THE PHILOSOPHER
THE PHILOSOPHER, by W. Somerset Maugham, from his On a Chinese Screen, pp. 147-158.
The Philosopher is undoubtedly Ku Hung-ming，辜鸿铭（汤生） （1847-1928）, who was then living in Peking. Maugham would have us believe that the interview took place in some such city as Chengtu, Szechwan. Ku had worked under Chang Chi-tung （张之洞）, one of the Empress Dowager's greatest viceroys （line 18, p. 152）. This essay has already been translated into Chinese. See 人间世，二十三年九月二十日，第二十期，三十二至三十七页，辜鸿铭访问记，黄嘉音译 （惟黄先生未翻译篇后的两首诗）． 在该期内亦有人证明 Somerset's Philosopher 是辜先生．
It was surprising to find so vast a city in a spot that seemed to me so remote. From its battlemented gate towards sunset you could see the snowy mountains of Tibet. It was so populous that you could walk at ease only on the walls and it took a rapid walker three hours to complete their circuit. There was no railway within a thousand miles and the river on which it stood was so shallow that only junks of light burden could safely navigate it. Five days in a sampan were needed to reach the Upper Yangtze. For an uneasy moment you asked yourself whether trains and steamships were as necessary to the conduct of life as we who use them every day consider;for here, a million persons throve, married, begat their kind, and died; here a million persons were busily occupied with commerce, art, and thought.
And here lived a philosopher of repute the desire to see whom had been to me one of the incentives of a somewhat arduous journey. He was the greatest authority in China on the Confucian learning. He was said to speak English and German with facility. He had been for many years secretary to one of the Empress Dowager's greatest viceroys, but he lived now in retirement. On certain days in the week, however, all through the year he opened his doors to such as sought after knowledge, and discoursed on the teaching of Confucius. He had a body of disciples, but it was small, since the students for the most part preferred to his modest dwelling and his severe exhortations the sumptuous buildings of the foreign university and the useful science of the barbarians; with him this was mentioned only to be scornfully dismissed. From all I heard of him I concluded that he was a man of character.
When I announced my wish to meet this distinguished person my host immediately offered to arrange it; but the days passed and nothing happened. I made inquiries and my host shrugged his shoulders.
“I sent him a chit and told him to come along,” he said. “I don't know why he hasn't turned up. He's cross-grained old fellow.”
I did not think it was proper to approach a philosopher in so cavalier a fashion and I was hardly surprised that he had ignored a summons such as this. I caused a letter to be sent asking in the politest terms I could devise whether he would allow me to call upon him and within two hours received an answer making an appointment for the following morning at ten o'clock.
I was carried in a chair. The way seemed interminable. I went through crowded streets and through streets deserted till I came at last to one, silent and empty, in which at a small door in a long white wall my bearers set down my chair. One of them knocked and after a considerable time a judas was opened; dark eyes looked through; there was a brief colloquy;and finally I was admitted. A youth, pallid of face, wizened, and poorly dressed motioned me to follow him. I did not know if he was a servant or a pupil of the great man. I passed through a shabby yard and was led into a long low room sparsely furnished with an American roll-top desk, a couple of blackwood chairs and two little Chinese tables. Against the walls were shelves on which were a great number of books:most of them, of course, were Chinese; but there were many philosophical and scientific works in English, French and German; and there were hundreds of unbound copies of learned reviews. Where books did not take up the wall space hung scrolls on which in various calligraphies were written, I suppose, Confucian quotations. There was no carpet on the floor. It was a cold, bare, and comfortless chamber. Its somberness was relieved only by a yellow chrysanthemum which stood by itself on the desk in a long vase.
I waited for some time and the youth who had shown me in brought a pot of tea, two cups, and a tin of Virginian cigarettes. As he went out the philosopher entered. I hastened to express my sense of the honor he did me in allowing me to visit him. He waved me to a chair and poured out the tea.
“I am flattered that you wished to see me,” he returned.“Your countrymen deal only with coolies and with compradores; they think every Chinese must be one or the other.”
I ventured to protest. But I had not caught his point. He leaned back in his chair and looked at me with an expression of mockery.
“They think they have but to beckon and we must come.”
I saw then that my friend's unfortunate communication still rankled. I did not quite know how to reply. I murmured something complimentary.
