The Complete Works of Xu Zhimo's Classical Prose

Chapter 17
But he is not only physically exhausted, he also feels uncomfortable in mind.This is unfortunate.We, the hosts, are only deeply sorry.He came to China this time not for travel, not for politics, and not for personal gain. He lived through his old age, risked his illness, abandoned his career, and prepared for the hardships of travel. What was he doing for it?What he is doing is just a little invisible emotion. To put it a little farther away, his mission is to repair the bridge between the two nations of China and India that has been interrupted for more than a thousand years.To put it more closely, he just wants to appeal to the sincere sympathy of our youth.Because he believes in life, he respects youth, he sings the praises of youth and morning, and he always points to the bright future.Compassion was the motivation for Sakyamuni to attain enlightenment, and compassion was also the motivation for Mr. Tagore to go through hardships.

Modern civilization is nothing but appalling waste, greed and cruelty, selfishness and arrogance, suspicion and jealousy, like a hurricane overturning the balance of human nature, resulting in huge destruction.In the filthy heart, there are only weeds of misunderstanding, the seeds of poisoned sympathy, and there is no hope of harvest.In this desolate situation, there are a rare few husbands who are not afraid of obstacles and cowardice, with a big hoe to eradicate misunderstandings on their shoulders, and fresh humane seeds in their pockets, regardless of whether it is cloudy or rainy. Sunny, regardless of whether it is morning, dusk or night, he just works hard, clearing up a piece of soil, planting a piece of life, and at the same time singing a loud new song, encouraging the germination that will be revealed in the darkness.Mr. Tagore is one of these few.He came to spread sympathy, he came to dispel prejudice.

We have seen his kindly spring-like expression with our own eyes, and heard his loud voice bursting from the bottom of his heart. I think that as long as our conscience is not blackened by vicious soot or stained by evil prejudice, who has never Feeling that his sincere power, like magic, has opened up a magical realm for the future of our lives and ignited the ideal light?
So we also understand his deep regret and disappointment, for example, other young people who know part not only cannot accommodate his inspiration, but also intentionally slander his enthusiasm.We certainly reward the independence of thought, but we dare not go along with the freedom of misunderstanding.The most satisfying achievement in his life is that he can always win the sympathy of young people. Whether in Germany, Denmark, the United States, or Japan, young people will always be his most loyal friends.He has also been subjected to various misunderstandings and attacks, the suspicion of the government, the slander of the newspapers, and the ridicule of the conservatives. His love, his sincerity, completely entrusted to the youth.My beard and hair are white, but my heart is always young. He often told us that as long as youth is my confidant, my ideal future will come true, and my optimistic light will never dim .He couldn't believe that pure youth would fall into the mud of doubt, suspicion, and triviality, and he couldn't believe that Chinese youth would also be stained with misfortune.He is really not prepared to suffer unexpected treatment in China.He was very uncomfortable, and he felt strangely sad.

So mental depression aggravates his physical fatigue.He was almost ill.

Of course we were anxiously expecting his health, but he was in no mood to continue his lecture.We are afraid that today is his last chance to speak publicly in Beijing.He needs to rest.Nor can we bear to waste his limited energies any longer.He will soon have another long trek, and he must have three or four days of complete rest.So from today onwards, all agreed gatherings, public and private, will be cancelled, and he will leave the city today to rest.

Our concern for him can certainly be forgiven, and even a small number of princes who do not want him to be a guest can also be pleased with the success of their strategy.He was sick, he stopped talking in Beijing, he was leaving soon, and he never came again.But students, we also have to think about it calmly, what is the crime of the old man, what is his heart, what is his crime that can be forgiven?Is justice dead? Why can't I hear your voice?

They said he was old-fashioned, that he was stubborn.Can we believe it?They said he was "too late", said he was "untimely", can we believe it?He himself couldn't believe it, really couldn't believe it.He said it must be the joker's counter-tune.The criticisms he encountered in his life were too new, too early, too radical, too fierce, too revolutionary, and too ideal. His 60-year career was just constant struggle and charge, and he is still just charge and struggle now.But they said he was old fashioned, too late, too old.The objects of his stubborn struggle are only violence, capitalism, imperialism, force, and materialism that kills animals; accomplish.But they say that he is a spy of imperial policy, a helper of capitalism, a refugee of subjugated slaves, and a madman who advocates binding feet!

Dirty is in the hearts of our politicians and thugs, what has it to do with our poets?Confusion is in the brains of our pseudo-scholars and men of letters, and what kind of relationship does it have with our poets?Why should we say that the sun is black, why should we say that flies are truth?
Classmates, listen to my words, we may never listen to such a great voice as his in our lifetime.Be mindful of present opportunities and guard against future melancholy!We can only go to history to search and compare his personality.His broad and gentle soul I dare say will always be a miracle in human memory.His boundless imagination and vast sympathy remind us of Whitman; his philanthropic evangelism and enthusiasm for propaganda remind us of Tolstoy; Michelangelo; his wit and wisdom make us imagine Socrates and Lao Dan back then!The harmony and beauty of his personality make us miss Gerd in his old age; his gentle caress of pure love, his tireless efforts for humanity, and his majestic loud voice sometimes make us think of the Savior in our hearts; His brilliance, his music, his majesty, remind us of the great god on the top of the Olympic mountain.He is inviolable, insurmountable, a mysterious phenomenon of nature.He is the warm south wind in three springs, awakening the new buds on the branches, and adding blush to the cheeks of virgins.He is the sunshine.

