The Complete Works of Xu Zhimo's Classical Prose

Chapter 16
I don't have a clear impression of her room, because she didn't allow me to remember the layout of the room when she talked with me. I only know that the room is very small, and a big bed occupies most of the room. The wall is framed with drawing paper, and there are several oil paintings hanging on it, probably also painted by the owner. She and I are sitting together on a sofa on the left side of the bed, next to the wall.She seemed to be much taller than me because I was leaning on her sitting, (the one in front of her was not low, really!) I suspected that the two lamps were covered with red, otherwise why would I think of that room? , Then think of the scene of "red candle high fever"!But the background is not very important after all, what is important is her who gives me the purest aesthetic feeling; she who makes me use the secret key God gave me to enter the kingdom of heaven; Added a treasure of her.But use untamed words to describe that night.For her, not to mention showing the essence of her personality, but just faithfully expressing my simple feelings at the time, I am afraid it would be difficult enough.Once upon a time, a man had a dream and went to play in heaven. He was extremely happy, and when he woke up the next day, he went to his friend's place and wanted to describe his miraculous dream.but!He stood in front of his friend, tongue-tied, unable to utter a word, because when he wanted to speak, he felt that the words and phrases he had learned that were applicable to the world could never express the scene of heaven he saw in his dream, and he was so angry Since then, I have not spoken, and then died of depression. At this time, I want to use words to vividly express a Manjufei, and I have almost the same feeling, but I would rather risk the crime of blasphemy than live like that honest gentleman. suffocate.Her dress is similar to that of her friend, Ms. B: shiny patent leather shoes, shiny green stockings, a red velvet apron, bright yellow chiffon blouse with a pointed neckline, a string of fine pearls on the chest, cuffs Only up to the elbow.Her hair is black, and it is also cut short like Miss B, but the style of her combed hair is something I have never seen in Europe and America. I suspect that she intends to imitate the Chinese style, because her hair is not only pure black And it is straight but not curly, with a neat circle, and the front is very smooth like the "bangs" we had more than ten years ago. Although I can't explain why, I feel that the beauty of her hair is the only one I have ever seen in my life.

As for the beauty and purity of her eyebrows, mouth and nose, I really can't express it exactly in case, as if you are looking at the masterpieces of nature, whether it is the lakes and mountains washed by the autumn moon, the colorful sunset, or the clear starry sky in Nanyang, or Is it a masterpiece of the art world, Pete Faffen's Qin Fannan, Waigner's Opella, Michelangelo's statue, Whistler's or Corot's painting; you just think Their overall beauty, pure beauty, complete beauty, beauty that cannot be analyzed, beauty that can be felt and cannot be said; you seem to have directly and unimpededly grasped the most brilliant will of creation, and you have experienced it in the greatest and deepest thorn. Unlimited joy, dissolving your soul in a larger personality, I saw Manshufeier's face like the purest jasper in India, and watched her gaze full of soul current, and felt her most peaceful The soft spring breeze-like demeanor, the total amount I can only call a whole beauty.She seems to be a transparent body, you are only amazed by her extreme clarity, but you can't see some impurities, that is, her gorgeous clothes, if others wear them, it may cause trivial criticism, but on her, you just feel appropriate Paste, like the green leaves of peonies, is just an indispensable foil. HM Tomlingson, a good friend of hers before her death, compared her pure and supernatural beauty with the eternal snow of the Alps Mountains. I think it is very meaningful. ;He said:

"Manjufeier is known for its beauty, but beauty is not enough to describe its truth. The world regards beauty as beautiful. Manjufeier is certainly lovable, but how can it escape the mortal atmosphere. It is as beautiful as snow on a high mountain, clear and heavy in the sky. Surprised, but the coolness can also be felt, the sun is covered with snow, and it turns into a splendor, which is also clearly recognizable, but it also seems that the realm of the gods is far away, not belonging to the world, Manshufeier's skin is as bright as pure teeth, his official beauty, his His eyes are black, his cheeks are plump, his hair ring is as neat as a paintbrush, and his demeanor is calm and quiet, with the brilliance of a Chinese and charming man, but not the appearance of a Western beauty. His body is especially young and graceful. If it is like the still flame of bright wax, like the innocence of morning stars, the speaker will not be surprised at the heavy turbidity of the breath of the leaves, but if it is quiet and faint, it will be apotheosis..."

Tang Linsheng also said that her sharp gaze seemed to penetrate directly into the depths of your spiritual mansion to reveal all the secrets you hold, so he said that she has a ghostly aura, a fairy aura, and she looks at you, not seeing your face She looks at the surface, but sees the bottom of your heart, but she is mostly spying on your inner essence, not purposeful searching, but just sympathetic and considerate.When you are in front of her, you will naturally feel that there is no need to be cautious with her; if you don't tell her, she knows it, and she won't be surprised if you tell her.She won't blame, she won't encourage, she won't praise, she won't give any ideas of material interests, she just listens silently, and after listening, she will tell you her own insights and truths that transcend good and evil.