He was an old man, tall, with a thin gray queue, and bright large eyes under which were heavy bags. His teeth were broken and discolored. He was exceedingly thin, and his hands, fine and small, were withered and clawlike. I had been told that he was an opium smoker. He was very shabbily dressed in a black gown, a little black cap, both much the worse for wear, and dark gray trousers gartered at the ankle. He was watching. He did not quite know what attitude to take up, and he had the manner of a man who was on his guard. Of course the philosopher occupies a royal place among those who concern themselves with the things of the spirit and we have the authority of Benjamin Disraeli that royalty must be treated with abundant flattery. I seized my trowel. Presently I was conscious of a certain relaxation in his demeanor. He was like a man who was all set and rigid to have his photograph taken, but hearing the shutter click lets himself go and eases into his natural self. He showed me his books.
“I took the Ph.D. in Berlin, you know,” he said. “And afterwards I studied for some time in Oxford. But the English, if you will allow me to say so, have no great aptitude for philosophy.”
Though he put the remark apologetically it was evident that he was not displeased to say a slightly disagreeable thing.
“We have had philosophers who have not been without influence in the world of thought,” I suggested.
“Hume and Berkeley? The philosophers who taught at Oxford when I was there were anxious not to offend their theological colleagues. They would not follow their thought to its logical consequences in case they should jeopardize their position in university society.”
“Have you studied the modern developments of philosophy in America?” I asked.
“Are you speaking of Pragmatism? It is the last refuge of those who want to believe the incredible. I have more use for American petroleum than for American philosophy.”
His judgments were tart. We sat down once more and drank another cup of tea. He began to talk with fluency. He spoke a somewhat formal but an idiomatic English. Now and then he helped himself out with a German phrase. So far as it was possible for a man of that stubborn character to be influenced he had been influenced by Germany. The method and the industry of the Germans had deeply impressed him and their philosophical acumen was patent to him when a laborious professor published in a learned magazine an essay on one of his own writings.
“I have written twenty books,” he said, “and that is the only notice that has ever been taken of me in a European publication.”
But his study of Western philosophy had only served in the end to satisfy him that wisdom after all was to be found within the limits of the Confucian canon. He accepted its philosophy with conviction. It answered the needs of his spirit with a completeness which made all foreign learning seem vain. I was interested in this because it bore out an opinion of mine that philosophy is an affair of character rather than of logic; the philosopher believes not according to evidence, but according to his own temperament; and his thinking merely serves to make reasonable what his instinct regards true. If Confucianism gained so firm a hold on the Chinese it is because it explained and expressed them as no other system of thought could do.
My host lit a cigarette. His voice at first had been thin and tired, but as he grew interested in what he said it gained volume. He talked vehemently. There was in him none of the repose of the sage. He was a polemist and a fighter. He loathed the modern cry for individualism. For him society was the unit, and the family the foundation of society. He upheld the old China and the old school, monarchy, and the rigid canon of Confucius. He grew violent and bitter as he spoke of the students, fresh from foreign universities, who with sacrilegious hands tore down the oldest civilization in the world.
“But you, do you know what you are doing?” he exclaimed,“what is the reason for which you deem yourselves our betters? Have you excelled us in arts or letters? Has our civilization been less elaborate, less complicated, less refined than yours? Why, when you lived in caves and clothed yourselves with skins we were a cultured people. Do you know that we tried an experiment which is unique in the history of the world? We sought to rule this great country not by force but by wisdom. And for centuries we succeeded. Then why does the white men despise the yellow? Shall I tell you? Because he has invented the machine gun. That is your superiority. We are a defenseless horde and you can blow us into eternity. You have shattered the dream of our philosophers that the world could be governed by the power of law and order. And now you are teaching our young men your secret. You have thrust your hideous inventions upon us. Do you not know that we have a genius for mechanics? Do you not know that there are in this country four hundred millions of the most practical and industrious people in the world? Do you think it will take us long to learn? And what will become of your superiority when the yellow man can make as good guns as the white and fire them as straight? You have appealed to the machine gun and by the machine gun shall you be judged.”
But at that moment we were interrupted. A little girl come softly in and nestled close up to the old gentleman. She stared at me with curious eyes. He told me that she was his youngest child. He put his arms round her and with a murmur of caressing words kissed her fondly. She wore a black coat and trousers that barely reached her ankles, and she had a long pigtail hanging down her back. She was born on the day the revolution was brought to a successful issue by the abdication of the emperor.
