Diary of a Madman and Other Stories

by Lu Xun

  Source: Chinese Literature Number 2, 1978 pages 76-77

  Online Version: Lu Xun Reference Archive, September 2005

  Transcribed/HTML Markup: Mike B.

  Public Domain: Marxists Internet Archive (2005). You may freely copy, distribute, display and perform this work; as well as make derivative and commercial works. Please credit “Marxists Internet Archive” as your source.

  Kierkegaard* is a Dane with a gloomy outlook on life, whose works always breathe indignation. But lie says some amusing things too, as in the passage below:

  A theatre catches fire. The clown steps to the front of the stage to announce the fact to the audience, who think it a joke and applaud. Then the clown announces again that there is a fire, but they roar with laughter and clap more loudly than ever. No doubt the world will end amid the general applause of these laughter-loving people who take everything as a joke.

  What amuses me, however, is not this passage alone but the way it reminds me of these jokers' cunning. When there is a job to be done, they help out; when theit masters are bent on crime, they become accomplices. But they help in such a way that in case of bloodshed no bloodstain is found on them, nor any reek of blood.

  For instance, if something serious has happened and everyone is taking it seriously, the joker starts clowning to make the thing look funny, or exaggerates some irrelevant aspects of it to distract attention. This is known as "playing the fool". If murder has been done, he describes the scene of the crime and the hard work of the detectives. If the one killed is a woman, so much the better: he can refer to her as "the lovely corpse" or introduce her diary. If it is an assassination, he tells the life story of the victim, relates his love affairs and the anecdotes about him…Passions are bound to cool down eventually, but cold water—or, to he more refined, green tea—will speed up the cooling-off process. Then this fellow playing the fool becomes a man of letters.

  If a serious alarm is raised before men have grown completely apathetic, of course that is bad for the murderer. But then the joker can play the fool again, cracking jokes and making faces on one side, so that the man who has raised the alarm looks like a clown himself to everyone, and his warnings sound laughable. The joker shrinks and shivers to show how rich and mighty the other is. He bows and sighs to show the other's pride. Then the man who raised the alarm is considered a hypocrite. Luckily most of these jokers are men: otherwise they could accuse the one who gives the warning of attempted seduction, making public a great many indecent details, and finally pretend to kill themselves for shame. When there are jokers all around, the most serious talk loses its force and amid the suspicion and laughter an end is made of everything unfavourable to the murderer. This time the joker appears as a moralist.

  When there are no incidents of this kind, jokers collect tittle-tattie for the newspaper supplements every week or ten days with which to stuff readers' heads. After reading this for six months or a year, your mind is stocked with stories of how a certain great man plays mah-jong or a certain film star sneezes. This is naturally quite amusing. But the world will come to an end amid the laughter of these laughter-loving people.

  Notes

  * Soren Azbye Kierkegaard (1813-1855), Danish philosopher and theologian.

  CURBING THE FLOOD

  1935

  I

  This was the time when "the Great Flood brought devastation, encircling mountains and engulfing hills.'"1 Not all the subjects of Emperor Shun flocked on to the freights still above the water. Some tied themselves to tree tops, some took to rafts, on a number of which they rigged up tiny plank shelters — a thoroughly poetic sight seen from the cliffs.

  News from distant parts was brought by raft. Eventually everyone knew that Lord Gun,2 who had grappled with the flood for nine years so no effect, had incurred the imperial displeasure and been exiled so the Feather Mountain. He had apparently been succeeded by his son, young Lord Wenming, whose milk name was A Yu.3

  So long was the land flooded that the universities closed and there was no space even for kindergartens, with the result that the common people became rather muddle- headed. Many scholars had assembled on the Mount of Culture,4 however. Since food was brought to them by flying chariot from the Kingdom of Marvellous Artisans, they need fear no want and could pursue their studies. Yet most of them were opposed to Yu or questioned his very existence.

  Once a month a whirring and chugging in mid-air grew louder and louder till the flying chariot hove in sight. The gold circle on its flag emitted a faint effulgence. Five feet from the ground, it would let down baskets the contents of which were known to none but the scholars. Conversations like this were carried on vertically:

  "Good morning!"5

  "How do you do?"

