Chapter 88 A long poem by Helen Snow

Comrade Zhuo Ru compiled three "Selected Works of Bing Xin's Translations" for Strait Literature and Art Publishing House. In the third volume, except for the works of Tagore and Gibran, the others escaped from my memory. It is rare that Zhuo Ru searched so thoroughly! This spring, Liang Wenqian sent his father Liang Shiqiu's "Elegant House Reminiscences". In the section "Recalling Bingxin", I was pleasantly surprised to see my translation of Helen Snow's "Old Beijing". Liang Shiqiu's article said: "...In 1936, the Japanese army was in the midst of aggression, and North China was in a period of danger and shock. At that time, our country's policy was to endure and retreat steadily. Everyone living in Beiping was filled with righteous indignation. Ronin is rampant, we are at the mercy of others, how can a poet be indifferent? Bing Xin couldn't bear it anymore, she translated "Old Beijing" for me and published it on "Freedom Review". Although it is a translated work, but Clearly expressing her own emotions, I copied the translated poem below: The ancient Beijing Bing Xin translated Beijing is dead, dead, shameless, open, and those who were frustrated and looted on the lost battlefield, The warm and naked creatures died together, and when they died... there should be some voices of resistance, but here there is only a slight groan in silence, and there should be some anger and movement, and here there is only non-fighting retreat, and all limbs and internal organs are shattered. cold.

There should be some anger here... Naturally, any great imperial capital would not surrender without making a sound of resistance? This huge and lofty city wall is unwilling. It has thick iron gates and archery battlements. For two thousand years, this city wall has continuously responded to the cheers of the triumphant. Here should be the cry of the conqueror and the sigh of the conquered, at least there should be the sour wind in the middle of the night, weeping for the forgotten ghost. But no, none of that. Only in the Japanese embassy can there be the clang of sabers bowing, only the sound of high-pitched airplanes, and the bright red sun peacefully painted on the white wings... Only those who are familiar with it are responding. The wailing of beggars, the hawking of market vendors, and the strange howling of foxes in the north tower.

When giving up the city key, there is not even a bit of majestic ceremony; the city key is hung outside the iron city gate... There is no drama, no emotion, only the fulfillment of the parody of the daily lesson. How like an ugly show, this thick medieval city wall, marked with the marks of Hulu's arrows, what an ugly show, covered with the black shadow of giant wings! But it wasn't enough to be the set for that "never acted" play. There is no bold demand here for the treasures of the city to pay that sly plot, nor is there a ringing sound of gold and silver on the floor of this trading house.

But there are places where whispers can be heard, behind closed doors, in secret shops, and those words are the words that future historians will use as the titles of their articles: "There must be no chaos... It is the bandits who are instigating it... Shoot the bandits who want to fight! ... Property is valuable ... Banks will go bankrupt! ... Our lives, our property, our property ... this There is no room for dispute, how senseless ... let's have peace and order". So she sold her soul, her shabby, worthless, vile merchant-lander's soul, for the bread in hand, and if the buyer didn't see it, who knew it wasn't a fair deal?Beijing is dead, the poor and hopeless are dead.

Oh, grieve thou, to see a mighty queen-like city lose her glory. Because she was raped, speak of her with sorrow as a poet speaks of the fall of his soul's upper city. But Beijing is not being raped by others, but just like the rape of an idiot whore, who is sold and paid for. And beijing, old beijing, never gave in without struggle in her long history, beijing is not royal now, her ghost haunted palace, staring at you with empty eyes, was once forbidden city Yes, the dragon eaves on the glazed tiles of the imperial palace, and the golden dragons on the yellow tiles in the rows, look cowardly and honest, and on the roof in autumn, there are rows of caterpillars on the golden corn that have been dried generally.Beijing is dead, dead, and the era of feudal heroes in novels is buried in the ashes of ancient scrolls that no one reads.

And there were no knights, galloping across the thoroughfare with flying banners, to fight for the throne, for their wives. These aggressors want neither their wives nor their children. They want only one thing that is kind and noble.Freedom to buy and sell...the cotton production in Hebei...the open market...the long and smooth roads for trains and camels, for wartime transportation and for the huge opium trade. For the boxed goods, the non-taxed transshipment...severe oppression of the youth in the university, no more May Fourth excitement, no more vicious words about Japan...let's be friends, good-natured businessmen and compradors , why talk about slaves and masters?

The old Hadman Street used to be dusty, gloomy and full of gray and blue clothes, but now it is full of gorgeous kimonos, many bright and colorful kimonos... There was none last year - it used to be just dull and monotonous . These kimonos looked new and fresh, eye-catching, like spring flowers growing from piles of dead leaves. Today I saw a Japanese kid kick a solemn Shandong policeman hard with his bare, irresistible Japanese toes: He was ashamed - not the kid, but the tall policeman - because Shandong is the place where the bravest soldiers in China come out... I turned around and thought, how strange this majestic and humble Chinese ;This small and reckless Japanese...is wondering why the sharp steps of the clogs here can rob the soft kick of the cloth shoes, covering the soft steps of the Gobi camels on the street...Tokyo is beautiful under the shadow of Mount Fuji, In the mist, in the island rain, it is clean, trembling, and newly built.

But if she were placed under the deserted sky of Beijing, next to the dusty West Mountain, I don't think Tokyo would be so beautiful. There seems to be a vague sense that there is no need for more than two Tokyos, but that there must be an old Beijing that is firm and emotionally important, a dead, numb, creeping Beijing, shameless, mercenary, and mocking , Sophisticated, without courage or fear. Shiqiu’s text is also attached with my text message: Shiqiu: This poem appeared in the "Asia" monthly magazine, last December issue, the author's name is a pseudonym, please specify.

This poem has been translated by Mr. Yang Baiping and published in "Peking University Weekly" (published on January 13th).His was also wrong.Please do proofread and correct it for me. I really appreciate it. I wish Ji'an Bingxin worshiped on the twenty-fourth day and night. In the autumn article, he said: "This poem itself is not necessarily very good, but the emotion in it is quite sincere and strong. Grief and indignation, I don’t know who the author is. In the poem, he is so angry for us as a foreigner. We can read it without shame! The purpose of copying this poem is to explain that Bing Xin is translating Poetry must have a very poignant feeling."

The poem was written by Edgar Snow's ex-wife, Helen Snow. Edgar Snow came to Yenching University to teach in the Department of Journalism in 1935.Wen Zao was the dean of the law school at that time, and we hosted a family banquet to welcome them, accompanied by Mr. Liang Shichun, the dean of the journalism department, and his wife You Zanzhen.After seeing each other, I think the Snows are very young and talented, and Helen is especially lively and pretty, with a compelling aura!I have been to their residence outside the south gate of Yanda University, Chengfu, and I remember Helen’s desk, which is a big goldfish bowl (it should be called a basin) with four legs, and she writes on it.

This song "Old Beijing" was given to me that day by her, using the pseudonym Nymsi, Wales because Helen has the ancestry of Welsh people in the west of Great Britain. They were extremely disgusted with Beijing in 1935, and soon went to Yan'an one after another.These things happened when Helen returned to China in 1972, she gave me a book "Inside Red China" ("Red China Inside Story"), and there was a "recent photo" of her in the book. He was so handsome when he was young, but on his slightly fatter face, he was full of a warm smile! May 9, 1987