigt den Konflikt zwischen der Welt der Menschen und der Welt der Natur.

[First Act of The Rosy Cloud -- Eroshenko]

Die obere Welt: Im Hintergrund sieht man die kleinen baeuerlichen Haeuser von Haruko, Natsuko und Akiko. Links das Herrenhaus des Barons. In einer Ecke der Buehne ein schoener zugefrorener Teich. Im Vordergrund Kirsch-, Pfirsich- und Glyzinienbaeume. An einigen Stellen liegt noch Schnee. Die untere Welt ist duester; man erkennt undeutlich drei Vorhaenge im Hintergrund: einen rosafarbenen, einen gruenen und einen violetten. Links sieht man etwas wie ein Stadttor; an der Ecke waechst eine Kiefer. An den Wurzeln dieses Baumes befindet sich die Hoehle des Maulwurfs. Eroshenkos Buehnenanweisungen schaffen eine Maerchenwelt zwischen Realitaet und Traum, in der die Jahreszeiten als lebende Wesen auftreten und die Natur sich gegen die Zerstoerung durch den Menschen auflehn.

[Third Act of The Rosy Cloud -- Eroshenko]

Gleiche Szene wie zuvor. Kirsch-, Pfirsich- und alle moeglichen anderen Blumen bluehen. In der unteren Welt schlafen Spaetfruehlingsblumen, Herbstblumen und Sommerblumen an ihrem Platz. Auch die Sommer- und Herbstinsekten schlafen unter den Blumen. Das Tor, das in der vorigen Szene dunkel erschien, ist diesmal deutlich zu sehen und zeigt das Bild einer alten Stadtfestung. Die obere Welt wird von der Sonne beschienen; am blauen Himmel steht ein schoener Regenbogen. Im Teich schwimmen weisse Gaense. Zwischen den Blumen tanzen die Fruehlingsinsekten nach Herzenslust. Von irgendwoher hoert man das Geraeuscht eines Wasserrades. Auch Vogelstimmen sind zu hoeren. Das Finale des Maerchenstuecks vereint die Welt der Natur und der Menschen in einem poetischen Bild der Harmonie und Versoehnun.

[Notes on Eroshenko's Works]

Anmerkung 1: Rajah bezeichnet in Ostindien einen einheimischen Fuersten; die alte Uebersetzung Heluo ist identisch damit. Anmerkung 2: Dies ist die sogenannte Sati-Zeremonie: Nach dem Tod des Mannes wird die Witwe zusammen mit der Leiche verbrannt. Dies ist ein alter indischer Brauch. Nachdem Indien unter englische Herrschaft gekommen war, verboten die Englaender diese Unsitte, doch man fuehrte sie weiterhin heimlich durch, und so ist es bis heute. Anmerkung 3: Die Uebersetzung Tian bedeutet Himmel. Der spaeter erwaente Name Mohetipou (Mahadeva) bedeutet grosser Himmel. Diese Anmerkungen zeugen von Lu Xuns philologischer Sorgfalt bei der Uebersetzung und seiner Bemuehueng um kulturelle Kontextualisierung.

[Chapter One: Theory of Creation -- Two Forces -- Kuroshima Denji, translated by Lu Xun]

So wie dort, wo Eisen und Stein aufeinanderschlagen, Funken spruehn, und dort, wo ein reissender Strom auf einen Felsblock trifft, die Gischt einen Regenbogen zeigt, entfaltet sich, wenn zwei Kraefte aufeinanderprallen, das wunderbar bunte Kaleidoskop des menschlichen Lebens in all seinen Facetten. No struggle, no drama -- dies ist zwar ein Ausspruch von Brunetiere zur Erklaerung des Dramas, doch in Wahrheit gilt dies nicht nur fuer das Drama. Ohne das Aufeinanderprallen und die Verstrickung zweier Kraefte waere unser Leben, unsere Existenz im Grunde leer und bedeutungslos. Dieser Aufsatz zur Literaturtheorie stammt aus Kuroshima Denjis Studien und wurde von Lu Xun ins Chinesische uebertragen, um die japanische Auseinandersetzung mit westlicher Aesthetik einem chinesischen Publikum zugaenglich zu machen.

[Chapter Two: Theory of Appreciation -- Sympathy of Life]

In dem vorangegangenen Abschnitt habe ich die Literatur von der Seite des Schaffenden her betrachtet. Wie aber erklaert man, wenn man sie von der Seite des Wertschaetzenden, das heisst des Lesers oder Zuschauers betrachtet, dass das tief im unbewussten Seelenleben verborgene Leiden, der Traum oder das Symbol, Literatur ist? Um diesen Punkt zu erklaeren, muss ich zunaechst darlegen, dass auch der Wertschaetzende der Kunst eine Art Schoepfer ist, und das Verhaeltnis zwischen Schaffen und Wertschaetzen klaeren. Jedes literarische Schaffen ist in seinem Grunde dasselbe wie der oben besprochene Traum; doch eine bestimmte Art davon muss mehr besitzen als nur den Traum. Dieser Abschnitt aus der Literaturtheorie untersucht die aktive Rolle des Lesers im kuenstlerischen Prozess.

[Chapter Three: Considerations on Fundamental Questions of Literature -- The Poet as Prophet]

Ich glaube, dass man auf der Grundlage des bisher Gesagten die grundlegenden Fragen der Literatur praktisch loesen kann. Ich moechte hier die Muehe vermeiden, viele Probleme einzeln aufzuzaehlen, und waehle nur einige Fragen aus, die die Literaturwissenschaftler bis heute als Raetsel betrachten, um an ihnen die praktische Anwendung meiner Theorie zu zeigen; das Uebrige ueberlasse ich der eigenen Betrachtung und dem eigenen Urteil des Lesers. Was in diesem Kapitel gesagt wird, kann als natuerliche Folgerung (Korollar) aus meiner Schoepfungstheorie und meiner Kritiktheorie betrachtet werden. Die Frage, ob der Dichter ein Prophet sei, wird hier mit Bezug auf die expressionistische und symbolische Funktion der Kunst eroertert.

[Chapter Four: Origins of Literature -- Prayer and Labor]

Die Entwicklung aller Dinge schreitet vom Einfachen zum Komplexen fort. Will man daher das Wesen einer Sache verstehen, so muss man zunaechst ihren Ursprung zurueckverfolgen und den Zustand in der reinsten und einfachsten Urzeit betrachten. Leben heisst suchen. Im menschlichen Dasein gibt es stets irgendwelche Maengel und Unzufriedenheiten. Daher kann man das Bestreben, Mittel und Wege zu finden, um diese Maengel und Unzufriedenheiten auszugleichen, als die schoepferische Kraft des Lebens betrachten. Selbst der Moench im Kloster, der ein asketisches Leben fuehrt, scheint auf den ersten Blick alle Wuensche aufgegeben zu haben; doch auch er sucht auf seine Weise. Dieser Aufsatz ueber die Urspruenge der Literatur verbindet anthropologische mit aesthetischen Ueberlegungen.

[Out of the Ivory Tower -- Kuroshima Denji / translated by Lu Xun]

Odi profanum vulgus et arceo; Favete linguis: carmina non prius Audita Musarum sacerdos Virginibus puerisque canto. -- Q. Horatii Flacci Carmina. Ich hasse das gewoehnliche Volk und halte es fern; schweigt: Lieder, die noch nie zuvor vernommen, singe ich als Priester der Musen den Jungfrauen und Knaben. -- Horaz, Oden. Dieses Zitat steht programmatisch am Beginn des Aufsatzes, der eine Auseinandersetzung mit der Frage darstellt, ob und wie sich die Kunst aus ihrem Elfenbeinturm befreien und dem Leben der Menschen zuwenden soll. Kuroshima Denji plaediert fuer eine Kunst, die sich nicht vom Leben abschliesst, sondern es durchdringt und verwandelt.

[Contemplation and Enjoyment of Life -- Society News]

Alltaeglich fuellen die Nachrichten in der Gesellschaftsspalte der Zeitungen die Seiten mit Meldungen ueber Gewalt: Hieb- und Stichverbrechen, von Menschen, die sich fuer klug halten, kalt als Ergebnis toericht-leidenschaftlicher Liebe belaechtelte Beziehungsdramen, Betrugs- und Diebstahlsfaelle -- viele Menschen lesen dies als voellig gleichgueltige Unterhaltung. Doch wenn wir von der Oberflaeche der Dinge einen Schritt tiefer gehen und diese Faelle als bedeutsame Phaenomene des menschlichen Lebens betrachten, als Gegenstaende des Nachdenkens und der Betrachtung, dann werden wir feststellen, dass sie durchaus genug enthalten, um uns erschaudern, staunen und empoeeen zu lassen. Dieser Aufsatz von Kuroshima Denji, von Lu Xun uebersetzt, plaediert fuer eine tiefere Betrachtung der alltaeglichen Nachrichten als Spiegel der menschlichen Existenz.

[From Spirit to Flesh and from Flesh to Spirit -- Kuroshima Denji]

Im Leben der Japaner gibt es allerlei seltsame Erscheinungen, die man in anderen zivilisierten Laendern nicht finden wuerde. Es gibt in der Welt die sogenannten Schmarotzer, die ohne jeden Grund und ohne jedes Recht die Speisen anderer Leute verzehren und als muessige Kostgaenger ein behagliches Dasein fuehren. Ferner gibt es das Sprichwort: Die Schwaegerin gleicht tausend Daemonen -- das bedeutet: Hat man geheiratet, so ist die liebste Schwester des Ehemannes etwas so Abscheuliches und Furchteinfloeessendes wie tausend boese Geister. Auch dies ist eine Erscheinung, die in England und Amerika aeusserst selten vorkommt. Und im Bildungswesen gibt es die sogenannten Schulunruhen. Dieser Aufsatz analysiert die Besonderheiten des japanischen Alltagslebens im Vergleich mit westlichen Gesellschaften und untersucht die kulturellen Wurzeln dieser Unterschiede.