  "Glu...Gli..."

  "O.K."

  After this the flying chariot flew swiftly back to the Kingdom of Marvellous Artisans, there was not a sound in the sky and the scholars fell silent too — they were busy eating. All that could be heard was the pounding of breakers against the mountain boulders. Then, energy restored by a siesta, academic discussions drowned the sound of the waves.

  "Yu will never succeed in curbing the flood, not if he's the son of Gun," declared a scholar who walked with a cane. "I have collected the genealogies of many kings, dukes, ministers and rich families. Long and careful study has led me to this conclusion: all the descendants of the rich are rich, all those of the wicked are wicked this is known as 'heredity.' It follows that, if Gun was unsuccessful, Yu will inevitably be unsuccessful too; for fools cannot give birth to wise men!"

  "O.K.," agreed a scholar without a cane.

  "But think of His Majesty's father!" put in another scholar without a cane."

  "He may have been a little 'dull,' but he has improved."

  "Your true fool can never improve..."

  "O.K."

  "Th-that's all n-n-nonsense!" stuttered another scholar, his nose promptly turning red. "You've been led astray by rumours. As a matter of fact, there is no such person as Yu. Yu is a reptile. Can a r-reptile curb the flood? Gun doesn't exist either. Gun is a fish. Can a f-fish curb the fl-fl-flood?" He stamped both feet vehemently.

  "There's no question of Gun's existence. Seven years ago I saw him with my own eyes when he went to the foot of Mount Kunlun to enjoy the plum blossom."

  "In that case, there must be some mistake over the name. He should be called Man, not Gun. As for Yu, I assure you he's a reptile. I have copious evidence to prove his non-existence. You may judge for yourselves..."

  He rose boldly to his feet, produced a knife and started peeling the bark from five great pines. Making a paste of some left-over bread-crumbs and water, he mixed this with charcoal to write on the trees in minute tadpole-shaped characters his arguments proving that Yu had never existed. He wrote for three times nine — twenty- seven — whole days. All who wanted to read this thesis had to pay ten succulent elm leaves or, if they lived on rafts, a shellful of fresh duckweed.

  Water was everywhere, making it impossible to hunt or farm. The survivors had so much time on their hands that many came to read. After a crowd had milled round the pines for three days, sighs of admiration and exhaustion could be heard on all sides. But on the fourth day at noon, when the scholar was eating fried noodles, a peasant spoke up:

  "There are men called Yu. And Yu doesn't mean 'reptile.' It's our country fashion of writing the 'Yu' for ape."

  "Are there men c-called Ape...?" roared the scholar, leaping to his feet and gulping down a half-chewed mouthful of noodles. His nose had turned a bright purple.

  "Of course there are. Why, I know some called Dog and Cat too!"

  "Don't argue with him. Mr. Bird-Head," interposed the scholar with the cane, putting down his bread. "All these country folk are fools. Bring me your genealogy!" he shouted at the villager. "I shall prove beyond a doubt that all your forbears were fools..."

  "I've never had a genealogy..."

  "Bah! It's disgusting types like this who m
ake accuracy impossible in my researches!"

  "But for this you don't need a gen-genealogy. My theory can't be wrong." Mr. Bird-Head sounded even more outraged. "Many scholars have written to me expressing approval. I've got all their letters here..."

  "No, no, we ought to refer to his genealogy..."

  "But I haven't any genealogy," said the "fool." "And in troubled times like these, cut off as we arc, to get proof in the form of letters of approval from your friends will be more difficult than performing a religious service in a snail-shell. The proof is here before us: your name is Mr. Bird-Head. Are you really a bird's head instead of a man?"

  "Confound it!" Mr. Bird-Head flushed purple to the ears with fury. "How dare you insult me! Insinuating that I'm not a man! Let's go to Lord Gao Yao6 and settle our difference by law! If I'm not a man, I'll gladly undergo capital punishment — in other words, I'll have my inhead cut off. Understand? If not, you'll be punished instead. Just you wait! Don't move till I've finished my noodles."