“I thought she heralded the Spring of the new era,” he said. “She was but the last flower of this great nation's Fall.”
From a drawer in his roll-top desk he took a few cash, and handing them to her, sent her away.
“You see that I wear a queue,” he said, taking it in his hands. “It is a symbol. I am the last representative of the Old China.”
He talked to me, more gently now, of how philosophers in long past days wandered from state to state with their disciples, teaching all who were worthy to learn. Kings called them to their councils and made them rulers of cities. His erudition was great and his eloquent phrases gave a multicolored vitality to the incidents he related to me of the history of his country. I could not help thinking him a somewhat pathetic figure. He felt in himself the capacity to administer the state, but there was no king to intrust him with office; he had vast stores of learning which he was eager to impart to the great band of students that his soul hankered after, and there came to listen but a few wretched, half-starved, and obtuse provincials.
Once or twice discretion had made me suggest that I should take my leave, but he had been unwilling to let me go. Now at last I was obliged to. I rose. He held my hand.
“I should like to give you something as a recollection of your visit to the last philosopher in China, but I am a poor man and I do not know what I can give you that would be worthy of your acceptance.”
I protested that the recollection of my visit was in itself a priceless gift. He smiled.
“Men have short memories in these degenerate days, and I should like to give you something more substantial. I would give you one of my books but you cannot read Chinese.”
He looked at me with an amicable perplexity. I had an inspiration.
“Give me a sample of your calligraphy,” I said.
“Would you like that?” He smiled. “In my youth I was considered to wield the brush in a manner that was not entirely despicable.”
He sat down at his desk, took a fair sheet of paper, and placed it before him. He poured a few drops of water on a stone, rubbed the ink stick in it, and took his brush. With a free movement of his arm he began to write. And as I watched him, I remembered with not a little amusement something else which had been told me of him. It appeared that the old gentleman, whenever he could scrape a little money together, spent it wantonly in the streets inhabited by ladies to describe whom a euphemism is generally used. His eldest son, a person of standing in the city, was vexed and humiliated by the scandal of this behavior; and only his strong sense of filial duty prevented him from reproaching the libertine with severity. I dare say that to a son such looseness would be disconcerting, but the student of human nature could look upon it with equanimity. Philosophers are apt to elaborate their theories in the study, forming conclusions upon life which they know only at second hand, and it has seemed to me often that their works would have a more definite significance if they had exposed themselves to the vicissitudes which befall the common run of men. I was prepared to regard the old gentleman's dalliance in hidden places with leniency. Perhaps he sought but to elucidate the most inscrutable of human illusions.
He finished. To dry the ink he scattered a little ash on the paper and rising handed it to me.
“What have you written?” I asked.
I thought there was a slightly malicious gleam in his eyes. “I have ventured to offer you two little poems of my own.”
“I did not know you were a poet.”
“When China was still an uncivilized country,” he retorted with sarcasm, “all educated men could write verse at least with elegance.”
I took the paper and looked at the Chinese characters. They made an agreeable pattern upon it.
“Won't you also give me a translation?”
“Traductore—tradittore,” he answered. “You cannot expect me to betray myself. Ask one of your English friends. Those who know most about China know nothing, but you will at least find one who is competent to give you a rendering of a few rough and simple lines.”
I bade him farewell, and with great politeness he showed me to my chair. When I had the opportunity I gave the poems to a sinologue of my acquaintance, and here is the version he made. I confess that, doubtless unreasonably, I was somewhat taken aback when I read it.
“You loved me not: your voice was sweet;
Your eyes were full of laughter; your hands were tender.
And then you loved me: your voice was bitter;
Your eyes were full of tears; your hands were cruel.
Sad, sad that love should make you
Unlovable.”
* * *
“I craved the years would quickly pass
That you might lose
The brightness of your eyes, the peach-bloom of your skin,
And all the cruel splendour of your youth.
Then I alone would love you
And you at last would care.”
“The envious years have passed full soon
And you have lost
The brightness of your eyes, the peach-bloom of your skin,
And all the charming splendour of your youth.
Alas, I do not love you
And I care not if you care.”
