Chapter 4 Chapter two

Chapter 2 Statue Lonely Section 6 Statue Lonely (1) (1) What kind of place is Salamanca?I don't think there's much left of it, except for a University of Salamanca, which is as big as the city.There is, of course, a river that is not to be underestimated; for an amusingly idiosyncratic book entitled Lazarillo de Tormes—the granddaddy of the world's vagabond novels ; Therefore, this shallow river crossed by a stone Roman bridge has become a holy place for literature. So, I have to go to the river to pay my respects.It's just that I haven't read this novel until the moment I walked to the river.

I arrived in Salamanca the day after the anti-war demonstration on February 15th.After hastily reading the report on the parade the day before, I hurried to see the river.In the setting sun, the river shimmered like a piece of broken glass.War is coming.People tried their best, but they couldn't stop it.The democracy that took a long time to build, looking at the river, I think, is like this glass, thin and brittle.The world is not standing up for democracy when glass is brutally broken. Going to the Roman bridge, you must pass a church.Originally, it would be a pleasure to go to the Tormes River to reflect on the interesting vagrant Lazarus; but the disaster in Iraq makes people feel heavy.We inquired about the semi-circular city wall along the river bank, and we were very tired from walking.

Along the way, I saw squares and statues in front of buildings. As I walked, I browsed at random, most of which I didn't know who belonged to. When I walked to the bridge, I saw a group of bronze statues, which were a pair of homeless men.A child, holding the hand of a blind old man, is walking towards the future.The brushwork of the statue is rough, the ridges are smooth and round, the eyes and posture are very general, a bit imitating Rodin.I sat down on the pedestal, took out the novel I brought and read it. The book is very easy to read, and I read it unconsciously. Indeed, no matter how harsh it is, it has to be rated as a masterpiece.Not only is it an old book (in the middle of the 16th century), but the author is unknown and the process of writing it is peculiar.It is generally recognized as the originator of homeless novels, not only that, because Lazarus, the vagrant, is too typical, and the narrative method of the novel is too simple-two people in total: the villain of the vagrant is always changing, and the vagrant The bad luck of the people will continue to circulate-so, all those who have had a wandering experience, or simply all people who have been unlucky, can't help the urge to continue.In this way, anonymous writers show off their talents at the end of the chapter, pouring out their unique pain, imitating their predecessors' mocking style of writing, refurbishing unlucky tricks, and making famous works immortal.

I read it quickly. Standing up and looking at this monument to the homeless, I feel that the statue has no humor in the text at all.It not only skips the details and does not draw eyebrows, I think the sculptor did not express any humor at all.Toddlers are expressionless, not even in pain.The old man is even more neutral, not at all the kind of viciousness in the book - bred by hunger and cold.I am noncommittal, anyway, I am not reading the original text, who knows whether the writing is too slick, or this Rodin-style art is too ambiguous? Anyway, this bronze statue stands high on the banks of the Tormes River, accompanied by the elegant and ancient Roman Bridge, like a bridgehead in the long history.

After looking at the Roman Bridge for a while, and walking by the river for a while, we walked back.After walking along the river bank for half an hour, I returned to the church with a statue right in front of me. At the end of the day, we approached the statue, sat down on the pedestal, took out a pocadio (that is, a cold bread with a layer of hard cheese), and ate it. The streets of Salamanca, lit up with yellow and silver lights, were getting dark just then. (2) This one is not like the jet-black one of the tramp just now, it is the usual green bronze statue.A philosopher with loose hair, long beard and flowing clothes, bent down to look at the university city below.

The light was very dim, and his facial features and expression could not be seen clearly.After carefully identifying the inscription, I realized that this second statue is none other than Franciscode Vitoria of the Salamanca School. In the sixteenth century, a group of Catholic theologians at the University of Salamanca courageously criticized the injustice of the massive Spanish colonization of America, especially its horrific slavery, massacres, and denial of the humanity of the Indians The motherland, they are not afraid of kingship and theocracy, showing the conscience of mankind. In 1539, Friar Victoria published "On Theology", denying the legitimacy of the pope's edict to bestow America on the King of Spain.He said that Jesus never gave secular power to individuals, and the pope has no right to deal with other people's property and land.America is inhabited land, and the native inhabitants have all natural rights to the land.Spain has no right to spread Christianity under the pretext of launching a war against America.