This paragraph of in-depth words came out of a long-term friendship. Of course, I would not understand it after being close to her for only one, two, ten minutes, but I dare say from her godly gaze, these few words are not only possible, but extremely Appropriate.

So that night I sat with her on the blue velvet couch, the quiet light enveloping her wonderful whole body, as if I had been hypnotized, I just fell in love with her divine eyes, let her be as sharp as a sword Waves of light, waves of sound like music, flooded my spiritual palace like a violent tide and rain. Even if I had a conscious feeling at that time, it was just like Keats when he heard the cuckoo:

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk
……

"This not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thy happiness.”

The beauty of Manshfield's voice is another Miracle, each note trembling from her fragile vocal cords, all in my ears accustomed to the mundane world, revealing a kind of magical foreign land.It was as if stars appeared one after another in the blue sky.It's like listening to music. Although you have never heard it in your life, you always feel as if you have smelled it before, maybe in a dream, maybe in a previous life.Her words not only arouse the beauty of your hearing, but also seem to go straight to the bottom of your heart, caressing your unspoken pain, softening your half-cold and half-frozen hope, washing away the vulgar tiredness that hinders your soul, and increasing your spiritual happiness. Emotional; as if whispering in the ear of your soul the news of the fairy world that you can't even think about on weekdays.When I think about it at this time, I can't help feeling grateful and sad.Almost zero tears; she is gone, and her voice and smile have disappeared like a mirage. I can only imitate Abt Vogler's masturbation, devoutly believing:

Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist when eternity affirms the conception of an hour.
……

Enough that he heard it once; we shall hear it by a & by.
Manshfield, as I said before, is a tuberculosis patient. When I saw her, she had died within half a year. When she spoke that night, her voice was slightly higher, and her lungs were whistling like a pipe. .When she finished every sentence, she was always short of breath, and her cheeks became more rosy. At that time, I heard the sound of her weak lungs, and I felt sincerely sad, and at the same time, she was excited like a genius, But it forced her to raise her voice. The higher the voice, the more vivid the hoarseness of the lungs, and the rise and fall of the chest can be vaguely discerned. Poor!I had no choice but to lower my voice very much, hoping that she would also lower it, and it really worked, and she lowered it a lot, but soon she seemed to be stabbed by inner thoughts, repeating the high voice again and again. In the end, I couldn't bear to waste her precious energy because of this, and I also remembered Mai Lei's repeated warnings to W and S, so I resigned.In total, it took me only [-] minutes for her to stand at the door and see me off from the time I entered the room to when I left the room.

What I said to her was also very meaningful, but most of them were her criticisms of the most popular novelists in Britain at that time, such as Riberea West, Romer Wilson Hutchingson, Swinnerton, etc. I am afraid that most people are not familiar with that kind of concise comments Can not arouse considerable interest so omitted.McRae himself is one of the most educated middle-aged evaluators in the UK. He gave a lecture on "The Problem of Style" at Oxford University last year; An important contribution and he always praised Manshfield as a genius in evaluation, with an instinct to make sure what she said.So I'm going to skip her random talk of that night now, and I feel a little pity. She said that she had just returned from Switzerland, where she lived quite close to the Russells, and she often talked about Eastern benefits. So her original admiration for China has turned into a passion for admiration.She said that she loves to read Chinese poems translated by Arthur Waley, and she said that such art is really a Wonderful Revelation in the West.She said that the recent translation by Amy Lowell disappointed her, and here she used her favorite phrase "That's not the thing!" Chinese can translate well.

She asked me if I also wrote novels, and she asked which Chekhov's works China liked the most, how well they were translated, and who was the most influential.

She asked me which novels I like to read the most. I said Hardy and Condela. She shrugged her brows and said with a smile, "Isn't it! We have to go back to the old masters for good literature the real thing!"

She asked me what I planned to do when I went back to China, and she hoped that I would not get involved in politics. She angrily said that the modern political world, no matter which country, is just a mess of cruelty and crime.

Then talk about her own writing.I said her work is pure art, but I am afraid most people don't know it. She said: "That's just it. Then of course, popularity is never the thing for us."

I said that I might have the opportunity to try to read her novels in the future, and I would like to ask the author's permission first.She happily said that of course she would, fearing that her work would not be worth the effort of translation.

She hoped that I would return to Europe as soon as possible, and if I go to Switzerland to find her in the future, she said how much she loves the scenery of Switzerland, and how charming the lake is, I felt like I was rowing with her in the soft waves in the middle of the lake:

Clear, placid Leman!

 …Thy soft murmuring
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved.
That I with stern delights should ever have
been so moved…

At that time, I promised wholeheartedly that I would go to Switzerland to visit her when I came back to Europe.

In the end, I said that I was afraid that she was tired and hated the late meeting with her, but hoped that there would be a chance to see her again in the future. She walked me to the door of the room and said goodbye to me very sincerely...