Notes
Tibet， 西藏．
begat, gave birth to children.
of repute, of good reputation.
incentives, motives; stimuli.
arduous, laborious; difficult.
exhortations, inciting people to that which is good.
sumptuous, luxurious; splendid.
chit, a short note.
cross-grained, perverse; contrary; stubborn.
cavalier, easy; free; informal.
interminable, endless; without termination.
judas, a peephole, as in a door or wall.
colloquy, conversation; talk.
wizened, shriveled; withered.
calligraphies, brush-writing; penmanship.
somberness, dulness; gloominess; graveness.
Virginian cigarettes, mild cigarettes, as contrasted to the strong Turkish cigarettes.
compradores, Chinese agents or advisers employed by foreign business concerns to deal with their Chinese clients.
queue, hanging plaited tail, of hair or wig.
heavy bags, heavy pounches under the eyes, a sign of a dissipated life.
trowel, weapon. The trowel is a bricklayer's tool, used also as a gardening tool.
shutter click, the shutter of the kodak clicks when a picture is being taken.
Ph.D., Doctor of Philosophy, an academic degree.
Hume, David （1711-1776）, Scotch historian and philosopher.
Berkeley, George （1685-1753）, Irish philosopher.
jeopardize, imperil; risk; expose to loss or injury.
Pragmatism, in philosophy, a method of thinking concerned with thought as a process evolved with a useful purpose, and considering truth as tested by agreement with reality and by the practical results accomplished. William James and John Dewey are the first to propagate this attitude. Pragmatism is a protest against idle speculation regarding problems that have little to do with the practical questions that arise in daily life.
tart, sharp; caustic.
acumen, keenness of perception or discernment.
patent, evident; manifest.
canon, teachings or truths; principles; law, especially religious law.
vehemently, forcefully; eagerly.
polemist, controversialist; disputant; one who is ready to dispute a contrary opinion.
sacrilegious, violating sacred things; impious.
abdication of the emperor, on February 12, 1912, when the Abdication Edict was proclaimed, when the young emperor relinquished his throne.
heralded, ushered in; proclaimed; announced.
He is punning on the word Fall, playing on the same word but on different applications.
wandered from state to state. He had in mind Confucius, of course.
hankered after, longed for; yearned after.
obtuse provincials, not very acute or bright country boys; slow, mentally inactive students from the country.
Men have short memories, men do not remember for long.
scrape, gather; collect.
ladies to describe whom a euphemism is generally used, sing-song girls who have become prostitutes.Euphemism, a way of describing an offensive thing by an inoffensive expression—calling coal “black gold”（乌金）, or “inky jade” （墨玉）, for instance.
libertine, licentious man; a man who lives a very loose life.
equanimity, calmness.
disconcerting, embarrassing; confusing.
vicissitudes, irregular changes.
dalliance in hidden places, wanton or amorous play in houses of prostitution.
elucidate, throw light upon; explain.
the most inscrutable of human illusions, love （? ）.
sarcasm, bitter sting.
Traductore-tradittore, the Italian for “translation-traitor,” i.e., translation betrays, translation of what he has written would tell too much of Ku Hung-ming.
sinologue, one well versed in Chinese language and literature, in things Chinese.
taken aback, surprised; shocked.