At that time, the Inquisition in the Kingdom of Spain was burning heretics every day.In the name of sanctity, colonialism slaughtered and plundered Latin America.People can't imagine whether they risked great terror, or there was a certain amount of space for speech in that era - posterity only knows that the Victorian monks and the humanitarian pioneers of Salamanca, who were regarded as inferior and inhuman The Indian race, practiced a great defense. I actually sat at his feet! ... I was taken aback. Now reading his words is like reading a heavenly book, not only no one listens, but also can't understand.

The conscience that stood in the distant ancient times made me feel a kind of uprooted shock.It made me aroused and tensed, with a mixture of dignity and shame.Today, the whole world silently watches as a big country commits violence against a small country.In the name of the international community, they donate the land and oil of the weak to the robbers who are committing crimes.Only because of the robber's weapon, only because of the robber's intimidation. A series of famous quotes from Victorian monks from five hundred years ago are worth reciting: "If subjects realize the injustice of war, they should not go to war, even if they are sent by the monarch's order."

"All peoples have the right to govern themselves, to choose the political system they prefer, even if it is not the best system." "It's better to give up on yourself than to rape others." ... If you want to know more, just ask someone.We looked at the cathedral behind the bronze statue, which was probably where the Victorian monks lived.But the doors of the church were closed, and it was not the time for mass. Just as he was about to knock on the door, the huge iron door of the church creaked, and several people strolled out.We ran up quickly, and it seemed that a priest came out to see off the guests.

When he saw off the guests and opened the door, we gave a deep salute and asked: "Can you tell us a little about Friar Victoria?" He was stunned: "Who? Who are you talking about?" We pointed at the statue: "Of course, that's him, Franciscode Vitoria, the Victorian friar of Salamanca." He understood.His voice is sharp: ——"Oh, you mean him? He was from a long time ago!" He turned and went in impatiently, and the big iron door was closed abruptly.I was taken aback, the fellow, it seemed he had a grudge against Friar Victoria. Suddenly, we and the lonely bronze statue were left in the darkness.

