Dawn Blossoms Plucked at Dusk

by Lu Xun

  I believed I must have shaken my head twice, and did not know which time they had noticed it, since all was bustle and noise while they offered seats to each other, while all was quiet during the customs inspection, it must surely have been in the customhouse. When I questioned Ainong, I found this was the case.

  “I really can't understand why you took such things with you. Whose were they?”

  “They belonged to Mrs. Xu, of course.” He fixed me with his eyes, which were mostly whites.

  “In Tokyo she'd have to pretend to have big feet. So why take them?”

  “How would I know? Ask her.”

  As winter approached we grew more hard up; still, we went on drinking and joking. Then suddenly came the Wuchang Uprising, and after that Shaoxing was liberated. The following day Ainong came to town in a felt cap of the type worn by peasants. I had never seen him with such a beaming face.

  “Let's not drink today, Xun. I want to see liberated Shaoxing. Come on.”

  So we walk through the streets, and saw white flags everywhere. But though outwardly all was changed, beneath the surface all went on as before; for this was a military government organized by a few of the old-style gentry. The chief shareholder in the railway company was head of the administration, the moneylender had become director of the arsenal.... And this military government did not last long, for as soon as a few youngsters raised an outcry, Wang Jinfa came in with his troops from Hangzhou. In fact, he might have come even without the outcry. After his arrival, he was surrounded by a crowd of idlers and new members of the revolutionary party, and reigned supreme as Military Governor Wang. In less than ten days most of his men in the yamen, who had arrived in cotton clothes, were wearing fur-lined gowns although it was not yet cold.

  My new rice bowl was the job of principal of the normal school, and Governor Wang gave me two hundred dollars to run the school. Ainong was supervisor of studies. He still wore his cloth gown, but did not drink very much, and seldom had time to chat. Since he gave classes in addition to his administrative duties, he worked very hard indeed.

  “Wang Jinfa and his lot are no good either,” indignantly announced a young visitor who had attended my lectures the previous year. “We want to start a newspaper to keep a check on them. But we'll have to use your name, sir, as one of the sponsors. Another is Mr. Chen Ziying, and another is Mr. Sun Deqing. We know you won't refuse, since it's for the public good.”

  I gave my consent. Two days later I saw a leaflet announcing the appearance of this paper, and sure enough there were three sponsors. Five days later the newspaper came out. It began by denouncing the military government and its members, after which it denounced the governor and his relatives, fellow provincials and concubines....

  After more than ten days of such abuse, word came to my house that because we had tricked money out of the governor and denounced him, he was going to send a gunman to shoot us.

  Nobody took this seriously except my mother, who was very worried and begged me not to go out. I went as usual, however, explaining to her that Wang Jinfa would not be coming to shoot us; for although he came out of the bandits' school, he didn't kill people lightly. Besides, the money I took from his was to run the school—he should at least know that—he didn't mean what he said.

  Sure enough, no one came to shoot us. When I wrote and asked for more funds, I received another two hundred dollars. But Governor Wang seemed to be rather offended, for he informed me: “This is the last time!”

  Ainong heard some fresh news, however, which did upset me. The reference to “tricking” money had not meant the school funds but a separate sum given to the newspaper office. After the paper had come out for several days filled with abuse, Wang Jinfa sent a man there to pay them five hundred dollars. Then our youngsters held a meeting.

  The first question was: “Shall we accept this or not?”

  The decision was: “Accept it.”

  The second question was: “Shall we go on denouncing him after accepting this?”

  The decision was: “We shall.”

  The reason was: “Once we have accepted his money, he becomes a shareholder; and if a shareholder behaves badly, of course we must denounce him.”

  I went straight to the newspaper office to find out whether this was true or not. It was. I reproached them mildly for accepting the governor's money, but the one called the accountant was offended.

  “Why shouldn't a newspaper accept shares?” he demanded.

  “These aren't shares....”

  “If they aren't shares, what are they?”

  I did not say any more. I had enough experience of the world for that. If I had pointed out that this was involving us, he would have abused me for caring so much for my worthless life that I was unwilling to sacrifice myself for the public good; or the next day the paper might have carried an account of how I had trembled in my fear of death.

  But then, by a fortunate coincidence, Xu Jifu sent me a letter urging me to go at once to Nanjing. Ainong was all in favour, though extremely depressed as well.

  “Things have grown so bad again, you can't stay here,” he said. “You'd better leave at once....”

  I understood what he left unsaid, and decided to go to Nanjing. First I went to the governor's yamen to tender my resignation, which was naturally accepted, then a snivelling functionary was sent to the school to take over. Having handed over the accounts and the ten cents and two coppers in hand, I ceased to be the principal. My successor was Fu Lichen, head of the Confucian League.