Questions
1. Describe the city in which the philosopher lived.
2. Why did the author wish to meet the philosopher?
3. Why did the philosopher ignore the chit which told him to come along?
4. What details make you feel that the philosopher's chamber is “cold, bare, and comfortless”?
5. Describe the philosopher's appearance.
6. What was the philosopher's mood? Why? How did the author put him at ease?
7. What was his opinion of English and American philosophy? Why did he have a higher opinion of German philosophy?
8. What did he think of individualism? of returned students?
9. What did he consider that the “superiority” of the West consist in?
10. What effect did the coming in of his little daughter have on the philosopher's mood?
11. Why did the author feel him to be a somewhat pathetic figure?
12. What weakness did gossip accuse the philosopher of?
13. Why was the author somewhat taken aback by the content of the philosopher's poem?
参考译文
【作品简介】
《哲学家》一文选自威廉·萨默塞特·毛姆所著《在中国的屏风上》, 147—158页。
文中的哲学家无疑是指辜鸿铭（汤生）（1847—1928），他当时住在北平。毛姆让我们相信这场会面的地点是在某个类似四川成都的城市。辜鸿铭曾在慈禧太后最倚重的总督之一张之洞的幕下效力（152页，第18行）。本文已译成中文，见《人间世》,1923年9月20日，第20期，第32—37页，《辜鸿铭访问记》，黄嘉音译（惟黄先生未翻译篇后的两首诗）。在该期内亦有人证明毛姆笔下的哲学家是辜先生。
如此偏远的一隅之地竟然还可以找到偌大的一座城市，我觉得这真是不可思议啊。夕阳西下时分，登上有雉堞的城门远远望去，您便可以看到西藏那白雪皑皑的群山。城市人口十分稠密，只有在城墙上才可以悠闲自得地散步。快步行走都得花费三个小时才能顺着城墙走完一圈。方圆一千英里之内都不通铁路。流经城市的那条河，水很浅，只有载重量很轻的船只才能安全航行。乘坐舢板船需要五天才能抵达扬子江上游。处在如此不方便的时刻，您会问一问自己，我们这些每天都乘坐火车和汽船的人，是否会觉得这些交通工具是人生进程中必不可少的？而正是在此，数以百万计的人们出生成长，结婚成家，繁衍后代，最后离开人世。正是在此，数以百万计的人们忙忙碌碌，经商挣钱，创造艺术，思索问题。
在这样一座城市里，还生活着一位著名的哲学家。对我而言，正是怀着想要拜会这样一位哲学家的愿望，我才进行了这次不辞辛劳的长途跋涉之旅。他是中国儒学最了不起的权威。据说，他精通英语和德语。他曾多年担任皇太后的一位重臣的秘书，但现在已经退休赋闲在家了。不过，一年四季当中，每个星期有几天时间，他的大门一直向求知问学的人敞开着，他向这些人讲授儒学。他拥有一群门徒，但数量不大。绝大多数学生都喜欢他那朴实无华的住所，还有他对国外大学奢华建筑和蛮夷实用科学的严苛批判。若是有人在他面前提起这个话题，只会招致他冷嘲热讽的斥责。根据我所听到的有关他的情况，我断定，他是一位很有个性的人。