He is a vast flood, which comes from an untraceable source, flowing forever in the embrace of the earth, flowing endlessly. We are just residents on both sides of the river. With this gift of kindness, we can irrigate our rice fields, Su Quench our thirst and wash away our dirt.

He is the snow-covered peaks of the Himalayas, generally lofty, generally pure, generally magnificent, and generally proud, with only the infinite blue sky resting on his silver-white head.

Personality is an unmistakable reality, abhorrence is a big thing, but we are used to it, and only recognize the dove shape and swan face as the original face of life, and never forget the true healthy color and brilliance.The lowering of standards is a shameful degradation: we are just frogs sitting at the bottom of a well, but we have no room for doubt.We may speculate about the first white in the east, but we cannot criticize the sun in the middle of the sky.We may be used to seeing the gloomy sky, but we can't bear the warm flame, which dissipates the clouds and mists in the sky and exposes the desolation of the ground, but at the same time, in the depths of our hearts, don't we also feel a fresh influence, urging our life to beat? , Awaken the latent desire, as if the samurai saw the signal of the front peak, let alone go forward bravely without hesitation?Only when we get close to such a supernatural and pure husband, such an unmistakable reality, can we feel ashamed that our mouth is not wide enough, our voice is not loud enough, our breathing is not deep enough, our belief is not strong enough, our Our ideals are not clear enough, our freedom is not majestic enough, our language is not clear enough, our emotions are not warm enough, our efforts are not brave enough, our capital is not sufficient enough...

I am confident that I am not unreasonable and unreasonable worship, I have written strong words as before, this is because I cannot control my strong feelings.But what I am most anxious to declare is that our poets, though so often called upon by mysterious emblems, are in fact the clearest, funniest, wittiest, and least mystical beings.He is the most understanding and the closest to humanity.I look forward to the opportunity to follow up on his daily life and conversations.If I am a suspect, if I am also sexually close to mystery (many friends say so), you also have the testimony of Mr. Shizhi, who also said that he is the cutest and most amiable person: We can trust Mr. Shizhi There is absolutely no suspicion of "nearly mysterious sex"!So no matter how great and profound he is, our poet is still a man of flesh and blood, not a savage or a god.He is a human being, especially the most emotional one, so he asks for the warmth and comfort of humanity everywhere, especially the sympathy and love of our Chinese youth.He has done his duty for us, we should not, let alone live up to his expectations.classmates!Love your love, adore your adoration, it is favor not sin, it is courage not cowardice!
Twelfth in the True Light

Originally published on August 1924, 5, "Morning News Supplement"

Byron
Dangling tens of thousands of dendrobium boats, the shadow is like a white rainbow.Since it is not the wind that moves the sky, don't put it in the big water.

杜甫
This morning, with first base books scattered on my desk, I reached out to pick up a brush and dipped it in ink and was about to start writing when a friend came into the room and interrupted my train of thought. "What do you want to do?" he said. "Repay the debt," I said, "I just pay off the debt in my whole life. After spending one, the other comes again, like a beggar on Chang'an Street. You started off badly. This time it's for him," I nodded. A portrait of Byron painted by Westall in a book (originally now the London Portrait Institute). "For whom, Byron!" said the friend's accent with some contemptuous twang. "Not only to make a fuss, but also to hold meetings for him," I continued. "Hmph, really good work, and it's Dai Dongyuan's set again." The gentleman commented, "Busy to hold meetings and give speeches for the dead ghosts, hum! If you don’t open it, you still come to care about the birth and death of the surnamed Dumb; the Chinese ghosts are enough, and you still come to Zhang Luoyang ghosts! The father of the party in that country died, and mourning was heard in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangdong; nerds The retired president died, and another one cried at the same time. Dai Dongyuan 200 years ago was not a doll with yellow hair, a milky body, a snot, and a pee. What has nothing to do with us? Seriously hold a conference to do papers! It’s getting more and more strange now, what, even Byron gets the same benefit, it’s not crazy, you busy literary gentlemen! Who is Byron? A poet who writes badly, a poet A sinner, a playboy, an aristocrat, as the religionists say. Even if the memorial service is a modern fashion, you have to think about whether the mourned is worthy, and whether it fits with your so-called spirit of the times, Byron It is a nobleman. Your country is a first-class democratic republic. Where is the position of nobility? Byron did not invent any Soviets, nor did he dream of world peace, nor did he use scientific methods to sort out the history of the country. He is just a The dandy poet with a crutched leg may have been in the limelight 100 years ago, but now the noble head buried in Newstead, England, is already rotten, and a commemorative meeting is held for him, hey, he deserves it! When it comes to Byron's poems, you may be in tune with Monk Su's temper and see the benefits. This is your luck. Even if I read his poems, he may not be much more alive than his bones. And be careful, Byron If he is a good man, he hates blind worship, and when you turn around, you are busy making fuss trying to please him, so be careful when his ghost comes to your dream and scolds you loudly!"