  "Sir," replied the villager stolidly, "as a learned man you ought to know that it is after noon now and other people are hungry too. The trouble is that fools have the same stomach as wise men — they get hungry just the same. I'm very sorry, but I must go and fish for duckweed. I'll come to court when you've filed your complaint." With that he jumped on to his raft, picked up his net and drifted off to gather water weeds. One by one, the other spectators scattered too, leaving Mr. Bird-Head with a scarlet nose and ears to make a fresh start on his noodles, while the scholar with the cane shook his head. But was Yu really a reptile or a man? This major issue remained unsettled.

  II

  Yu did seem to be a reptile after all.

  Over half a year had passed, the flying chariot from the Kingdom of Marvellous Artisans had come eight times, and nine out of ten of the raft-dwellers who had read the writing on the pines had beriberi; but there was still no word of the new official charged with curbing the flood. Not till the flying chariot had paid its tenth visit did it become known that there was indeed a man named Yu, that he was indeed the son of Gun and the imperially appointed Minister of Water Conservancy, that he had left Jichou7 three years earlier and might arrive at any time.

  Though mildly excited, all remained cool and sceptical. They had heard so many unreliable rumours of the sort before that they tended to turn a deaf ear to all such talk.

  This time, though, the news did seem to be well-founded. A fortnight later, everybody was saying that the minister would arrive very soon. For a man out collecting floating weeds had seen the official boats. Indeed he could show a black and blue bump on his head which he explained had been caused by a stone thrown by a guard when he did not get out of the way quickly enough. Here was palpable evidence of the minister's arrival. This man promptly became exceedingly famous and busy. Everyone rushed to look at the bump on his head, nearly swamping his raft in the process. Then the scholars summoned him and decided after serious research that his bump was a genuine bump. This forced Mr. Bird-Head 'to relinquish his views and he made over historical studies to others while he vent off to collect folk ballads.

  A flotilla of large boats, each made from a single tree, arrived about twenty days after the bump was raised. On each boat twenty guards were pulling at the oars, thirty guards were holding lances. At both stem and stern were flags. As soon as this fleet reached the mountain top, it received a respectful welcome from a band of local gentry and scholars on the bank. After some time, from the largest vessel emerged two middle-aged, corpulent officials, escorted by a score or so of soldiers in tiger skins. They made their way, with those who had welcomed them, to the stone building on the highest peak.

  On dry land as well as on the water, folk craned their necks to catch what was being said and learned that these were two government inspectors, not Yu himself. The officials seated themselves in the centre of the building and, after eating some bread, began their investigation.

  "The situation is not too desperate. There is just about enough to eat." A specialist in the Miao dialect was spokesman for the scholars. "Bread is dropped once a month from mid-air and there is no lack of fish which, though inevitably tasting of mud, is very fat, Your Honours. As for the lower orders, they have plenty of elm leaves and seaweed. They 'eat all day without exerting their minds' — in other words, since they do not have to use their heads what they have is quite enough. We've tasted their food and it is not unpleasant, with quite a distinctive flavour...

  "Besides," put in another scholar, an expert on the Materia Medica of Emperor Shen Nong,8 "there is Vitamin W in elm leaves, and iodine which cures scrofula in seaweed — both thoroughly nutritious."

  "O.K.," said another scholar. The officials stared at him in surprise.

  "As for drink, they have all they want," went on the expert. "More than enough to last ten thousand generations. Unfortunately it is mixed with a little mud so that distillation is necessary before drinking. But though I have pointed this out time and again, they are too pigheaded to carry out instructions; hence countless are ill .

  "Aren't they to blame for the flood too?" interposed a gentleman in a long dark brown gown, his beard clipped to five points. "Before the flood came, they were too lazy to repair the dykes. When the flood came, they were too lazy to drain it off...