Chapter 2 Statue Alone Chapter 7 Statue Alone (2) (3) ——Everyone says that in this day and age, there are fewer and fewer friends. But my friends—but most of them are friends who have become statues, have increased. In a city that would accidentally call it boring, there is one more statue that cannot fail to be mentioned.It is inexplicably connected with me, it seems to be a close friend. I don't know when it started, maybe after reading a passage written by Maude in "The Biography of Tolstoy", I had an idea.This idea has gone through the whole 1990s, and it has not become weak.I'm imagining a man for whom I have an extraordinary respect.He was a great reference for my problems at the time, and I have always tried to stay close to him.This man (perhaps I mean his statue) is St. Francis code Asis. Maud's passage was written when, after much deliberation, he decided to offer a confidant criticism of Tolstoy's thought and conduct.He hesitated, against a stream of human history—thoughts and actions that were noble but doomed.I can read that when he wrote this paragraph, he had a state of mind that was entangled with his pen.The words were considered to such an extent, revealing his difficult choice.Maude said: But Tolstoy made the same mistake that many noble wise men made before him.He saw a great sin, and in anger and impatience he hastily accepted an inappropriate remedy: but in trying this remedy he failed instead of succeeding.The method of persuading men to leave the main stream of human life and take an isolated road to save their souls has been tried again and again to correct the evils of society; All proved to be a dead end.It was true of the early Christian communes, it was true of the great Franciscan movement, it was true of the Tolstoy movement. (Xu Chi Chinese translation, p.671) But as much as Maud's advice made me ponder, his bigger reminders were his lists: the early Christian communes, the Franciscan movement, the Tolstoy movement. To St. Francis, he used the word "great".And then, for some reason, I was imagining Saint Francis as a Catholic Sufi.His image of poverty, his brown clothes, and his bald head are not only similar to the Islamic mystics I am fascinated by, but also vivid. Of course I have learned to pay attention to the complexity of things.Who knows that there is no tit-for-tat story hidden behind the statue!Sometimes I even thought to myself, I will never be able to accurately grasp the culture of them—the developed powers!Maybe my essays on foreign countries are just records of my immediate state of mind and my good wishes. How can I know the Anbu of the Franciscans?Just like in the field of Islamic academia, even if you finish reading a book by Fletcher, do you think you will get the chestnut in the fire and the son of the tiger's den? ... I am not familiar with the early days of Saint Francis' "greatness", let alone his "failure", but I like him as a distant shadow of a saint.The same goes for Brother Victoria. After all, his principles are an insurmountable obstacle for the new imperialist chariots, like a stone blocked by a road. Human beings progress along the footsteps of these people. After all, they took the first step. Whenever I met a suitable person, who was, of course, a Christian, I asked them about St. Francis.But most of my friends are vague.I also like to try to strike up a conversation with the priest when I pass by a church.In San Sebastián we were almost satisfied with a Basque priest by such a conversation.But this is not easy in China: they are perfunctory and wary when talking to strangers. Gradually, the distant Saint Francis became a complex in my heart.Sometimes, a church or a priest appeared on TV, and others were watching the episode, but I suddenly shouted: "Look! San Francisco!  …" For I saw the rope, the rope that was girt around the priest's waist, which served as a girdle and emblem.It must be them: white rope, knotted, brown robes... Also visited a congregation called "Little Brothers".They also wear brown robes and are called Capuchinos—the very word for the popular sparkling coffee in Beijing.The priests claim they are similar to the Franciscans, but the ropes seem different to me. We couldn't talk that day either: there was a meeting in the church, the street was crowded with white-haired old men and women, and the priest we were going to visit was passing among them-what else could we hope to talk about?I spent a winter afternoon sitting on the steps of a Fraternity church.The glassy democracy is broken.The ambiguous humanitarianism has probably been forgotten.All people, no matter how they flaunt democracy, keep silent.A new empire, a new crusader armed with atomic bombs, is manipulating the world and terrorizing it. I remember having nothing to do but sit and stare at the rooftop of the Fraternity House. On the high spire, there is always a pecking pigeon parked all afternoon.Who knows what's on my mind?Who cares about my pursuit of them—Saint Francis, Ma Mingxin, Tolstoy?It doesn’t matter if you don’t drink this glass of Capuchino, you may have to go to Assisi to find a satisfactory answer.From time to time the dove jumped onto a cross and onto a relief of a brown priest.I looked at the pigeon, feeling at a loss. San Francisco! ... I muttered to myself.I don't know why this name appeals to me, it is catchy and has a sense of intimacy. I hadn't seen the statue of St. Francis that day. The day the statue was found in Salamanca was after Friar Victoria. Chapter 2 Statue Alone Chapter 8 Statue Alone (3) (4) St. Francis was very difficult to find, and finally found that it was hiding in a small park. Unlike the previous two, San Franciscan is a modernist iron sculpture.Rough and thick black iron, bent into a pointed hat, cast into a sword-like waist rope.The iron statue twisted, making a strange hugging gesture.Of course, the roughness and the use of iron can emphasize his safety and poverty.The modernist approach can even omit the dark side of affairs. Victorian monks and St. Franciscans