我表达了想去拜会这位出类拔萃的人物的愿望后，接待我的主人立刻安排了一次会面。但是，日子一天天过去了，却没有见到什么动静。我再三打听了解，主人却耸了耸肩膀。
“我打发人给他送去了一封便函，告诉他来一趟，”主人说，“我不知道，他为何迟迟没有出现，他可是位倔强任性的老头呢。”
我以为，以如此简慢的方式去接近一位哲学家并不合适，所以，他对这一种召唤不予理睬，我并不感到奇怪。我用自己能够想到的最为恭谦有礼的言辞给他写了一封信，询问他是否首肯我前去登门拜访他。信送出去不到两个小时，我便收到了回复，约定翌日上午十点钟见面。
我是被人用轿子抬着去的。上他家去的路似乎没有尽头。我们经过了熙来攘往的大街，也经过了人迹罕至的小巷。最后，我们抵达了一条街道，寂静无声，空无一人。街上的一道长长的白墙壁处有一扇小门，抬我的轿夫把我放了下来。其中一位敲了敲门，过了好一阵，门上的小窥视窗打开了。一双黑眼睛透过窥视窗张望着。简短的一番对话后，对方最后允许我进入。有个年轻人示意我跟着他。只见他脸色苍白，形容枯槁，衣着寒酸。我不知道，年轻人是大哲学家的仆人还是弟子。我走过一座萧疏杂乱的院落，然后被领进了一个进身很长、天花板很低的房间，里面放着几件简陋的家具：一张美式卷盖书桌，几把黑檀木椅子，两张中式小桌子。靠墙立着的是一排排书架，里面摆放着数量众多的书籍。其中大部分当然是中文书，但也有许多英文、法文和德文的哲学和科学著作。此外，还有几百种尚未装订的学术杂志。墙壁处没有被书架占去的地方挂着卷轴，上面是各种书法作品，我估计是儒家格言。地上没有铺地毯。这是一个阴冷、简陋、很不舒服的房间。只有立在书桌上的一个长花瓶插着的黄色菊花才打破了房间里阴郁单调的氛围。
我等了一会儿，把我领进来的那个年轻人拿来了一壶茶，两个茶杯，还有一听弗吉尼亚产的烟卷。年轻人出去时，哲学家进来了。我急忙表达说，他允许我拜访他，我深感荣幸。他示意我在一把椅子上坐下，然后倒茶。
“您有意要来见我，我不胜荣幸之至啊，”他回应着说，“您的国人只与苦力和买办们打交道。他们认为，每一位中国人不是苦力就是买办。”
我斗胆提出异议，但是，没有弄明白他说话的意图。他仰靠在椅子上，看着我，一副嘲讽的表情。
“他们以为，他们只需要召唤一声，我们就必须到。”
我此时才明白，我朋友那种糟糕的交流方式仍然令他耿耿于怀呢。我真不知道该如何回答他。我喃喃地说了几句恭维的话。
他是位老者，身材很高，留着一条细长的灰白辫子，一双大眼睛炯炯有神，眼睛下面现出了厚厚的眼袋。牙齿参差不齐，而且有了污渍。他体型格外瘦削，一双手纤细小巧，显得干瘪，形同爪子。我听人家说了，他吸食鸦片。他衣着寒酸，穿着一件黑色长衫，头戴一顶很小的黑色帽子，长衫和帽子都破旧不堪。深灰色的长裤在脚踝处用袜带扎着。他一直注视着我，不怎么清楚该以什么态度对待我，但他的行为举止显得很警觉。当然，这位哲学家在关注精神事物的人们当中拥有至尊地位。我们国家的权威人物本杰明·迪斯累里[1]说过，享有至尊地位的人应该受到充分的恭维。我不失时机地说了很多恭维话。不一会儿，我便意识到，他的态度有所放松了。他如同一个等着人家来拍照的人，摆好了姿势，表情僵硬，等到听见按快门时的咔嚓声响过后，这才轻松了起来，恢复到了自己正常的状态。他领着我参观他的书籍。
“您知道，我在柏林获得博士学位，”他说，“后来，又在牛津大学学习了一段时间。但是，恕我说一句，英国人对哲学缺乏卓越的天赋。” 虽说他做出这个评价时表达了歉意，但很显然，他并非不喜欢说稍显逆耳的话。 “我们国家的哲学家中也不是没有对世界思想产生影响的啊。”我提示说。 “您是指休谟[2]和贝克莱[3]吗？但我在牛津时发现，那儿教书的哲学家们迫切想要做到的是，不要冒犯他们从事神学研究的同事。他们并不从心所欲，追求合乎逻辑的结果，以免危及他们在大学社会中的地位。” “您研究过现代哲学在美国的进展吗？”我问了一声。 “您指的是实用主义哲学思想[4]吗？实用主义哲学是那些想要信奉不可信之物的人们最后的避难所。比起美国的哲学来，我更加需要美国的石油。” 他的这些评价很尖刻。我们再次坐了下来，又喝了一杯茶。他开始侃侃而谈起来。他说的是一口多少有点拘泥形式但却是很地道的英文，时不时地会忍不住冒出一个德语短语来。