  "That's what's called the loss of spiritual values," chuckled an essayist in the style of the time of Fu Xi,9 a man with pointed moustaches who was seated in the back row. "When I climbed the Pamir the winds of heaven were blowing, the plum was in flower, white clouds were sailing past, the price of gold was mounting, the rats were sleeping. I saw a youth with a cigar in his mouth and on his face the mist of Chi You10...Ha, ha, ha! It can't be helped...

  "O.K."

  Talk in this vein went on for hours. The officials, having listened attentively, finally told them to draw up a joint report, preferably with detailed proposals for rehabilitation. With this, the officials boarded their boat again.

  The next day, on the pretext of exhaustion from the voyage, they transacted no business and received no visitors. The third day, the scholars invited them to see the umbrella-shaped old pine on the highest peak, while in the afternoon they went to fish for yellow eels behind the mountain, enjoying themselves till dusk. The fourth day, on the pretext of exhaustion from inspection, they transacted no business and received no visitors. On the fifth day, after noon, they sent for the spokesman of the lower orders.

  The lower orders had started choosing a spokesman four days previously, but nobody would undertake the task, all pleading their complete ignorance of officials. Thereupon the man with the bump on his head was elected by a majority, since he had some knowledge of the official world. At this his bump, which had subsided, started twinging as if being pricked by a needle. With tears in his eyes he swore: 'Death is better than being a spokesman!" The others crowded round day and night to urge upon him his moral obligations. They accused him of neglecting the public interest, of being a selfish individualist who should not be suffered to remain in China. The more impassioned shook their fists in his face, holding him responsible for the flood. Nearly dropping with fatigue, he decided that to sacrifice himself for the common good would be better than being hounded to death on the raft. Making supreme effort of will, on the fourth day he agreed.

  He was acclaimed by the crowd. But by then a few bold spirits felt a twinge of envy.

  At dawn on the fifth day, the others dragged him to the river bank to wait for a summons. Sure enough, the officials summoned him. His legs shook beneath him, but once more he made a supreme effort of will. Then, after two great yawns, with puffy eyes, feeling as if he had left the ground and were treading on air, he boarded the official boat.

  Strange to relate, neither the guards with lances nor the warriors in tiger skins beat him or swore at him — they let him pass into the central cabin. There bear-skins and leopard-skins strewed the floor, bows and arrows hung from the walls, and the vases and pots on all sides quite d
azzled his eyes. Pulling himself together, he saw seated in the place of honour opposite two corpulent officials. He dared not look too closely at their faces.

  "Are you the spokesman of the common people?" asked one of the officials.

  "They sent me here." His eyes were fixed on the spots like mugwort leaves on the leopard-skins on the floor.

  "How are things with you?"

  Not understanding, he made no reply.

  "Are you doing all right?"

  "Yes, thanks to Your Honours' goodness . After a moment's thought, he added softly: "We make do. . We're muddling through...

  "What are you eating?"

  "Leaves, water-weed...

  "Can you eat such things?"

  "Oh yes, we're used to anything. We can eat anything. Only some young scamps make a song and dance about it. The human heart is growing evil, devil take it! But we give them a good thrashing!"

  The officials laughed and one said to the other: "An honest fellow!"

  This praise went to the fellow's head, emboldening him to give vent to a torrent of words:

  "We can always think of some way out. Water-weed, now, is best made into Slippery Emerald Soup, while elm leaves make good First-at-Court Gruel. We don't strip all the bark from the trees, but leave some so that next spring there'll be new leaves on the boughs for us to pick. If, thanks to Your Honours' kindness, we could catch eels...

  The officials seemed to have lost interest, however, for one of them gave two huge yawns one after another, then put in sharply: "Draw up a joint report, preferably with detailed proposals for rehabilitation."

  "But none of us can write!" he said timidly.

  "Are you all illiterate? This is really very backward of you! In that case, bring us one sample of everything you eat."

  Having left fearfully yet jubilantly, rubbing his bump, he lost no time in transmitting the officials' orders to the dwellers on the shore, the trees and the rafts. Moreover he ordered them loudly: "This is for the higher-ups! All must be done cleanly, carefully and handsomely..."