  I heard the end of the newspaper affair two or three weeks after reaching Nanjing—the office had been smashed up by the soldiery. Since Chen Ziying was in the country, he was all right; but Sun Deqing, who happened to be in town, received a bayonet wound in his thigh. He flew into a fury. Of course, one could hardly blame him—it was rather painful. After his fury subsided, he took off his clothes and had a photograph taken to show the wound which was about an inch across; he also wrote an account of what had happened, which he circulated everywhere, to expose the tyranny of this military government. I doubt if anyone has kept that photograph. It was so small that the wound was practically invisible, and without an explanation anyone seeing it would be bound to take it for a nudist photograph of some rather eccentric and romantic fellow. Indeed, if it came to the notice of the warlord general Sun Chuanfang, it would very likely be banned.

  By the time I moved from Nanjing to Peking, the principal who was head of the Confucian League had contrived to remove Ainong from his post as supervisor of studies. He was once more the Ainong of prerevolutionary days. I wanted to find a small post for him in Peking, which was what he longed for, but there was no opening. Later he went to live on a friend, and I often heard from him. He grew poorer and poorer, and sounded more and more bitter. At last he was forced to leave this friend's house and drift from place to place. Before long I heard from a fellow provincial that he had fallen into the river and been drowned.

  I suspected he had committed suicide. For he was an excellent swimmer: it would not be easy for him to drown.

  At night, sitting in the hostel feeling thoroughly depressed, I doubted whether this news could be true; but somehow I still felt it must be reliable, although I had received no confirmation. There was nothing I could do but write four poems which were printed later in some paper, but which I have now nearly forgotten. All I can remember are six lines of one poem. The first four were:

  “How often I discussed our times over wine

  With you who drank but little;

  In a world blind drunk

  A mere tippler might well drown....”

  The two lines in the middle have slipped my memory, but the last two were:

  “Like scattering clouds my friends have gone,

  And I am but a grain of dust in the wind.”

  Later, when I went home, I learned more details of the story. First, Ainong could find no work of any description, because everybody disliked him. He was very hard up in
deed, but he went on drinking whenever friends treated him. He had very little to do with other people by this time, and the only ones he saw much of were a few rather young men he had got to know afterwards; but they did not want to hear his complaints all the time—they liked his jokes better.

  “I may get a telegram tomorrow,” he used to say. “When I open it, I'll find Lu Xun has sent for me.”

  One day, a few new friends invited him to go by boat to watch an opera. It was after midnight by the time they started back, and there was high wind and rain. He was drunk, yet he insisted on standing on the bulwarks. And when his friends protested, he would not listen to them. He assured them he could not fall. Fall he did, though, and although he could swim he did not come to the surface.

  The next day they recovered his body. They found him standing upright in a creek where water chestnuts grew.

  To this day I do not know whether he lost his balance or committed suicide.

  He had no money at all when he died, but he left behind a widow with a young daughter. Some people thought of starting a fund for his daughter's future schooling; but as soon as this was proposed, various members of his clan started squabbling as to who should control this sum, although it had not yet been collected. Then everyone was so disgusted that the scheme just came to nothing.

  I wonder how his only daughter is faring now? If she is studying, she ought to have graduated from secondary school by this time.

  November 18

  ■ Postscript

  At the start of my third essay on The Twenty-Four Acts of Filial Piety, I said that the term Ma Huzi used in Peking to frighten children should be “Ma the Hun” because it referred to Ma Shumou, whom I took to be a Hun, I now find I was wrong. Hu was General Ma Shumou's first name. This appears in Notes for Idle Moments by Li Jiweng of the Tang Dynasty. The section entitled “Refuting the View That Ma Shumou Was a Hun” reads as follows:

  “Common people frighten children by saying, ‘Ma Huzi is coming!’ Those not knowing the origin of this saying imagine Ma as a god with a big beard who is a harsh investigator of people's crimes; but this is wrong. There was a stern, cruel general of Sui called Ma Hu, to whom Emperor Yang Di entrusted the task of building the Grand Canal at Bianliang. So powerful was he that even children stood in awe of him and would frighten each other by saying, ‘Ma Huzi is coming!’ In their childish prattle the Hu changed into Hun.

  This is just like the case of General Hao Pin of the prefecture of Jing in the reign of Emperor Xian Zong, who was so feared by the barbarians that they stopped their children from crying by scaring them with his name. Again, in the time of Emperor Wu Zong, village children would threaten each other ‘, Prefect Xue is coming!’ There are various similar instances, as is proved by the account in the Wei Records of Zhang Liao being invoked as a bogeyman.” (Author's note: Ma Hu's Temple is in Suiyang. Li Pi, Governor of Fufang, who was his descendant, had a new tablet erected and inscribed there.)

  So, I, in my understanding, was just like “Those not knowing the origin of this saying” in the Tang Dynasty, and I truly deserved to be jeered at by someone a thousand years ago. All I can do is laugh wryly. I do not know whether this tablet is still at Ma Hu's Temple in Suiyang or whether the inscription has been kept in the local records or not. If they still exist, we should be able to see his real achievements, which would be the opposite of those described in the story Record of the Construction of the Canal.