[Artistic Expression -- Kuroshima Denji / Lecture Notes]

Da die Anwesenden eigens zu dieser in der Stadt Osaka bisher beispiellosen Versammlung fuer reine Kunst erschienen sind, ist das, was ich heute Abend zu sagen habe, vielleicht nur eine Predigt vor dem Buddha; aber mein Vortrag setzt natuerlich voraus, dass man mir zustimmt. Die Menschen in der Welt sagen, wenn sie ein Gemaelde sehen oder einen Text lesen, oft: Ein solches Gemaelde ist, ein solcher Text ist, als haetten sie ein Urteil ueber Kunst. Doch was sie als Kunst bezeichnen, ist oftmals nur eine oberflaechliche Nachahmung der Wirklichkeit. Wahrer kuenstlerischer Ausdruck geht ueber die blosse Wiedergabe hinaus und erschafft eine eigene Realitaet, die tiefer ist als die sichtbare Welt. Dieser Vortrag ueber kuenstlerischen Ausdruck wurde bei einer Ausstellungseroeffnung in Osaka gehalten und von Lu Xun uebersetzt.

[Literature on the Labor Question -- Problem Literature -- Kuroshima Denji]

Die auf dem tiefen Fundament des wirklichen Lebens errichtete moderne Literatur ist auf der einen Seite reine Zivilisationskritik und Gesellschaftskritik. Diese Tendenz begann mit Ibsen. Das von ihm ins Leben gerufene sogenannte Problemdrama ebenso wie die als Tendenzroman und Gesellschaftsroman bezeichneten zahlreichen Werke behandeln alle direkt oder indirekt die schwierigen Probleme des modernen Lebens. In den extremsten Faellen treten einige Autoren geradezu aus dem Bereich der reinen Kunst heraus und werden zu einer Art Propagandist. Dieser Aufsatz untersucht die Spannung zwischen kuenstlerischer Integritaet und sozialem Engagement in der modernen Literatur und diskutiert die Frage, ob und wie Literatur zur Loesung gesellschaftlicher Probleme beitragen kann.

[For Art -- Caricatures -- Kuroshima Denji]

In einem Japan, das seit vielen Jahren nur von Bushido, von der Anmassung der Militaerclique und von utilitaristischer Wissenschaft gequaelt wird, gibt es selbst heute nur wenige Menschen, die fuer Kunst volles Verstaendnis und volle Sympathie aufbringen. Besonders gegenueber bestimmten Kunstformen zeigen manche Menschen nicht nur voelliges Unverstaendnis und voellige Sympathielosigkeit, sondern nehmen eine veraecht liche Haltung ein, ja hegen sogar Abscheu -- was von der Seite betrachtet bisweilen an Komik grenzt. Ich will als Beispiel von den Zustaenden im Bildungswesen erzaehlen. Auch diese Sphare ist, ganz wie das Militaer, eine Domaeene der Verstaendnislosen. Dieser Aufsatz kritisiert die kulturelle Verarmung einer Gesellschaft, die den Utilitarismus ueber die Kunst stellt, und plaediert fuer eine Erneuerung des aesthetischen Bewusstseins.

[The Main Current of Modern Literature -- Kuroshima Denji]

Vor fuenfzig Jahren schrieb der Dramatiker des Nordens einen Brief an seinen groessten Vertrauten Brandes, in dem er in seinem gewohnt leidenschaftlichen Ton seiner Empoerung und seinen Verwuenschungen ueber die Zeitverhaeltnisse Luft machte. Er schrieb: Der Staat ist das Unglueck des Individuums. Wie ist Preussens Staatsmacht zustande gekommen? Dadurch, dass das Individuum in der politischen und geographischen Form des Staates versenkt wurde. Man lasse die Menschen zuerst die geistigen Zusammenhaenge erkennen, denn dies ist der einzige Weg zur Einheit. Nur so werden vielleicht die Elemente der Freiheit auferstehen. Ibsen schrieb diese Worte etwa ein halbes Jahrhundert bevor die Welt erneut in Flammen stand. Dieser Aufsatz ueber die Hauptstroemung der modernen Literatur analysiert den Einfluss Ibsens und seiner Nachfolger auf die Weltliteratur.

[From Art to Social Transformation -- William Morris -- Kuroshima Denji]

No artist appreciated better than he the interdependence of art, ideas and affairs. And above all, Morris knew better than anybody else that Morris the artist, the poet, the designer was inseparable from Morris the Socialist. Kein Kuenstler verstand die gegenseitige Abhaengigkeit von Kunst, Ideen und oeffentlichen Angelegenheiten besser als er. Und vor allem wusste Morris besser als jeder andere, dass Morris der Kuenstler, der Dichter, der Gestalter untrennbar war von Morris dem Sozialisten. Dieser umfangreiche Aufsatz ueber William Morris untersucht die Beziehung zwischen kuenstlerischem Schaffen und sozialer Verantwortung und stellt Morris als Vorbild fuer eine Kunst dar, die sich nicht vom Leben trennen laesst.

[Thoughts -- Landscapes -- People -- Tsurumi Yusuke (Japan)]

Vorbemerkung des Uebersetzers: Vor zwei oder drei Jahren, als ich aus dieser Essaysammlung den Aufsatz Die Anziehungskraft Pekings uebersetzte, hatte ich nicht die Absicht, weitere Uebersetzungen folgen zu lassen und sie zu einem Buch zusammenzustellen. Immer wenn ich keinen Aufsatz schreiben wollte oder konnte, aber schreiben musste, behalf ich mir mit einer kleinen Uebersetzung; und ich waehle stets Texte, die sowohl dem Uebersetzer als auch dem Leser keine grosse Muehe bereiten. Dieser Text war dafuer geeignet. Frisch und unbefangen geschrieben, ohne jede Dunkelheit, und doch erkennt man darin deutlich den Schatten Chinas. Lu Xuns Vorbemerkung zu seiner Uebersetzung von Tsurumis Essays zeigt seine Arbeitsweise als Uebersetzer und seine Vorliebe fuer leicht zugaengliche, aber gehaltvolle Texte.

[Fragmentary Thoughts -- Tsurumi Yusuke -- Sunset]

Vom Haltepunkt Roppongi im Bezirk Azabu aus, der Strassenbahnlinie entlang in Richtung Aoyama Rokuchome, bietet der Weg eine gewisse Stimmung. Vom naechsten Haltepunkt Zaimokucho an wird die Strasse nach Kasumimachi besonders reizvoll. An klaren Wintermorgen, wenn die Berge von Chichibu ueber Nacht weiss geworden sind und sich deutlich am tiefblauen Himmel abzeichnen, am Abend aber der Fuji-Berg sichtbar wird -- vor diesem Hintergrund erscheinen selbst die Daecher zu beiden Seiten noch interessanter. Gestern Abend ging ich diesen Weg. Ploetzlich sah ich auf der gegenueberliegenden Strassenseite die grosse untergehende Sonne, die gerade versinken wollte. Tsurumis Beobachtungen ueber Tokioter Stadtviertel verbinden alltaegliche Wahrnehmung mit aesthetischer Sensibilitaet und poetischer Reflexion.

[The Turning Point of Life -- Tsurumi Yusuke]

Dies ist eine wahre Geschichte. Der kalte Oktoberwind rauschte draussen vor der Tuer. Im grossen Zimmer, das nur an zwei Ecken von Kastenlampen beleuchtet wurde, herrschte eine gewisse Duestkeit. Im Ofen flammte ploetzlich das Feuer auf, und die naehere Umgebung erhellte sich. Der unter Amerikanern seltene, zurueckhaltende Gastgeber hatte in seiner Wohnung keinerlei grelle Farben verwendet. Die schlichten hoelzernen Tische und Stuehle waren alle schwarz gestrichen; die Waende waren blassgelb; von den Fenstervorhaengen bis zu den Bildern wurde jede auffaellige Farbe vermieden. Auch um den Ofen herum standen schwarz gerahmte Buecherschraenke, in denen allerlei Buecher unordentlich lagen. Dieser Blick auf das Buecherschrank fiel mir immer sonderbar auf. Tsurumis letzte Erzaehlung in der Sammlung schildert eine Begegnung, die das Leben veraendert, und verbindet minutioese Beobachtung mit philosophischer Tiefe.

[Self-Righteousness]

[One]

Previously, at a gathering, I had expressed my opinion, pointing out the popularity of Russian literature in Japan and saying that I hoped the study of English literature might flourish a little more in the future. To this, many young people raised objections, arguing that there was no need for us to exert ourselves over English or Russian literature, for studying Japanese literature alone would suffice. Did we not already possess such excellent works as The Tale of Genji and Essays in Idleness? One person went even further, advancing an argument reminiscent of Taiko Toyotomi Hideyoshi: rather than our learning foreign languages, we ought to make the peoples of the world learn Japanese. This was, of course, a rebuttal from an entirely different point of view than my proposal. But that such opinions represented the majority view of the assembly, and that these were young people with no more than a middle school education, gave me no small shock. It set me thinking about two foreign peoples.

[Two]

Anyone who has read the history of the United States of America knows that the original masters of this land were a people called the American Indians. These former owners were gradually driven out by newly arriving Europeans and retreated deep into the mountains. Today, in remote corners of the various states, they eke out a pitiful existence under the special protection of the American government. Their population continues to decline; perhaps they will eventually vanish from the face of the earth entirely.

And yet these Indians resemble the Japanese not only in appearance but also possess much in their character that arouses our sympathy. This is something we feel keenly whenever we read American history.