就一位性格固执的人可能受到的影响的程度而言，他还是受到了德国的影响。德国人的处事方式和勤奋努力的精神给他留下了深刻的印象。有位勤奋的教授就哲学家本人著作中的一部在一家学术刊物上发表了一篇论文，这时候，哲学家看到了德国人敏锐的哲学才智。 “我写了二十部书，”他说，“那是欧洲的出版物对我的唯一关注点。” 但是，他研究哲学的唯一目的就是要证明：西方智慧全部都可在儒家学说中寻找到。他全盘接受儒家哲学，而且深信不疑。儒家哲学完全满足了他自己的精神需求，这一点令西方学说黯然失色。我对这一点很有兴趣，因为这佐证了我的一个观点，即哲学与其说是关于逻辑的学说，不如说是关于性格的学说。这位哲学家的信仰不是依据证据，而是依据他自己的性情。他所思所想只是要解释他凭着直觉认为是正确的东西合情合理。如果说儒家学说能够牢固地扎根于中国人的心中，那是因为，它向他们解释和表达的，其他任何思想体系都无法做到。 接待我的主人点燃了一支烟。他刚开始说话时，声音很细，也显得很疲倦，但是，随着他对讲述的东西兴趣加强，说话声音也洪亮了起来。他说话时充满了激情。此时的他一扫智者特有的平和性情，成了一位善辩者和斗士。他对现代哲学家鼓吹个人主义的行为深恶痛绝。在他看来，社会是世界的一个单元，而家庭则是社会的基础。他捍卫古老的中国，古老的学派、帝制，还有儒教中严厉的教条。他说到了学者们新近从国外的大学回国，大逆不道地亲手撕碎了这个世界上最古老的文明。这时候，他情绪暴躁，表情痛苦。 “但是你们，你们知道自己在干什么吗？”他激动地大声说，“你们凭什么认为你们的东西比我们更加优秀？你们在艺术或者文学上超越过了我们吗？我们的思想家不如你们的思想家思想深邃吗？我们的文明不如你们的精湛、完善和卓越吗？是啊，你们还在住山洞，穿着兽皮时，我们已经是一个文明的民族啦。你们是否知道，我们曾经进行过世界历史上独一无二的实验？我们一直求索，探寻用智慧而非武力来统治这个伟大国家的途径。而多少个世纪以来，我们取得了成功。那么，白种人为何看不起黄种人呢？需要我告诉你们吗？因为白种人发明了机枪。这就是你们的优势。我们是一个不设防的民族，而你们能够攻打我们，让我们种族灭绝。我们的哲学家们憧憬着，世界将通过法律和秩序的力量来治理，但你们击碎了他们的梦想。而现如今，你们把你们的秘诀传授给了我们的年轻一代。你们把你们充满了邪恶的发明物强加给我们。你们难道不知道吗？我们是一个有机械天赋的民族啊。你们难道不知道吗？这个国家可是拥有四万万世界上最讲究实际和最勤劳的人民啊。你们以为我们需要花费很长的时间才能学会吗？等到黄种人能够像白种人一样制造出精良的枪炮并且直接向他们开火时，你们的优势从何说起呢？你们诉诸机枪，但你们最后会因为机枪受到审判。” 但这时刻，我们的交谈打断了。一个小女孩动作轻柔地进来了，依偎在老先生的身边。她盯着我看，目光中充满了好奇。他告诉我说，她是他最年幼的孩子。他用双臂搂住她，一边喃喃细语，一边亲吻她。女孩身穿一件黑色外套，一条黑色裤子刚及脚踝处。一条长辫子拖到了背后。女孩是在辛亥革命成功那一天出生的。那场革命废除了帝制。
“我认为，她预示了一个新时代的春天的到来，”他说，“她是我们这个伟大民族秋天里的最后一枝花。”
他从自己卷盖式书桌的抽屉里拿出了一点零钱，递给了她，打发她离开了。
“您看，我留着一条辫子，”他说，一边用双手抓住辫子，“它是一个象征，因为我是这个古老中国的最后代表。”
他现在用更加平和的语气对我谈到，昔日久远的年代里，哲学家们如何领着他们的弟子周游列国，向可以启蒙的人们传授知识。帝王们请他们入仕朝廷，任命他们为地方官吏。他学问渊博，能言善辩，绘声绘色地向我讲述着他的国家的一个个历史掌故。我不禁觉得，他是个多么值得悲悯的人物。他觉得自己有能力治理好这个国家，只是怀才不遇，不受任何帝王的青睐。他学富五车，热切地想要向他心仪的广大弟子们传授，但是，前来听讲者寥寥，而且还是一些穷困潦倒、忍饥挨饿而又愚笨迟钝的外乡人。
有一两次，我意识到，自己应该起身告辞了，但他执意不让我走。最后，我必须要告辞。我站起身，他握住了我的一只手。
“您来看望最后一位中国哲学家，我应该给您点什么东西可兹纪念才是啊，但我是个穷困的人，不知道该给您什么才值得您笑纳。”