seem to be drawing a thick line for me. This outline seems to be filled with a kind of simple humanitarianism. From abandoning property to rebelling against the emperor, from being discriminated against to being convicted of heresy. Of course, from a heresy to a large sect with many followers, from a pure ideal to a secular religious order.In the turbulent human society, it is threatened by the combined force of instinct and interests, and it goes down with the waves, twists and turns, and loses its distant original intention. Sitting at the feet of the Iron Saint, gnawing on the remaining half of Pocadio, I couldn't understand his posture of embracing his arms. A few iron stars stuck to his hands or the cuffs he hugged. —Perhaps it was not Iron Star, but a deformed pigeon? The more I look at it, the more I feel that the iron star stuck to the cuff of Saint Francis is a pigeon. Suddenly thought of the pigeon on the roof of the Petite Fraternity.I suddenly realized: the pigeons that landed on the roof became part of the building.Like this iron star pigeon, it is a living sculpture of the building.What is the meaning of this dove?The more it looks, the more it looks like, a few iron stars are stuck to the black iron sleeves, and the strange shape does not cover the flying posture.That's right, it's a deformed pigeon. St. Francis, what is his connection with pigeons?Some people say that he cared for animals during his lifetime. I think it's not just that simple.It seems that everywhere associated with Saint Francis, there are doves.I guessed and guessed, but I still thought of the pigeon that brought back the olive branch.Perhaps the dove, who is in love with St. Francis and refuses to leave, is calling for peace with nostalgia. Although people are tolerating war today, no one pays attention to the teachings of peace. I can only find him like this. This deformed iron man is the one I have been thinking about for a long time. When I looked at it again, the iron statue became more and more weird. Maud concludes that gentle admonition with his doctrine: "We can never live better apart from the common masses. In practice, it turns out that the man who refuses to specialize—that is, refuses to do mainly what he can do best—lives a truly unnatural life. Life." It must be said that such doctrines lead to indifference to war and killing.In fact, the noble way does not necessarily mean absolutism.Caring for others is not necessarily a lack of judgment and tact about human complexities. No, even if Maud's good intentions were real, even if his discussions were grounded in deep social experience and reality - one cannot use those experiences as a basis for criticizing Tolstoy's principles.Because today, in addition to tyrannical acts of force, there are also wanton creation of public opinion.This is a greater evil; with the coverage of television signals, it occupies every corner and corrupts the hard world. International law is insulted, even though the television sings international norms.The common language collapsed in Hulala, and even the simplest black and white right and wrong, the views were cold and diametrically opposed.The famine of language also spreads along with it—the sacrifice of the resisters is called killing, and the killing of the invaders is called death in battle.War is called counter-terrorism, post-occupation oppression is called security situation. On the day we left, we walked along the old road and browsed the three statues again. The bronze statue of Friar Victoria is like any other statue in any city, save the book of his.Apparently, he's been perfunctorily cast as a characterless streetwear piece. The iron statue of St. Francis is allusive, rough, black iron, and abstract, all of which appear concise and concise, and avoid details.Including the desertedness under his seat, the park where the sculpture is located is a corner that no one goes to. Victoria, St. Francis—if they all fail, and our great teacher Tolstoy, if he fails in the end—it is nothing but a failure of the human spirit, and of the degree of civilization. The commemorative sculpture of the immortal masterpiece "Lazarus on the Tormes" is ambiguous, just like Rodin's works.The language of that book is too witty, so it is easy to misinterpret; it seems that anyone can continue it as long as they can find a gimmick, and a Chinese translation simply translates it as "Little Manny".However, Rodin's brushwork smoothes out the brightness of the sculpture version, which implies melancholy, blurred eyes, old men are not tricky, children are not oily, and the characters appear more "positive". But we are pre-determinists.Although he lacked professional waif experience, he was familiar with little Lazarus and the others.In our blood, there is a hint of being ready to recruit them at any time-because we would rather be that way than be a slave to the system.They are indeed our accomplices, the difference is at most that our form is the wandering of our minds. Only in the 21st century did we realize that humans have not evolved much.Peace, nobility, and the warmth of others, none of that has finished the elementary class.It dawned on me—only they, the bums on the Tormes, had its most secret meaning.Human beings will start from the beginning, start from solving the minimum needs, and trek the long road of progress from the beginning.Hesitating in hunger and cold, wandering like animals, repeating the tragic journey of little Lazarus on the Tormes River, and never being able to answer-a profound question about humanity. I finally stopped by the stone bridge to rest, climbed up the imitation Rodin double and sat down.I recalled Victoria for a while, and wondered about St. Francis for a while, and the confused Spanish land was desolate and silent.I read the novel I brought with me again, secretly amazed at it, it's amazing, it's like a fable.The three statues still have to be rated as the first.Not only novels, but even the protagonists themselves can be created continuously by generations.