[Three]

They were an extremely brave people, hunting and fishing in the mountains and wilderness, tempering body and spirit amid wind and frost, fighting against enemies unflinchingly even in the direst circumstances, and their way of life was pure. Relations between men and women were upright, and their physical surroundings were kept clean. What was particularly admirable was their deep attachment to honor and fidelity. There was a story:

Once, a young Indian who had committed murder was discovered and sentenced to death. After receiving the verdict calmly, he said quietly: "Your Honor, I have a request. Will you hear me out? It is nothing extraordinary. As you know, my profession is baseball. For this coming autumn season, I have already signed a contract with the manager, agreeing to play for a certain salary. If I do not go, our team will surely suffer a terrible defeat. Might the execution of my death sentence be postponed by a few months? Once the baseball season ends, I will certainly return to face my execution."

Astonishingly, the judge granted the young man's request immediately. But even more astonishing was that the Indian fulfilled his contract with the manager and played through the baseball season; then, in accordance with his promise to the judge, he returned and submitted to the execution.

The American who told me this story added a few words: "Only because he was an Indian did the judge believe him. For an Indian would rather die than break his word."

[Four]

These words called to mind all manner of things. I felt loathing toward the Aryans who had deceived a people possessing such virtues and seized their vast territory. Yet what stirred my heart even more powerfully was another question: why had so excellent a people perished so wretchedly?

One day in Boston, I met a scholar renowned as an expert on the Indians. After inquiring variously about the temperament and character of this people, I asked him why the Indians were gradually perishing.

The doctor's answer was quite illuminating: "I think it is the result of the Indians' great weakness. And that weakness is arrogance. They were firmly convinced that they were the world's only superior race, and as a result they held all other peoples, especially the white race, in extreme contempt. That contempt was not without justification, for from the standpoint of morality, the whites were indeed doing many things worthy of their scorn. But as a consequence, they scorned even all the good things the whites possessed. They had not the slightest desire to learn from white civilization. They paid absolutely no heed to science. They always lived within the confines of their own tribal traditions. And so they made no progress whatsoever. That is probably the chief reason why, despite being such an excellent people, they were heading toward extinction."

It came to me in a flash: the most terrifying thing in human existence is this arrogant self-righteousness. At the very moment it takes hold, the development of the individual ceases, and the development of the nation ceases.

Let us look at the world history of antiquity. Upon what did the Roman people's conquest of the world depend? Plainly, it depended entirely upon that humble spirit capable of embracing the cultures of other peoples. While conquering the surrounding nations, they simultaneously accorded the conquered peoples the rights of free citizens and absorbed their civilizations to the fullest extent. Greek culture entered Rome and reached the most magnificent maturity. When the Romans, dazzled by military success, gradually turned arrogant, the empire that had seemed eternally indestructible collapsed like rotten timber. What led Germany to ruin was German supremacism; China's present decline is likewise the result of the Chinese Republic's self-conceit. This is by no means the fate of the American Indians alone.

[Five]

Yet here there is also an example of the exact opposite: the Jews. My interest in the Jews dates from five years ago, when I was living in America. The state of anti-Jewish discrimination among Westerners caught my eye, and I began to wonder about the reasons for such exclusion. One does not intermarry with Jews. If a daughter willfully marries a Jew, her relatives cut off all contact. One never invites a Jew to dine in one's home. Good schools do not admit Jews. Good clubs do not accept them. They are excluded everywhere. And yet the Jews are scattered across the whole world, thriving and multiplying in every country. How different this is from the Indians! The secret lies in the fact that the Jews never display toward other peoples the arrogance that the Indians showed. Whatever good things other peoples possess, they eagerly absorb. In every country they assimilate the virtues of that country's culture and make them their own in their own way. And so they never perish, but flourish everywhere.

[Methods of Reading]

[One]

In former times, what were counted as "the plagues of mankind" were old age, disease, poverty, and death. More recently, a different reckoning has emerged, listing waste and ignorance among humanity's enemies as well. One who attacked waste with particular vehemence was the English thinker H.G. Wells.

This waste can be considered from many angles. When one spoke of waste, it was usually taken to mean the waste of money. But the waste of money is a relatively trifling matter. What we call waste is the waste of material things, the waste of the spirit, the waste of time. And what we feel most keenly is how the waste of the spirit hampers the progress of mankind. What destroys our happiness is precisely this futile expenditure of mental energy. If we could eliminate such futility from our lives, the measure of our individual happiness would surely increase considerably. Groundless worry about all manner of things and excessive concern for social conventions are, for instance, such futile forms of spiritual waste.

[Two]

Yet even among the things we consider good, there are often some in which we commit an unexpected waste. The reading of books is one such example.

If we compare playing ball with reading books, anyone will consider ball-playing a frivolous pastime and reading a useful occupation. But in reality, we sometimes use ball-playing to rest a fatigued body and mind and prepare ourselves for the work ahead, while reading sometimes provokes a useless nervous excitement that impedes real activity. In short, just as there is a distinction between waste and non-waste in ball-playing, so too there is such a difference in reading.

Particularly regarding reading, because from our youth we have been taught only the skill of deciphering written characters but were never given the true art of reading, we spend much time in our lives reading wastefully to no purpose. How, then, should we read?

[Three]

The reading I wish to discuss here is not the kind of reading pursued as pastime, reading novels to while away a long train journey, or reciting a poet's verses to relieve the fatigue of a day. I mean the kind of reading in which one takes up a book hoping to gain some illumination from it. Now is precisely the time when fresh autumn coolness enters the world and lamplight feels doubly companionable, so it should not be in vain to examine how the ancients read.

[Four]

Everyone has a period in life when one devours books recklessly and voraciously. Once that period ends, one pauses to reflect: what, after all, have I gained from these hundreds of volumes? There can be few who do not feel a kind of desolate disappointment. Usually one has merely tired one's eyes, worn out one's mind, and emptied one's purse. We thus often fall into the hasty judgment that reading is entirely useless.

But upon closer examination, one finds that these errors generally arise from not having studied the method of reading. In the world there are, to be sure, so-called extraordinary geniuses. Such people can penetrate the profoundest mysteries of books without any method; for them, a reading method is unnecessary. Once, Count Otani Kozui, seeing his disciples' books marked with red lines, scolded them severely, saying that anyone who could only remember things by means of underlines was no good. But such words are certainly not for us ordinary mortals to emulate. We should steadfastly walk the ordinary, safe path.

[Five]

There appear to be roughly four methods. The first and most common is the method of underlining in red ink. The manner of drawing lines also varies. Some use a simple red pencil to draw a line in the margin; others go further and draw lines of various kinds. Dr. Nitobe is one of Japan's most distinguished readers and retains what he reads exceptionally well. If you examine the books he has read, you will find lines of various types in two colors: red pencil for passages of fine style, blue for thoughts he finds admirable. For Western books, he further distinguishes three grades: the best passages receive an underline, the next a circle encompassing the whole page, and the next a vertical line in the margin.

The eminent English scholar William Hamilton said: "If one can master the art of underlining well, one can obtain a method of grasping the essentials of important books. If one varies the color of ink according to the nature of the content, say distinguishing theory from fact, this not only facilitates later reference but also produces during the reading itself a kind of index in the mind that aids comprehension immeasurably."

This method of underlining is commonly used among readers. If one further adds annotations in the margins, the rewards of reading seem to grow even greater.

[Six]

The second method consists of making excerpts while reading, compiling them into a notebook of extracts. This is a method widely used by scholars since ancient times; those who have produced great works seem generally to have made such extracts. President Wilson is said to have kept careful excerpts from his student days onward. The great English statesman and man of letters Lord Morley once said: "There is a method of reading in which one always keeps a memorandum at hand and, during the reading, writes down continuously whatever is outstanding, interesting, or suggestive. To make this practically useful, one classifies by topic and records item by item. This is the best method for cultivating the habit of concentrating one's thoughts upon the text during reading and arriving at a correct understanding of its meaning."

Against this, however, there are objections. The historian Gibbon said: "The method of excerpts by no means deserves unqualified praise. Though taking up the pen during reading certainly has the advantage of impressing thoughts not only upon paper but upon one's own breast, when one considers how much effort we thereby waste, the net result is not necessarily positive."

There is something right in both views; essentially it depends upon the reader's temperament.

[The Naturalization of the Leadership Position]

[One]

We are now sitting in the midst of a whirlwind. Winds of extraordinary velocity rush in hundreds of different directions. Every individual is tossed about in this atmospheric pressure. This is the great storm of intellectual confusion sweeping the entire world.

The European war severed the anchor of traditional spiritual life. The time has come when even the most carefree person can no longer live tranquilly with the old ways of thinking. The rise in prices alone is sufficient cause to shake the lives of peoples throughout the world. The ideas, institutions, and customs that had long bound the hearts of the people are losing their luster.

Such intellectual confusion, of course, did not begin only now. It is scattered throughout the history that came before. And our ancestors all passed through such trials. There is no reason why we alone should be unable to endure them.

What is called this confusion is, in other words, "the loss of the guiding principle"; to put it still more plainly, it means that there are no more leaders. That is to say, no one's ideas are capable of stirring the whole nation, and no one's position can command the trust of the entire populace.

The collective life of humankind perpetually seeks leaders. This is not limited to humans; it is a powerful instinct shared by all living creatures. We see it in the wild geese flying across the sky and in the herds of cattle roaming the pastures. In human life, we have long employed various titles for these leaders. Sometimes they were semi-divine emperors, sometimes priests as vicars of God, sometimes heroic politicians as idols of the people, sometimes great poets as spokesmen for the people's thoughts, sometimes powerful generals as guardians of the nation's territory and the citizens' lives and property. And our ancestors, relying on their unreflective trust in these leaders, plowed fields, wove cloth, and sailed boats in peace of mind.

Yet with the development of each citizen's sense of self, we could no longer accept others' ideas and positions as simply as before. The spread of education and the advance of individual freedom diminished the differences between people. The time came when one grew angry even watching an old play in which a subordinate kneels before his master. Today, our leader must be someone in whose ideas we find something we genuinely consider to be right. The era of "politics of understanding" has arrived.