  Because I wanted to find a few illustration, Mr. Chang Weijun collected a wealth of material for me in Peking, among it a few books which I had never seen. These included Picture-Book of Two Hundred and Forty Filial Acts by Hu Wenbing of Suzhou, published in 1879, the fifth year of Guang Xu. The word “forty” was written 卌 and there was a note to the effect that this should be pronounced xi. Why he went to such trouble instead of simply writing “forty” passes my understanding. As to that story to which I objected about Guo Ju burying his child alive, he had already cut it a few years before I was born. The preface says:

  “... The Twenty-Four Acts of Filial Piety brought out by the publishers is an excellent book, but its account of Guo Ju burying his son is not a good example to follow, according neither with reason nor human feeling.... I have rashly taken it upon myself to bring out a new edition, weeding out all those stories which aim at winning a name by exceeding proper limits, and choosing only which do not deviate from the rules of propriety and which can be taken as examples by all. These I have grouped into six categories.”

  The courage of this old Mr. Hu from Suzhou is certainly admirable. But I think many people must have shared his views, from way back too, only probably lacked the courage to make bold cuts or commit their views to writing. Take for instance The Picture-Book of a Hundred Filial Acts published in 1872, the eleventh year of Tong Zhi, with a preface by Zheng Ji (alias Zheng Jichang) which says:

  “... Now that morality is going to the dogs and the old customs are being undermined, forgetting that filial piety is human nature people regard it as something quite apart. They pick out stories of men of bygone days throwing themselves into furnaces or burying children alive and dub them as cruel and irrational, or accuse those who cut flesh from their things or disembowelled themselves of injuring the body given them by their parents. They do not realize that filial piety is a matter of feeling, not of outward forms. It has no fixed forms, no fixed observances. The filial piety of ancient times may not suit present needs; we today can hardly model ourselves on the ancients. For the time and place have changed, and different people will perform different deeds although all alike wish to be filial. Zi Xia said that a man should put his whole strength into serving his parents. So if people asked Confucius how to be filial his answer would vary according to different cases....”

  From this it is clear that in the reign of Tong Zhi some people considered such acts as burying a child alive as “cruel and irrational.” As for this Mr. Zheng Ji's personal views, I am not too clear about them. He may have meant that we need not follow such old examples but at the same time need not consider them wrong.

  The origin of this Picture-Book of a Hundred Filial Acts is rather unusual: it was the result of reading New Poems on a Hundred Beauties by a man called Yan from eastern Guangdong. Whereas Yan laid stress on female charm, the author laid stress on filial piety, showing splendid zeal in championing morality. However, though this book was complied by Yu Baozhen (alias Yu Lanpu) of Kuaiji, in other words, a man from my own district, I still have to say frankly that it is not up to much. For example, in a note to the story about Mulan joining the army in her father's place, he ascribed it to the “Sui Shi” (Sui Dynasty History). No book of this name exists. If he meant the Sui Shu (Records of Sui), that work has no reference to Mulan joining the army.

  Still this book was reprinted in lithographic edition by a Shanghai publisher in 1920, the ninth year of the republic, under the amplified title Complete Edition of the Picture-Book of a Hundred Filial Acts by Men and Women. And on the first page, in small print, were the words: Good models for family education. There was also an additional preface by a certain Wang Ding (alias Wang Dacuo)of Suzhou, which started off with a lament similar to the views of Mr. Zheng Ji of the Tong Zhi reign:

  “Ever since European influence spread east, scholars within the Four Seas have been advocating freedom and equality, so that morality has daily declined and men's hearts are becoming daily more depraved, unscrupulous and shameless, making them do all manner of evil, running risks and trusting to luck to get ahead. Few indeed are the men of integrity who have scruples and will not lower themselves.... I see that this world's irrational cruelty is well-nigh as bad as the heartlessness of Chen Shubao. If this tendency goes unchecked, what will our end be?...”

  Chen Shubao may actually have been so stupid that he seemed completely “heartless,” but it is rather unfair to drag him in as an example of irrational cruelty, when such terms had been used by others to describe Guo Ju's burying his son and Li E throwin
g herself into a furnace.

  In some ways, however, people's hearts do seem to be growing more depraved. Ever since the publication of Secrets Between Men and Women and New Treatise on Intercourse Between Men and Women, many books published in Shanghai use “men and women” in their titles. So now these words have been added even to the Picture-Book of a Hundred Filial Acts which was published to “rectify men's minds and improve their morals.” This is probably something never expected by Mr. Yu Baozhen of Kuaiji, who because of his dissatisfaction with the New Poems on a Hundred Beauties preached filial piety.

  To depart suddenly from filial piety, “the foremost of all virtues,” to drag in “men and women” may seem rather frivolous if not depraved. Still, I would like to take this chance to say a few words on this subject. Of course, I shall try to be brief.

  We Chinese, I dare say, even when it comes to “the foremost of all virtues, may sometimes start thinking of men and women too. The world is at peace, so idle people abound. Occasionally some “kill themselves for a noble cause” and may be too busy themselves to bother about other matters, but onlookers who remain alive can always carry out detailed researches. Official histories relate, and it is quite commonly known, that Cao E jumped into the river to look for her father, and after drowning herself still carried his corpse out. The problem is: How did she carry his corpse?