When that gentleman was complaining, I had already smoked half a cigarette. Seeing the lingering smoke, I patiently endured his scolding. Just now I thought about praising Byron, and the article had already turned into shreds of tobacco: I was dumbfounded. leaning back in his chair lost in thought
Byron is really dead, isn't he?It's all dead, isn't it?It's really worthless, you really shouldn't brag about it for him, right?
There was a heavy curtain of fog in front of my eyes, gray and purple, and finally an astonishing statue was presented.A human head carved from the purest and cleanest white stone, placed on a five-foot-high sandalwood table, emits a strange light, like Aboluo, the great god of light to mankind, mortals have never been so solemn "Heaven", such inviolable eyebrows, such a head, but no, not Aboluo, he does not have such proud sharp eyes, like the blue sky in the south of the Alps, like the sunset in Venice, infinite His lofty and incomparable magnificence, the exhibition of the kaleidoscope of the world is reflected in his round eyes, which is only a thin layer of contempt; Aboluo does not have such beautiful curly hair, like a bunch of purple grapes attached to his eyes. By the side of the granite wall; he doesn't have such untrustworthy lips, and the little bow on the back of Little Cupid is not as delicate as his, and there is a slightly world-weary expression on the corner of his mouth, like the literary grace of a snake, you know He is vicious, but you cannot deny his beauty; the great god who gave us the harp and the flute did not have such round nostrils, so that we can imagine the intensity and greatness of his life, like the rupture of a great volcano...

No, he is not a god, he is a mortal, a mortal who is more terrifying and lovely than a god, he bathed in the raging waves of the world of mortals, washing his spots all over his body, and finally he stepped on the top of the waves, revealing himself in the sun His flawless skin, his pride, his strength, and his magnificence are the sorrows of Yiji and Jubide in the sky.

He is a beautiful demon, an honorable traitor.

A crystal-like soft wave, like a crystal clear mirror, illuminates the white-headed "girl", the shining "golden grate", and "happy Aunt".There is no whistling of the tide here, only the singing of grass and insects, the intoxicating tree color and fragrance of flowers, and the gentle sound of water, like a little girl's whispering, swallowing by the lake.There are torrents, glaciers, pine forests and magnificent stone scenery on the mountain.The waterfall is like a crazy lover, jumping among the thorns, rolling down from the rock, shattering among the rocks, stirring up countless beads, round, long, milky white, transparent, and the sun slantingly falls on the rapids. The middle waist is transformed into colorful rainbow patterns.On the top of the rapids is a protruding cliff, like the head of a ferocious beast. The deep pine forests on both sides are like a mane with a neck, and the thunderstorms are like his roar.Standing on the edge of this cliff is a husband, an extraordinary man, towering like a strange rock, beautiful like a morning sun, arrogant like a waterfall, and melancholy like a pine forest.He stood, folded his arms, rolled up his big eyes, and gazed at the boundless blue sky. Three Alps eagles of prey hovered above his head; , he listened intently to the sound of avalanche snow on the front peak.

As soon as he slides his feet, as long as he jumps, he thinks, this body will fall into the deep pool like an avalanche, and be smashed in the beautiful water splashes. The homophony of these natures is the death knell in praise of his extinction.He is a pampered son: the path of the world is not prepared for him, nor the chains of the world can lock the wings of his birds of prey.He has measured the peaks of Banan Suth, wrestled the fierce waves of Hellis Pender Strait, sang in marathon, roared by the Aegean sea, and trampled the soil of Waterloo. ruined empire.He once achieved the glory of Caesar's triumph, osmanthus encased his curls, roses supported his footsteps, but he could not avoid his Waterloo; fate is unpredictable horror, behind the conquest lies humiliation The surroundings of the throne were full of phantasms; now his scars all over his body are arrowheads of slander, not more the decoration of flowers, even though they never linger a little on his flawless body. defaced. ... The sun also has his time of drowning, but who can forget the flame when he shines?
"What is life, what is death, and what are we.
That when the ship sinks, we no longer may be.”

Juno got angry.The sky changed color, and the lake surface also changed color.The surrounding mountain peaks were covered with black mist robes, spitting out swift tongues of fire, shaking, as if it was a mutual demonstration, the thunder roared and danced in the valley like a beast, and the rain like stone eggs followed. The wind beat the phosphorescence of a lake, and at this time (June, [-]th, [-]) it seemed that Ariel's spirit stood in the twisting clouds, silently spelling, watching
Jove's lightnings, the precursors
O'the dreadful thunder-claps...

The fire, and cracks
Of sulfurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,

Yea his dread tridents shake.
(Tempest)

(End of this chapter)