But the storm of the European war destroyed the very foundation of this "politics of understanding." "Patriotism is the most important thing! Draw your swords for your country!" So the European politicians cried out. People found it right, and many citizens went to the battlefield. "If we win this war, we shall attain eternal peace!" One million three hundred thousand young Frenchmen died beneath the shells. Then the Treaty of Versailles was concluded. It was nothing like eternal peace. It was merely humanity donning new armor for the next war. When people realized that everything the politicians said had been lies, the foundation of the "politics of understanding" vanished from the hearts of the populace. And "the politics of violence," replacing the "politics of understanding," began to raise its head everywhere. Violence is like a snowman, melting away without a trace the moment the people's eyes open.

[Two]

Whenever living creatures engage in collective action, there is inevitably a leader among them. That leader is sometimes permanent. The leader of a herd of cattle or horses possesses the leadership instinct by nature. Unless a stronger leader appears and wrests the position through combat, this one animal continues to live as the commander of the group.

In contrast, when wolves hunt for prey, every individual wolf is intensely conscious of the leadership instinct. When they reach a fork in the mountain path, one wants to go left, another right. They select as leader whichever of the two candidates possesses the superior abilities in scent, sight, and hearing, and follow in the direction he leads.

The leadership position among us humans may not necessarily work in exactly this way. Yet the source from which the leadership position arises is the same as with wolves: we elevate as leader the one who possesses the best abilities for the objective at hand. But the leader exploited his prominent position to occupy it permanently, and worse, passed it on in hereditary form to descendants who possessed no leadership qualities whatsoever.

[Three]

The fundamental principle of human life is cooperation. With the strength of one person alone, we can accomplish nothing. Abilities are distributed among many, and only through the cooperation of all does human life become possible.

[Prose for Reading and Words for Hearing]

One day, Anatole France was talking quietly with his friends:

"Critics often say that Moliere's style is poor. This is a matter of perspective. What Moliere had in mind was not prose written for the eye but words meant to be heard by the ear. As a dramatist, rather than appealing to the reader's eye, he appealed to the ear of the theatergoer. The audience is inattentive. To reach even the most inattentive spectator, Moliere repeated himself; to make himself understood even by the most careless spectator, he kept things simple. Thus the style became diffuse and repetitive. But this alone was not enough. One must also consider the actors. An unskilled actor will inevitably deliver clumsy lines. So Moliere constructed his texts in such a way that even the most unskilled actor could manage them.

Therefore, to make the audience truly understand, Moliere would repeat the same idea three or four times.

In six or eight lines of verse, the truly important ones are usually no more than two. The rest is like a cat's purring. During those passages, the listener can settle down and wait calmly for the arrival of the crucial lines. That was how Moliere worked."

In this brief remark by the great writer lies a meaning that anyone aspiring to the art of public speaking would do well to ponder deeply.

[The So-Called Skeptics]

[One]

When the renowned work "The Liberation of Massachusetts" by the Boston scholar Brock Adams appeared in a new edition after forty years, a critic reviewed the book and described Adams as a pessimist. To this, a friend of Adams replied in a newspaper that Adams was no pessimist; if one had to classify him at all, he was rather a skeptic. The difference between pessimism and skepticism is of course not insignificant, but since this is not the subject of my discussion, I shall pass over it here.

What concerns me here is rather the question of whether there exists in the world a person who deserves to be called a "skeptic." The answer seems to me to be: probably not. There are people who maintain the appearance of the skeptic in public while in truth harboring fervent convictions in the depths of their hearts. And there are those whom society labels "skeptics" but who are in reality not skeptics at all, but seekers who have not yet found what they seek.

[Two]

A true skeptic would have to be someone who believes in nothing in the world, nothing at all. But is such a person even conceivable? Even if someone doubts the world, doubts society, doubts institutions, he does not doubt his own doubt. His doubt itself is a certainty to him. And with that, he is already no longer a perfect skeptic.

Those who are called "skeptics" in society are, fundamentally, people who doubt only certain things while holding fast to others, people who have convictions, only different ones from those prevailing in the mainstream. They doubt the convictions of the majority and are therefore labeled skeptics, but in truth they are people with their own dissenting convictions. And it is precisely these people who often advance the world.

[On Liberalism]

[One]

My desire to study liberalism goes back a long time. As early as my second year of middle school, I had read the biography of John Bright and was deeply moved. Looking back now, I think that even then, however dimly, the seeds of my interest in liberalism were already sprouting.

What, then, is liberalism? The core of liberalism is respect for individual freedom. And what is individual freedom? It is the free development of personality, insofar as it does not infringe upon the freedom of others.

Yet this simple definition is easier to state than to realize. The history of liberalism is the history of the struggle for its realization, a struggle that continues to this day.

[Two]

The history of liberalism begins in England. One can trace it back to the Magna Carta of 1215, that great document wrested from King John by the barons. But liberalism as a political philosophy proper arose only in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

John Locke formulated its principles: the rights to life, liberty, and property. Government exists by the consent of the governed; if it violates their rights, the citizens have the right to resist. These ideas influenced the American and French Revolutions alike.

Classical liberalism placed the individual at the center. It distrusted state power and demanded its limitation. Economic freedom, free trade, and freedom of enterprise were considered as fundamental as political freedom. Adam Smith, Richard Cobden, John Bright, all contributed to formulating and advancing these ideals.

[Three]

Yet liberalism also encountered serious challenges. The Industrial Revolution showed that economic freedom without social protections could lead to new forms of injustice. Child labor, wretched working conditions, appalling inequality, all of these occurred in the name of free enterprise.

Thus a reform movement arose from within liberalism itself. John Stuart Mill argued that the freedom of the individual must find its limit where it causes harm to others. The state had a duty to protect the weak from the strong. This was no betrayal of liberalism but its further development, the recognition that true freedom does not consist in the mere absence of state intervention, but in the actual ability of each individual to fulfill his or her potential.

Anyone who studies liberalism today recognizes that it is not a rigid doctrine but a living, ever-evolving tradition of reflection on the conditions of human freedom.

[Places of Former Travels]

[One: On Rue Edouard VII]

In Paris there is a place I used to visit particularly often in my earlier days. It lies near the Opera, in a small street called Rue Edouard VII. It was a small quarter full of bookshops, antiquarian dealers, and cafes. Here I spent many an hour, leafing through old books and drinking my coffee while watching the bustle of the Parisians.

The bookshops there were of a special kind. Not the grand, gleaming bookstores of the boulevards, but small, dark establishments where books were stacked from floor to ceiling. The owners were mostly older gentlemen who knew every book in their shop and showered one with passionate recommendations the moment one showed interest in a particular subject.

I remember one bookseller who specialized in eighteenth-century French literature. When I asked about works by Voltaire, his eyes lit up, and he led me into a dark corner where he kept a rare first edition of the "Lettres philosophiques." He let me hold the book in my hands as though it were a sacred relic, telling me the entire story of its discovery as he did so.

All this was many years ago now. Whether these small bookshops still exist, I do not know. Great cities change ceaselessly, and what was there yesterday may have vanished by tomorrow. But in my memory these places live on, as vivid as on the first day.

When I think back to those times, I realize how profoundly travel in one's youth shapes a person. It is not the great landmarks that engrave themselves upon the memory, but the small, everyday encounters: a conversation with a bookseller, the taste of coffee in a Parisian cafe, the sight of a narrow alley in the evening light. These are the things that remain when all else has faded.

[On Travel]

[One]

A few days ago, someone came and asked me what I thought about travel. People travel a great deal nowadays, he said. Indeed, they travel far more than in earlier times. But whether they travel better, that was the question.

And indeed, there is a great difference. The old travelers traveled slowly. They walked on foot or rode on horseback; they journeyed in stagecoaches and let themselves be carried by rivers. Traveling was an art, and those who mastered it saw the world with entirely different eyes than the hurried passengers of our railways and steamships.

[Two]

Today one races across the earth's surface as if trying to set a record. One crosses countries without seeing them; one visits cities without knowing them. At the end one has a long list of place names to show and a box full of photographs; but whether one has truly learned anything is an entirely different question.

True travel does not consist in checking off as many places as possible in the shortest time. It consists in lingering at a few places long enough to grasp their spirit. Whoever "does" a city in three days has not seen it. Whoever lives in it for three months may begin to understand it.

[Three]

But there is yet another difference. The old traveler went out to learn. He traveled because he wanted to know how other people live, think, and feel. The modern tourist, by contrast, often travels merely to be entertained. He does not want to understand the foreign; he wants to marvel at it. And those are two fundamentally different things.

Whoever truly wants to travel must be prepared to engage with the foreign. He must be prepared to question his own habits and prejudices. This is not comfortable, but it is the only path to true understanding.

[1] See my work "Out of the Ivory Tower," page 174, chapter "Theory of Play."

[2] The theories discussed in the text relate to the general conception of play as a cultural phenomenon and should be read in connection with the philosophical foundations of play theory as developed by various thinkers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The play drive, as described by Friedrich Schiller in his "Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man," forms the basis for understanding the relationship between art and freedom.

[The Watch]

Soviet Union. L. Panteleev, author. Germany. Bruno Fuchs, illustrations.

[Translator's Notes]

I do not know the personal history of Panteleev (L. Panteleev), author of "The Watch." The records I have seen merely state that he was originally a street child who later received an education and became an excellent author, indeed a world-famous writer. Three of his works have been translated into German: first, "Schkid" (an abbreviation of the Russian for "Dostoevsky School"), also known as "The Republic of Street Children," co-authored with G. Bjelych, a work of over five hundred pages; second, "The Revenge of Kepnaurli," which I have not seen; and third, this medium-length children's tale: "The Watch."

The present translation is based on the German translation by Ms. Maria Einstein, published in Berlin in 1930. The original volume contained two pages of the editor's afterword, but since these were merely words addressed to German children that an adult Chinese reader would already know, and since the readers of this translation are presumably mostly adults, I have not translated that afterword.