我语气坚决地说，此次拜访本身就值得纪念，弥足珍贵。他微笑着。
“这样一个堕落的年代里，人们容易健忘啊。我还是应该给您点实实在在的东西。我本想送您一本拙作，但您看不懂中文。”
他看着我，目光中透着友善而又困惑的神情。我突然萌生了一个想法。
“送我一幅您的书法作品吧。”我说。
“您喜欢这个吗？”他微笑着说，“我年轻时的书法还算不得完全糟糕透顶啊。”
他在自己的书桌边坐了下来，拿出了一张宣纸，展开在面前。他在一口石砚上滴了几滴水，用墨条在砚台上磨了起来，然后拿出毛笔。随着手臂的自由移动，他开始书写了起来。趁着盯着他看的当儿，我饶有兴趣地回想起了人们告诉我的有关他的另外一些事情。据说，眼前这位老先生，只要积攒起了几个钱，便会把钱挥霍在烟花柳巷的女人身上——中国人一般用这个委婉词来表述。他的长子是城里的一位有头有脸的人物，但因为父亲的这种丑陋行为而倍感痛苦和羞辱。只是出于自己强烈的孝顺之心，他才没有对父亲进行严厉的斥责。我可以说，对于一个儿子来说，这种不检点的行为羞于启齿。但是，研究人性的学者们却能够坦然地对待此事。哲学家们善于在研究中详尽阐述自己的种种理论，只是依据间接经验来得出关于人生的种种结论。我常常觉得，哲学家们若是能够亲历普通人经历的种种事情，他们写出的著作肯定会更加有意义。我拟以宽容之心来对待这位老先生在隐秘之处的不检点行为。他或许只是企图阐述人类幻想中最不可思议的事情。
他书写完毕，在纸张上面撒了些灰，以便让墨迹干了，然后站起身，交给我。
“您写的是什么内容呢？”我问了一声。
我感觉到，他的眼睛里掠过一丝幸灾乐祸的亮光。
“我不揣谫陋，把自己的两首小诗奉献给您。”
“我不知道您还是位诗人呢。”
“当中国还是个未开化的蛮邦时，”他回应着说，语气充满了揶揄，“但凡受过教育的人至少都能够写出优美的诗行。”
我拿起那张纸，看着上面的中国字。文字在上面排列得工整匀称，富有美感。
“您不打算同时给我译文吗？”
“Traduttore—traditore[5],”他回答说，“您不要指望我背叛自己。请您的某位英国朋友翻译吧。那些最知道中国的人实际上一无所知，但您至少可找到能够给您解释这几句粗简诗行的人。”
我向他告辞，他彬彬有礼地把我送到我的轿子边。我后来找到了机会，把两首诗给了一位通晓汉学的熟人，以下是他的译文。我得承认，每当我看到这个内容时，总会莫名地感到震惊。
你当时不爱我了：你的声音很甜美。你的双眼充满了笑意，你的双手很纤细。你后来爱我了：你的声音很苦涩。你的双眼充满了泪水，你的双手令人痛苦。悲伤啊悲伤，爱竟然让你变得不可爱。
* * *
我渴望着岁月匆匆逝去
那样你就可能失去
你明亮的双眸，桃花般的肌肤，
还有你全部残忍而又壮丽的青春。
然后我独自一人爱你
你最后才会在意。
令人羡慕的岁月匆匆逝去
而你也已经失去了
你明亮的双眸，桃花般的肌肤，
还有你全部迷人而又壮丽的青春。
哎呀，我不爱你了
即便你在意，我也不在意。
（潘华凌 译）
[1]本杰明·迪斯累里（Benjamin Disrae1i, 1804—1881）是英国首相（1868,1874—1880）、保守党领袖和作家，写过小说和政论作品，其政府奉行殖民主义扩张政策。
[2]休谟（David Hume, 1711—1776）是英国哲学家、经济学家、历史学家，不可知论的代表人物，认为知觉是认识的唯一对象，否认感觉是外部世界的反映，主要著作有《人性论》《人类理智研究》等。
[3]贝克莱（George Berke1ey, 1685—1753）是爱尔兰基督教新教主教、唯心主义哲学家，认为“存在即被感知”，存在的只是我的感觉和自我，著有《视觉新论》《人类和知识原理》等。
[4]实用主义（Pragmatism）是19世纪末产生于美国的现代唯心主义哲学思潮。到了20世纪初，成为一种主流思潮，对法律、政治、教育、社会、宗教和艺术的研究产生了很大的影响。
[5]此处原文为意大利语，这是有关翻译问题的一句妙语，意为“翻译者，背叛者”。用英语表述则为“The trans1ator, a traitor”或“The trans1ator is a betrayer”, “The trans1ator is a traitor”。