Nearly a month ago, I learned that Manjufer had passed away in Fontainebleau, France. I had wanted to write this text for a long time, but I was always lazy. Until now, I didn’t know that it has changed her memorial text now. up!A poem attached below may express my grief more kindly.

Ayman Shufel
Last night I dreamed in the valley,
Listening to Zigui weeping blood among the lilies,

I dreamed of climbing the peak last night,
See a bright tear falling from the sky.

There is a cemetery in the western suburbs of Rome,

Zhi Luolan quietly covers the remains of Ke Shang's poem;
The wheel of the black chariot of Hades a hundred years later,
It also made a noise among Fangdan Buluo and Yuqing.

Said that the universe is a ruthless machine,
Why the ideal shines like a beacon;

It is said that good fortune is the creation of truth, goodness and beauty,
Why don't colorful rainbows always live in the sky?

I only met you once

But that twenty minutes of undead time!

Who can believe your fairy posture,
Has it been gone forever like morning dew?

No!Life is but a dream of reality;
Beautiful soul, eternally favored by God;
Staying here for 30 years is only for the occasional appearance of the epiphyllum,
In the tears, I want to see you return to the fairy palace with a smile.

Do you remember the London appointment, Manshfield,
This summer at the edge of Jennee Lake again;
Lake Geneva always embraces the snowy shadow of Mount Blanee,

Today, I look at the sky and cry a little.

When I first came to the news of life,

The dream feels like a sudden sense of the majesty of love;

The consciousness of life is the adulthood of love,
Now I am touched by death and the edge of life and love!

Sympathy is the unbreakable crystal,
Love is the only way to realize life;

Death is a great secret furnace in which

Condensing the gods that all things have come from.

How can I mourn like lightning flies,

Touched by the spirit of Tianmanshu?
I send my tears away to the wind,
When can the door of life and death be broken?

Originally published in September 1923, "Novel Monthly", Volume 5, No. 14

Tagore

I have a few words that I would like to take this opportunity to say to you gentlemen. I wonder if you will have the patience to listen.Mr. Tagore is leaving soon. He will leave Beijing in a few days, and China in a week or two.He probably won't come back after this visit.Maybe he will never be able to go to China again.

He is a 70-year-old man. Not only is he not healthy, but he is also sick.So when he wanted to come to China, not only his family members, relatives, friends, and doctors were unwilling to take the risk, even his friends in Europe, such as Romain Rolland from France, also sent letters to dissuade him.He himself hesitated for a long time. He often thought in his heart that if he came to China, he would not be able to benefit us. He thought that the Chinese have their own poets, thinkers, and educators, and they have their wisdom, genius, and mind. Wealth and nourishment, they don’t need external subsidies and thorns, I’m just a poet, I don’t have the gospel of a religionist, I don’t have the theory of a philosopher, and I don’t have the utility of a scientist or the talent of an engineer. What do they want me to do, why am I going, and what gifts do I have to bring to satisfy their expectations.He was really hesitant, so he postponed his trip.But he also told us that when the winter is over and the spring breeze blows (India’s spring breeze blows earlier than ours), he can’t help but feel a kind of inner compulsion. Facing the gradually growing grass and flowers, he can’t help Abandoned and forgotten his due duties, he couldn't help liberating his singing instinct, singing happily with the new songbirds in the soft south wind.At the same time, he received our letter of urging, and our young people looked forward to his sincerity and enthusiasm, which aroused the courage of the old man.He immediately made up his mind to come east.He said that while my limbs are not stiff in old age, and while my aging heart can still feel, I must never miss this last and only chance. This broad, calm, and humble nation, I have been determined to worship since I was young, and it will not be in the future at dusk. Withering melancholy in the silent realm, how can I use the light of the setting sun to fulfill the wish of my Jinxiang people?
That's why he decided to come east. He disregarded the dissuasion of his relatives and friends, the doctor's warning, and his own advanced age and illness. He also put aside all the tasks in his own country and trekked thousands of miles to China.

Since landing in Shanghai on April [-], the poor old man has never had half a full day of rest. Not to mention the exhaustion of traveling, there have been at least thirty or forty public speeches and conversations in smaller assemblies!His, we know, are not the lectures of professors, not the sermons of priests, his heart is not a warehouse of wares, his rhetoric is not the trumpet of textbooks.He is the flexible spring water, trembling beads from the heart of the earth come to the surface of the water tremblingly, they are all the essence of life; he is the roar of the waterfall, among the white clouds, in the green forest, in the crevices of stones, unstoppable Howling; he is the singing of Bailing, his joy, anger, and loud homophony, permeating the boundless clear sky.But he is tired.The wild singing all night has exhausted Shigui's energy, and the dawn in the east also illuminates a little bit of his hard work, dyeing the white dew on the rose branches red.

The old man is tired.In the past few days, he has not slept peacefully, and he has exhausted his limited energy.He pretty much lives off Sana Tujin.He couldn't help but feel tired of the world. He often missed the happiness of swimming on the banks of the Ganges when he was a teenager. He longed for the shade of coconut trees and the sweet flesh of mangoes.

(End of this chapter)