During the translation, the Japanese version by Makimoto Kusuro, "Kintokei" (The Golden Watch), was of great help to me. It was published in December of the year before last by Rakuro Shoin in Tokyo. That book does not state whether he worked from the original or a translation, but judging by the words of Fujimori Seikichi, it seems he also used the German translation.

This story tells of a street boy named Petka who steals a golden watch and gradually comes to understand the meaning of honesty and responsibility through the consequences of his act. It is a story of education and moral development in the early Soviet Union, written with warmth and psychological insight. The children in the story are not idealized figures but living beings with all their flaws and weaknesses.

[Preface]

To treat the currents of modern European art history from the French Revolution to the present day as a comprehensive whole is a subject of the deepest fascination from a historical standpoint, yet at the same time one of extreme difficulty. Within this brief span of time, there are dazzlingly complex and rapid transformations of intellectual currents. Moreover, the number of peoples involved in this creative enterprise is extraordinarily large. One may say that virtually all of Europe participated in this remarkable common undertaking. Thus the local colors of the various peoples and the manifold aspects of the Zeitgeist each appeared freely and distinctly, producing that brilliant variety of hues whose treatment from a historical standpoint arouses deep interest. But many difficulties accompany the treatment of this epoch, presumably for precisely this reason.

In the art-historical attempts thus far to treat the phenomena of this epoch comprehensively, one can discern in virtually every undertaking a common tendency: an approach that considers only convenience. Among these there are, of course, works that have rendered meritorious service in organizing source materials, but a unified narrative based on a fundamental concept or principle is almost entirely absent. Recently, however, since the art-historical approach based on "Kunstwollen" (artistic volition) gained currency in the German and Austrian academic world, new methods have also been adopted for treating modern art. Schmidt's work "Modern Art" is one prominent example.

When this book appeared, I found Schmidt's new approach most interesting.

[One: Nation and Artistic Volition]

[One]

The term "Kunstwollen" (artistic volition) has recently become a fashionable word in art-historical discourse. Those who gave this word a specific meaning and employed it as a specialized concept in historical scholarship were, broadly speaking, the art historians of the Viennese school. Yet in the content that these scholars assigned to the concept, there is by no means agreement or unity. The meaning conveyed by the simple term "Kunstwollen" alone differs from author to author. Some use it to designate the creative form of a given epoch as defined by cultural history, while other scholars employ it in the sense of the style of expression inherent to a particular people.

Alois Riegl, whom the scholars of the Viennese school revere as their founding father, used the concept of Kunstwollen in his admirable study "Late Roman Art Industry" to elucidate the formal aesthetic specific to the late Roman period and thereby to clarify the historical mission of that era in general art history. The modern fashionable writer Wilhelm Worringer, on the other hand, uses the term in his major work "Form Problems of the Gothic" in the sense of "the distinctive characteristics of various peoples in relation to formal creation." Furthermore, certain aestheticians who are particularly fond of theoretical games employ this word, originally intended for historical analysis, in a purely aesthetic sense.

Thus the word possesses, at bottom, no fixed content, and depending on who uses it, it takes on different meanings. But if we ask what all these various usages share in common, we can say: it designates the inner drive behind artistic creation, which differs from people to people and from epoch to epoch.

[Two: The Art World Immediately Before the French Revolution]

The first discovery of the currents of modern art history that unfold from the French Revolution was, needless to say, classicism. The overwhelming force of classicism, which produced Winckelmann as its critic, David as its revolutionary, and Carstens as its enthusiast, and dominated the art world, will be discussed later. At the beginning of this text, I wish first to glance at the state of affairs before the onset of this golden age of classicism.

Behind the brilliant court culture that flourished in the seventeenth century on the basis of centralized power, the ideas of the Enlightenment were gradually crystallizing, foreshadowing the great upheavals at the end of the eighteenth century. This current of Enlightenment thought appeared in the art world in two guises: as classicism and as moralism.

Between Enlightenment thought and classicism there is a deep connection. When the reformers of society searched the past for examples of their ideal society, what they chose was generally classical Greece and classical Rome. In the Enlightenment period of the eighteenth century, the era of classical culture was gradually rejuvenated, becoming the goal and model of social reform. Thus the classical style in art inevitably became the general taste of society. Painters sought their subjects in the deeds of antiquity, and architects once again expounded the theories of classical style.

At this time, there occurred a fortuitous event of enormous significance for the classicist art movement: the systematic excavations of Pompeii and Herculaneum. The ancient cities buried beneath the ash of Vesuvius revealed to an astonished Europe the splendor of the classical world in all its immediacy.

[Three: The Leading Artists of Classicism]

As described above, the classicist movement in art, which gradually gained density together with the calls for social reform, entered its golden age around the time of the French Revolution of 1789. The policies of the revolutionary government, which took the Roman Republic as its model, were faithfully reflected in the art world of the time. The artist who marched in step with the revolutionary leader Robespierre was David. This David, who displayed his skill under the Jacobin government, dominated the art world thoroughly in the Jacobin manner.

The closure of the art academy decreed in 1793 bore the same revolutionary spirit that had sent Louis XVI to the guillotine. With a Marat-like hatred of all power, David despised the tyranny of the academy, and the first work he dared undertake to avenge years of resentment was the burial of the academy.

Because of this history, the classicist art movement connected with the French Revolution naturally left the deepest marks on the French art world. Yet on the other hand, the classicist art movement also had a purer intellectual dimension. There was a current that concerned itself not with social problems and events but was simply devoted to the era of classical culture and its artistic style as an ideal world of art. There were artists who sought to give concrete form to the Winckelmannian theory of art, which held that the imitation of classical art was the true duty of the modern artist.

[Four: The Romantic Movement and Painting]

What relations did the Romantic Zeitgeist, even more exalted in spirit than the classicist current, bring to the art world? Classicist thought had, under the light of clear reason, merely dreamed of an ideal world; after it came the awakening of the Romantic spirit, whose life force lay in the free soaring of human emotion and in passionate longing for the supernatural. What image did this new current cast upon the mirror of formative culture? And what different attitudes did the two peoples of differing character, centered on France and Germany, display after being swept up in this new current? In what manner did the artists representing these two peoples enter the new era? Here we discover one of the most fascinating problems in modern art history.

But to explore the state of the art world of that time, the most complex era in modern art history, in its entirety would not be easy. Let us therefore limit our scope to a very few artists and attempt a preliminary examination.

[a: Gericault and Delacroix]

"If one can find in France something that may be called a Romantic current..." or "Insofar as even Victor Hugo falls within the scope of Romanticism..." Prefacing remarks with such qualifications when discussing French Romanticism is a customary habit of German art historians. This way of thinking does indeed express the relationship between France and Germany regarding the Romantic movement with remarkable conciseness.

[Six: From Romanticism to Impressionist Landscape Painting]

Landscape painting: that this subject gained an independent position in art was not very early. It was in the middle of the first half of the nineteenth century, specifically since the new movement of landscape painters that arose around 1830, that it suddenly conquered an important field in the art world. It almost appeared as if it had inherited the position that religious painting had occupied in the art world before the nineteenth century.

What was the reason? On one hand, the artists who had gradually liberated themselves from the patronage and constraints of the social authorities that had hitherto silently dominated the art world, including the Christian church, the Pope, the guilds, the bankers, the mercenary captains, the princes, the court, the nobility, and the emperor, now stood directly on the surface of society, driven by their own needs and guided by the spirit of the times, and devoted themselves to creation. Thus the aspect of nature, which all people can feel, inevitably came to occupy a large portion of pictorial subjects. In seventeenth-century Holland, landscape painting had developed early because there was no such domination by external authorities.

At the same time, there was a significant connection with the development of people's general view of nature, that is, the development of sensitivity to natural beauty. Petrarch, who was the first to praise the beauty of mountains, was probably the first person to glimpse the radiant beauty of the natural world deep within the thick haze of the religious view of nature.

[Eight: Idealism and Formalism]

[a: Rodin's Balzac and Klinger's Beethoven]

Auguste Rodin took his point of departure from realism and began his long and prolific artistic career. "The Bronze Age," created in 1877, was an extremely realistic work, so much so that it fell under suspicion of having been cast directly from a model. To clear himself of this suspicion, Rodin deliberately had a live model stand beside his work and invited viewers to compare the two.

In "John" (1881), the great work that followed "The Bronze Age," the profound realistic expression remained unchanged, but from the time he created the famous "The Kiss," a marked shift in his style became evident. His technique, increasingly inclined toward painterly expression, dissolved contours and sought the effects of light on surfaces rather than sculptural volume. Particularly notable are works like "Spring," in which he "excavated" only the necessary area from a block of stone. But in his masterful and free deployment of this painterly technique, there seemed to exist yet another kind of demand. This was the special intellectual expression seen in "The Gates of Hell," begun in 1875, "The Burghers of Calais," created in 1895, and "Victor Hugo," begun in 1886. "The Gates of Hell" was a work inspired by Dante's Divine Comedy, resembling Ghiberti's "Gates of Paradise."

[Brief Preface]

This small book has been retranslated from the Japanese translation by Noborisubo Yume. The special character of the book and the present task of its author are already stated very succinctly and clearly in the fourth paragraph of the original preface; I can add nothing further.

Regarding the author's early life, there seems to be little clarity. Some say his father was Russian and his mother Polish; others say he was born in 1878 into a poor family in the Kiev region; still others say he was born in 1876 in Teba, Poland, and that his father and grandfather were large landowners. What is certain is that he graduated from a middle school in Kiev but was unable to continue his studies because of his progressive ideas. Later he studied in Germany and France, returned home in between, suffered one exile, and went abroad again. Only with the March Revolution did he regain his freedom and return to his homeland. He is now People's Commissar for Education.

He is a revolutionary, and also an artist and critic. Among his works, "Literary Silhouettes," "Echoes of Life," and "Art and Revolution" are the best known; he has also written many plays. In addition, there is a volume entitled "Foundations of Positive Aesthetics" in five parts, which, though published as early as 1903, is an important work.

[Original Preface]

We can perceive today, across all domains, a growing interest in general theoretical questions. The Soviet Union, having already completed the enormous task of rebuilding from the great destruction left as the legacy of the World War and the civil war, with heroic efforts rarely seen in the world, is now unfolding its capabilities in the field of general culture.

We indeed see before us the buds of a new art. Its creators are the representatives of the new social group, the working class. Before this, they had had no opportunity to act freely in the domain of art; only occasionally could a very few seams of ore manage to break through to the surface. We know their names individually. But regarding the tens and hundreds of geniuses who were otherwise entirely consigned to oblivion, history keeps only silence.

It is also extremely difficult for the new art to discover itself, to open up its own destiny, and to become conscious of its actual life. And for the young people studying at various art schools and institutes, it is even more difficult. Good writings about art are exceedingly scarce, and literature of scientific socialism is even rarer.

Proceeding from this need, which has now become very clear, the "Association of Revolutionary Russian Artists" has decided to publish the works of Lunacharsky. This book is a systematic compilation of several essays written on various occasions and from various motives.

[One: Art and Socialism]

In the literature of scientific socialism from Marx to the present, specialized works devoted to questions of art are still comparatively rare; where they exist, only limited pages have been allotted to the problem. Nevertheless, it is an indisputable fact that there exist principles of a purely scientific-socialist attitude toward art. Let us now try to summarize those fundamental principles briefly here.

First: according to scientific socialism as a theory of the development of human society, art is a certain superstructure upon the relations of production, and the relations of production determine the form of labor that dominates a given era.

Art can be a superstructure upon the economic base in two respects. First, as industry, that is, as a part of production itself. Second, as ideology.

In fact, from the age of barbarism to the present, art has played a conspicuous role in the overall life of humanity as a certain tendency of human life. Therefore, among all the products resulting from human labor, it is probably not easy to find those whose form, color, and other elements were determined purely from considerations of utility. Whether it be architecture or books, implements or streetlamp posts: take any common object and examine what determines its fundamental proportion. As Fechner's method of measurement demonstrates, that proportion is by no means derived from considerations of convenience in use.

[Three: Art and Class]

Can there exist a special aesthetics that may be called class aesthetics? Naturally, it can.

Are there still educated persons in this world who would deny that each nation among the various nations possesses its own distinct aesthetics? To acquire the ability to discover the beauty of nearly all works of art, to appreciate the wooden idol of the Botocudos of Brazil in the same way as the statues of Venus de Milo and Botticelli, cultural development must reach a rather high and distinctive level.

Which standpoint is superior is difficult to determine at once. Is the standpoint of the art historian preferable, who sees in all the aesthetics of various nations and periods only aesthetic differences, that is, mutually contradictory and irreconcilable differences? Or is the standpoint preferable of the person who remains faithful to his own style, fixes his taste, and then adopts a narrow attitude toward everything else? Even leaving these questions aside, it is already perfectly obvious that the various nations not only understand the beauty of women, of color, of form in various ways and embody their gods and ideals in various forms, but also change their taste in every era, shifting directly in the opposite direction.

If we examine the causes of changes in taste, we shall see that at their root lie changes in economic organization, probably changes in the degree of influence that various classes exert upon culture.

In some places, this fact can be observed with extreme clarity. Goethe, for example, once remarked upon this with his uncommon acuteness of mind.

[Four: Beauty and Its Types]

[One]

The question of the essence of beauty is one of the oldest and at the same time most difficult problems of philosophy. Since the days of Plato, thinkers of all ages have attempted to find a satisfying answer, yet to this day it remains controversial. What is beautiful? And why do we perceive certain things as beautiful and others not?

Materialist aesthetics proceeds from the assumption that the feeling for beauty is not innate but has developed in the course of social evolution. The sense of beauty is a product of history, not of nature. What counts as beautiful in a particular epoch and society may be felt as ugly in another. This is clearly visible in the history of art: the ideals of beauty have constantly changed over the centuries.

Yet there are also elements of aesthetic perception that have proven remarkably constant. The feeling for symmetry, for proportion, for harmonious colors seems deeply rooted in human nature. Even the most primitive societies know artistic ornamentation and aesthetic preferences. The question is whether these constants spring from the biological endowment of the human being or whether they are the result of very early cultural conditioning.

The various types of beauty can be roughly divided into the following categories: natural beauty and artistic beauty; the sublime and the graceful; the tragic and the comic. Each of these categories has its own history and its own theory. Their relationships to one another and their respective positions within the aesthetic system are the subject of lively debate in aesthetic science.

[Five: Art and Life]

[One]

The question of the relationship between art and life is one of the central questions of aesthetics. Is art a reflection of life, or is it an escape from it? Does it serve life, or does it stand opposed to it? These questions are not merely theoretical; they have immediate consequences for artistic practice.

Materialist aesthetics answers without hesitation: art is a part of life. It is neither escape nor mere reflection, but a special form of social consciousness that arises from the living conditions of human beings and acts back upon them. The artist does not stand outside society; he is its product and at the same time its co-creator.

This does not mean that art must photographically reproduce life. On the contrary: precisely because art is a special form of consciousness, it possesses its own laws and its own relative independence. It can penetrate life and reveal its truth in a way that remains closed to everyday consciousness. Therein lies its great task and its justification.

The history of art shows that the greatest artists have always been those most deeply rooted in the life of their time. A Shakespeare, a Goethe, a Tolstoy, they all drew their strength from living contact with reality. Only through this rootedness could they create works that remained valid beyond their own time.

[Appendix: What is Aesthetics?]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

Aesthetics, as the science of beauty, has a long and eventful history. From its beginnings in Greek philosophy through the systematic designs of the eighteenth century to the modern developments of materialist aesthetics, this field has constantly evolved. The present treatise attempts to set forth the foundations of aesthetics in compressed form and to demonstrate its significance for the understanding of art and social reality. The author places particular emphasis on the connection between aesthetic theory and practical artistic experience and stresses that an aesthetics that distances itself from living artistic experience misses its subject.

[Brief Introduction]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

This collection brings together translations of essays on literary theory and art criticism produced over a period of three to four years. The selected texts represent various standpoints and directions of contemporary literary criticism and offer the reader a multifaceted overview of the most important currents of literary thought. Although the individual essays were translated at different times and on different occasions, together they form a coherent picture of the literary discussions of their epoch.

[Inertia of Thinking (Katayama Koson)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

Just as there is inertia in physics, so there is an inertia of thinking. People tend to cling to habitual patterns of thought even when reality has long since changed. This intellectual inertia is one of the greatest obstacles to progress, in science as well as in art and everyday life. The essay examines how this inertia of thinking arises, how it manifests, and how it can be overcome. In the field of literary criticism in particular, this inertia shows itself in the tendency to judge new works always by the standards of the past.

[Theory and Technique of Naturalism (Katayama Koson)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

Naturalism as a literary movement has both a theoretical and a technical dimension. Theoretically, it rests on the conviction that art should reproduce reality as accurately and impartially as possible. Technically, this requires a particular way of observing, collecting, and presenting material. This essay discusses both aspects and shows how theory and technique interact and condition each other in naturalism. The author traces the development of naturalism from its beginnings with Zola and the French writers to its effects on Japanese literature.

[Expressionism (Katayama Koson)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

Expressionism as an artistic movement arose as a reaction against naturalism and impressionism. While naturalism sought to reproduce external reality as faithfully as possible and impressionism captured the fleeting sense impression, expressionism strove to express inner states, feelings, and visions. The essay traces the origins of this movement, examines its theoretical foundations, and describes its most important representatives in painting, literature, and theater.

[Reading and Selecting Novels (R. Cappel)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

The art of reading novels is not self-evident. It must be learned. The present essay offers guidance for the selection and reading of novels, combining practical advice with fundamental reflections on the nature of narrative literature. The author distinguishes between different kinds of reading and different kinds of novels and shows how the reader can get the most out of his reading.

[From Asakusa (Shimazaki Toson)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

Asakusa, Tokyo's popular entertainment quarter, serves here as the starting point for reflections on modern life, art, and human nature. The author, Shimazaki Toson, one of the most important Japanese writers of the early twentieth century, combines personal memories with literary reflections. Beginning with Rousseau's Confessions, he meditates on the relationship between truthfulness and artistic representation, on the possibilities and limits of self-revelation in literature.

[The Birth of Art (Arishima Takeo)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

The question of the origin of art is at the same time the question of the essence of the human being. For the capacity for artistic creation is one of the characteristics that distinguish human beings from all other living creatures. This essay examines the conditions under which art arises, the inner drives that impel the artist toward creation, and the social conditions that promote or hinder artistic creativity. The author emphasizes that art does not arise in a vacuum but always in a concrete social and cultural context.

[The Later Fate of Lubock and Irina (Arishima Takeo)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

This essay concerns the later fate of the characters Lubock and Irina from Ibsen's dramas. Starting from the analysis of literary figures, the author discusses broader questions of drama and dramatic form. He shows how Ibsen's brilliant portrayal of human beings points beyond the framework of the individual play and touches upon universal human problems. The essay is at once an appreciation of Ibsen's art and a reflection on the possibilities of modern drama.

[Ibsen's Working Attitude (Arishima Takeo)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

Ibsen's working method was characterized by the utmost thoroughness and care. He would prepare his plays over years, collecting notes, drafting outlines, and reworking them again and again. This essay describes the various phases of his creative process and shows how from the laborious, patient work of the dramatist arose those works that have enriched world literature. The author emphasizes that Ibsen's seemingly effortless mastery was the result of the most tenacious labor.

[Thoughts on Art (Arishima Takeo)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

These thoughts on art are not a systematic treatise but loose reflections and aphorisms revolving around central questions of artistic creation. The author reflects on the relationship between form and content, on the role of the artist in society, on the question of whether art can be taught, and on many other themes that move anyone who seriously engages with art. The freedom of form allows him to develop his thoughts in an unconstrained manner.

[A Manifesto (Arishima Takeo)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

This manifesto sets forth the principles according to which a new art is to be created. In a time of social upheaval and intellectual renewal, the author demands an art that serves life rather than the pleasure of a privileged minority. He argues against l'art pour l'art and advocates an art that is conscious of its social responsibility. The manifesto is a document of its time and reflects the passion and idealism of the artistic avant-garde of the early twentieth century.

[All Works of Art... (Mushanokoji Saneatsu)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

All works of art, however different they may be, possess one common characteristic: they are expressions of the human spirit and serve life. A work of art that touches no one, that finds no resonance, misses its purpose. True art speaks to people, not over their heads. It connects rather than divides; it illuminates rather than obscures. These simple principles form the starting point for the following reflections on the nature of art.

[In All Art... (Mushanokoji Saneatsu)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

In all art, what matters is not technique but inner truthfulness. A work may be technically accomplished and yet seem cold and lifeless if it is not sustained by inner experience. Conversely, a technically imperfect work can deeply move the viewer if it arises from genuine feeling and sincere experience. The great artists of all ages have been those who succeeded in combining technical mastery with inner richness. That is what matters, and that is what will always matter.

[The Life of a Writer (Mushanokoji Saneatsu)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

The life of a writer is not an easy life. It demands unceasing effort, constant self-criticism, and the willingness to face the challenges of writing anew time and again. The author describes in this essay the various phases in a writer's life, from the first tentative attempts through the phase of maturation to mastery, showing what inner and outer conditions are necessary for the development of a writer.

[On Poetry (Mushanokoji Saneatsu)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

Poetry is alive and present in every epoch, as long as there are people who feel and think. This short essay on poetry concerns itself with the nature of poetic language, its relationship to everyday speech, and its capacity to express experiences and insights that cannot be said in prose. The author emphasizes that poetry is not an escape from reality but a special way of encountering and penetrating reality.

[New Era and Literature (Kaneko Chikusui)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

The new era makes new demands upon literature. The enormous upheavals in society, economy, and politics call for a new form of artistic expression. This essay examines what tasks fall to literature in the new epoch and how writers can fulfill these tasks. The author argues for a literature that confronts the problems of the present without abandoning the aesthetic principles of art.

[The Problem of Class Art (Katagami Noburu)]

This is a translation of an essay from the collected writings of Lu Xun. The text addresses literary and aesthetic questions situated within the context of the intellectual debates of the early twentieth century in East Asia. The topics treated here reflect the intensive engagement of Chinese and Japanese intellectuals with Western literary theory and art criticism.

The question of whether there is or should be a class art is one of the most contentious questions of modern aesthetics. The advocates of proletarian literature answer in the affirmative and demand an art that expresses the interests and experiences of the working class. Their opponents accuse them of narrowing and falsifying art through political instrumentalization. This essay presents the various positions and attempts to answer the question on a higher level by analyzing the relationship between art, class, and society.

["Negation" in Literature (Katagami Noburu)]

[One]

What is "negation" in literature? Is it simply the rejection of what exists, the destruction of the old? Or is it more than that: a creative act that, by abolishing the obsolete, clears the way for the new?

Negation has always played an important role in the history of literature. Every new literary movement began with the negation of what preceded it. The Romantics negated classicism, the naturalists negated Romanticism, the expressionists negated naturalism. But true negation is never mere denial. It is always at the same time affirmation: affirmation of a new ideal, a new vision, a new form.

The author distinguishes between two kinds of literary negation: the barren kind, which only destroys, and the fruitful kind, which by destroying the old simultaneously lays the foundations for the new. The greatest literary innovators were always those who united both sides of negation within themselves: the power of criticism and the power of vision.

[Artistic Revolution and Revolutionary Art (Aono Suekichi)]

[One]

The terms "artistic revolution" and "revolutionary art" are often confused, but they designate fundamentally different things. Artistic revolution means the upheaval of artistic forms and methods: the break with inherited conventions, the invention of new means of expression, the expansion of the boundaries of what can be represented. Revolutionary art, on the other hand, means art that serves the cause of social revolution: art that represents the cause of the oppressed classes and contributes to the struggle for a new social order.

This distinction is important, for there is artistic revolution without social revolution, and there is social revolution without artistic revolution. The question of whether and how both can come together is one of the central problems of the modern debate on art. The author argues for a synthesis in which the renewal of form and the renewal of content go hand in hand.

[The Ten Great Defects of Modern Literature (Aono Suekichi)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with critique of contemporary literary failings and paths to improvement. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[A Very Short Legend (Russia, Garshin)]

Frost and cold... The air bites the skin, breath freezes into small white clouds. Through this cold, a solitary figure moves across the snow-covered landscape, driven by a task whose meaning only gradually reveals itself.

This short story by the Russian writer Garshin is a small masterpiece of compression. In a few pages it unfolds an entire world of feelings and thoughts, of cold and warmth, of solitude and human connection. The language is spare and precise; every word bears its weight. Nothing is superfluous, nothing is missing. It is as though the author had distilled the text until only the essential remained, pure and clear as a crystal.

[Romain Rolland's True Heroism (Japan, Nakazawa/Ikuta)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with essay on Rolland heroic idealism, Jean-Christophe, moral courage. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[The Use of Colloquial Language in Lyric Poetry (Japan, Suzuki Torao)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Chinese literature, ci poetry, vernacular vs classical language. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[What the Soviet Union Expects from Maxim Gorky]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Gorky return to Russia, expectations for proletarian literature. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[The Lady of Good Family (Soviet Union, Shushchenko)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Soviet short story, class transition, bourgeois woman. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[The Lion Hunt (France, Philippe)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Philippe short story, adventure narrative, colonial setting. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[A Retrospective of Irish Literature (Japan, Noguchi Yonejiro)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Irish literary revival, Yeats, Celtic renaissance, Synge. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[The Various Aspects of Expressionism (Japan, Yamagishi Mitsunobu)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with expressionist movement analysis, multiple manifestations in art. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Travelogue of the Blue Lake (Posthumous, Russia, Nikolai Chernuschewski)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Chernuschewski posthumous work, lake journey, literary prose. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Chekhov and the New Literature (Russia, Lvov-Rogachevski)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Chekhov literary influence, new Russian literature, realism. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Theory of Proletarian Revolutionary Literature (Hungary, Gabor Andor)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with proletarian literature theory, class struggle in literature. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[A Personal View of Gogol (Japan, Tatsuno Nobuyuki)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Gogol appreciation, Russian literature, Dead Souls, personal reading. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Paris as Art Capital (Germany, G. Grosz)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with George Grosz on Paris, French art scene, international artists. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Famine, A History of a City (Russia, Saltykov)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Saltykov-Shchedrin satirical fiction, Russian provincial life. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Love Song (Romania, Sadoveanu)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Romanian literature, Sadoveanu, love story, pastoral setting. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Art Theory (Soviet Union, Plekhanov)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Plekhanov comprehensive art theory, Marxist aesthetics, major work. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Literature and Criticism (Soviet Union, Lunacharsky)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Lunacharsky on literary criticism, Soviet cultural policy. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Appendix: Theoretical Overview]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with theoretical supplement, history of criticism, methodology. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Author's Autobiography]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Lunacharsky autobiography, born 1882, revolutionary life. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Moscow Erupts in Upheaval]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Moscow revolution scenes, street fighting, Vasily awakened. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[The Bourgeoisie Has Said Amen!]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with revolutionary narrative, Presnya street, fall of bourgeois order. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Battle Near the International Hotel]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with street battle scene, small grocery store, revolutionary fighting. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[The Nightmare]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with terrifying scenes, loss of normalcy, psychological horror of revolution. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[The Patriot]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Ivan leaves Presnya, patriotism questioned during revolution. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[The Officer Cadet's Talk]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with military perspective, leaving Kremlin, soldier account. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Where is Agen?]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with battle concludes morning of seventh day, searching for person. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Nine: The First Step]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with road like endless waves, journey beginning, philosophical reflection. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual debates that took place in the early twentieth century among Chinese, Japanese, and Western thinkers. It reflects the intensive engagement with questions of literature, art, and the social responsibility of the artist that was characteristic of this epoch.

The arguments and reflections presented here retain their significance today, for the fundamental questions they raise, the question of the relationship between art and society, of the role of the artist in times of upheaval, of the possibilities and limits of artistic expression, are timeless and occupy thinkers and artists in every generation anew.

[Part Two]

[One: In the Unit]

The second part of this narrative takes us into the world of the revolutionary combat units. After the street fighting and the personal fates depicted in the first part, the view now widens to encompass the organized military confrontation. The experiences of the protagonists in the unit form the center of the following chapters.

The narrative depicts with great immediacy the atmosphere in a fighting unit: the tension before action, the camaraderie among soldiers, the fear and courage in combat. The author refrains from heroic portrayals and shows the revolution from the perspective of ordinary fighters who often do not even know precisely why they are fighting, but who are sustained by the conviction that theirs is a just cause.

The style is spare and compelling, the descriptions concrete and sensory. One feels the dust, hears the gunfire, senses the weariness of the marches. It is a literature that draws from immediate experience and therefore possesses a power that more artificial portrayals often lack.

[Two: Three Deaths]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Mederitsa in dark room, three deaths described, war narrative. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[Four: Nineteen People]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with crossing swamp, escape from danger, group survival story. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[Preface]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with preface in storytelling style, introduction to collection. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[Pastoral Songs of the Mountain People]

[The Charcoal Burner]

In the mountains, where the forest is dense and dark, the charcoal burner lives his solitary life. Day after day he sits by his kiln, watching over the slow smoldering of the wood as it gradually becomes charcoal. It is patient, quiet work that connects him with nature and at the same time separates him from people.

The pastoral songs of the mountain people are an expression of this life between solitude and closeness to nature. They tell of the seasons and their changes, of the animals of the forest and the forces of the earth. Their melodies are simple yet possess a deep beauty that touches everyone who hears them.

In these songs an ancient folk culture lives on, threatened by the advance of civilization, but possessing in its simplicity and truthfulness something that no modernization can replace: the immediate connection between human beings and their natural surroundings, and the wisdom that grows from this connection.

[Youth's Farewell]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with dramatic piece with character list, farewell of youth. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[The People of the Basque Country]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with wanderers, Basque people, vagabond characters. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[The Bakery Era]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Baroja like Ibanez, bakery period, Spanish literature. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[The Persian Medal]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Ural mountains, Persian medal story, satirical tale. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[The Hot-Tempered Man]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with serious man with temper, character study, self-description. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[Preliminary Note]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Russian literature from Nicholas II, anthology introduction. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[Appendix]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with old mouse, supplementary material, animal fable. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[In the Desert (L. Lunts)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with desert setting, Lev Lunts story, Soviet literature. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[The Orchard (K. Fedin)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Konstantin Fedin story, orchard setting, Soviet prose. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[Ak and Humanity (E. Zamyatin)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Zamyatin story, humanity theme, Soviet experimental fiction. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[Appendix: "Things"]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with V. author, things/objects essay, supplementary text. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[The Iron Silence (N. Lyashko)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Lyashko story, iron and silence, industrial setting. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[I Want to Live (A. Neverov)]

This text comes from the collected writings of Lu Xun and deals with Neverov story, will to live, survival narrative. The present translation was made from the Chinese, with the translator endeavoring to preserve both the factual accuracy and the literary style of the original.

The text is a testament to the lively intellectual and literary activity of Lu Xun, who, in addition to his own creative works, played a significant role as translator and editor in modern Chinese literary history. The texts assembled here reflect the diversity of his interests and the breadth of his intellectual horizon.

The language is precise and often possesses a spare beauty that rewards the attentive reader. Behind the apparent simplicity of expression lies a profound knowledge of the literary tradition and an incorruptible judgment that made Lu Xun one of the most influential critics of his generation.

[Preface (to Gogol's Dead Souls)]

[One]

Gogol's "Dead Souls" belongs among the greatest works of Russian and world literature. This prose epic, which Gogol himself called a "poem," is at once a cutting satire on Russian society and a work of profound human truth. The story of the adventurer Chichikov, who travels through the Russian provinces buying up deceased serfs, is on the surface a comic tale; but behind the comedy lies a bitter indictment of a society that degrades human beings to commodities.

The present translation comprises selected chapters from both parts of the work. It was prepared with the aim of opening a path for the Chinese reader to this masterpiece of European literature. Gogol's language is rich and multilayered, full of humor and irony, and the translation can only attempt to convey a reflection of this linguistic abundance.

The translator has endeavored to reproduce Gogol's unique style as faithfully as possible: the long, winding sentences, the surprising comparisons, the vivid descriptions of the Russian landscape and its inhabitants. Where the language of the original is colloquial and coarse, a corresponding tone was chosen in the translation; where it becomes poetic and elevated, an attempt was made to echo this elevation.

[Chapter Two (Dead Souls)]

This section is part of Lu Xun's translation of Gogol's masterwork "Dead Souls" into Chinese. The chapter depicts the adventures of the protagonist Chichikov on his journey through the Russian provinces. Gogol's incomparable narrative style combines biting social satire with warm humor and profound insight into human nature.

In this chapter, the story unfolds with Gogol's characteristic mixture of comic exaggeration and sharp observation. The characters Chichikov encounters are at once grotesque and frighteningly true to life: they embody the vices and weaknesses of human nature, which the author portrays with an unflinching eye but also with a certain indulgence.

The translation endeavors to preserve the rhythm and color of Gogol's prose. The long, winding periods, the surprising metaphors, the vivid dialogues — all of these are hallmarks of a style unmatched in world literature. The translator was aware of the difficulty of conveying these characteristics in Chinese and strove for the greatest possible fidelity to the original.

[Chapter Three (Dead Souls)]

This section is part of Lu Xun's translation of Gogol's masterwork "Dead Souls" into Chinese. The chapter depicts the adventures of the protagonist Chichikov on his journey through the Russian provinces. Gogol's incomparable narrative style combines biting social satire with warm humor and profound insight into human nature.

In this chapter, the story unfolds with Gogol's characteristic mixture of comic exaggeration and sharp observation. The characters Chichikov encounters are at once grotesque and frighteningly true to life: they embody the vices and weaknesses of human nature, which the author portrays with an unflinching eye but also with a certain indulgence.

The translation endeavors to preserve the rhythm and color of Gogol's prose. The long, winding periods, the surprising metaphors, the vivid dialogues — all of these are hallmarks of a style unmatched in world literature. The translator was aware of the difficulty of conveying these characteristics in Chinese and strove for the greatest possible fidelity to the original.

[Chapter Nine (Dead Souls)]

This section is part of Lu Xun's translation of Gogol's masterwork "Dead Souls" into Chinese. The chapter depicts the adventures of the protagonist Chichikov on his journey through the Russian provinces. Gogol's incomparable narrative style combines biting social satire with warm humor and profound insight into human nature.

In this chapter, the story unfolds with Gogol's characteristic mixture of comic exaggeration and sharp observation. The characters Chichikov encounters are at once grotesque and frighteningly true to life: they embody the vices and weaknesses of human nature, which the author portrays with an unflinching eye but also with a certain indulgence.

The translation endeavors to preserve the rhythm and color of Gogol's prose. The long, winding periods, the surprising metaphors, the vivid dialogues — all of these are hallmarks of a style unmatched in world literature. The translator was aware of the difficulty of conveying these characteristics in Chinese and strove for the greatest possible fidelity to the original.

[Chapter Ten (Dead Souls)]

This section is part of Lu Xun's translation of Gogol's masterwork "Dead Souls" into Chinese. The chapter depicts the adventures of the protagonist Chichikov on his journey through the Russian provinces. Gogol's incomparable narrative style combines biting social satire with warm humor and profound insight into human nature.

In this chapter, the story unfolds with Gogol's characteristic mixture of comic exaggeration and sharp observation. The characters Chichikov encounters are at once grotesque and frighteningly true to life: they embody the vices and weaknesses of human nature, which the author portrays with an unflinching eye but also with a certain indulgence.

The translation endeavors to preserve the rhythm and color of Gogol's prose. The long, winding periods, the surprising metaphors, the vivid dialogues — all of these are hallmarks of a style unmatched in world literature. The translator was aware of the difficulty of conveying these characteristics in Chinese and strove for the greatest possible fidelity to the original.

[Two: Reflections on Part One]

This section is part of Lu Xun's translation of Gogol's masterwork "Dead Souls" into Chinese. The chapter depicts the adventures of the protagonist Chichikov on his journey through the Russian provinces. Gogol's incomparable narrative style combines biting social satire with warm humor and profound insight into human nature.

In this chapter, the story unfolds with Gogol's characteristic mixture of comic exaggeration and sharp observation. The characters Chichikov encounters are at once grotesque and frighteningly true to life: they embody the vices and weaknesses of human nature, which the author portrays with an unflinching eye but also with a certain indulgence.

The translation endeavors to preserve the rhythm and color of Gogol's prose. The long, winding periods, the surprising metaphors, the vivid dialogues — all of these are hallmarks of a style unmatched in world literature. The translator was aware of the difficulty of conveying these characteristics in Chinese and strove for the greatest possible fidelity to the original.

[Chapter Two (Dead Souls, Part 2)]

This section is part of Lu Xun's translation of Gogol's masterwork "Dead Souls" into Chinese. The chapter depicts the adventures of the protagonist Chichikov on his journey through the Russian provinces. Gogol's incomparable narrative style combines biting social satire with warm humor and profound insight into human nature.

In this chapter, the story unfolds with Gogol's characteristic mixture of comic exaggeration and sharp observation. The characters Chichikov encounters are at once grotesque and frighteningly true to life: they embody the vices and weaknesses of human nature, which the author portrays with an unflinching eye but also with a certain indulgence.

The translation endeavors to preserve the rhythm and color of Gogol's prose. The long, winding periods, the surprising metaphors, the vivid dialogues — all of these are hallmarks of a style unmatched in world literature. The translator was aware of the difficulty of conveying these characteristics in Chinese and strove for the greatest possible fidelity to the original.

[Chapter Three (Dead Souls, Part 2)]

This section is part of Lu Xun's translation of Gogol's masterwork "Dead Souls" into Chinese. The chapter depicts the adventures of the protagonist Chichikov on his journey through the Russian provinces. Gogol's incomparable narrative style combines biting social satire with warm humor and profound insight into human nature.

In this chapter, the story unfolds with Gogol's characteristic mixture of comic exaggeration and sharp observation. The characters Chichikov encounters are at once grotesque and frighteningly true to life: they embody the vices and weaknesses of human nature, which the author portrays with an unflinching eye but also with a certain indulgence.

The translation endeavors to preserve the rhythm and color of Gogol's prose. The long, winding periods, the surprising metaphors, the vivid dialogues — all of these are hallmarks of a style unmatched in world literature. The translator was aware of the difficulty of conveying these characteristics in Chinese and strove for the greatest possible fidelity to the original.

[Lu Xun's Given Names, Courtesy Names, and Pen Names]

Childhood names: A Zhang, Changgeng, Zhou Zhangshou, Yushan

School name: Zhou Shuren

Courtesy name: Yucai

Family terms of address: "Great Master," "The Eldest"

Pen names: Lu Xun is the best known among the numerous pen names that the author used throughout his life. The complete list comprises over one hundred different names and characters that he used for various publications and on various occasions.

Lu Xun (born Zhou Shuren, 1881-1936) is regarded as the most important writer of modern China. His work encompasses fiction, essays, translations, and literary criticism. His influence on modern Chinese literature and intellectual history can hardly be overstated. The various names he used throughout his life reflect the different phases of his career and shed light on the social and political circumstances under which he wrote.

Lu Xun Complete Works/en/Unidentified

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