A Little Thing Lu Xun I ran from the countryside to the city, and in the blink of an eye it has been six years. Counting the so-called national events I heard and witnessed during this period,

A little thing (original text)

Lu Xun

It has been six years since I ran from the countryside to the capital. During this period, I heard and witnessed a lot of so-called national events, but none of them left any traces in my heart. If I were to find out the impact of these things, they would only increase my bad temper. -Honestly To put it bluntly, it just taught me to look down on people more and more day by day.

But there is one small thing that is meaningful to me. It dragged me away from my bad temper and I can't forget it to this day.

It was the winter of the sixth year of the Republic of China. The north wind was blowing fiercely. Due to my livelihood, I had to walk on the road early in the morning. He met almost no one along the way, so he finally hired a rickshaw and taught him to pull it to Gate S. After a while, the north wind subsided, the dust on the road had been wiped away, leaving a pure white road, and the driver ran faster. Just as I approached the S door, there was suddenly a person on the handlebar, slowly falling over.

The one who fell was a woman with gray hair and tattered clothes. Yi suddenly cut across the road in front of the car; the driver had already moved out of the way, but Yi's tattered cotton vest was unbuttoned and spread outwards in the breeze, so she was finally holding the handlebars. Fortunately, the coachman had stopped earlier, otherwise Yi Ding would have fallen into a big bucket and his head would have bled.

I fell down on the ground; the driver also stood up. I was sure that the old woman was not hurt, and no one else saw her, so I blamed him for being nosy and causing trouble on his own, which also caused me to miss the way.

I said to him, "It's nothing. Just go ahead!"

The driver ignored him, or didn't hear it, but put down the car. He helped the old woman get up slowly, held her arms to stand still, and asked Yi:

"What's wrong with you?"

"I broke it."

I thought, I saw you slowly falling to the ground, how could you break it? It's just a pretense. This is really abominable. The rickshaw driver is asking for trouble, so now you have to figure it out on your own.

The coachman listened to the old woman's words, but did not hesitate. He still held Yi's arm and walked forward step by step. I was a little surprised and looked in front of me. It was a patrol station. After the strong wind, there was no one outside. The coachman supported the old woman and walked towards the gate.

I suddenly felt a strange feeling at this moment. I felt that his dusty back figure suddenly grew taller and grew bigger as he walked. You had to look up to see it. Moreover, he gradually became almost a coercion towards me, even to the point of squeezing out the "little" hidden under the leather robe.

My energy was probably a little stagnant at this time. I sat without moving or thinking. I didn’t get out of the car until I saw a patrol officer walking out of the station.

The patrolman approached me and said, "You can hire a car yourself, he can't drive you."

I grabbed a handful of copper coins from my coat pocket without thinking and handed it over. Give it to the patrolman and say, "Please give it to him..."

The wind has stopped and the road is still very quiet. As I walked, I thought, almost afraid to think of myself. Putting aside the past, what does this handful of copper coins mean? Award him? Can I still judge the coachman? I can't answer myself.

Even now, I still remember this all the time. Therefore, I always feel pain and try hard to think of myself. I can no longer memorize even half a sentence of "The Master's Poems" (2) which I read as a child about the cultural, political, and military affairs that I have learned over the past few years. This is a small thing, but it always floats in front of my eyes. Sometimes it becomes more obvious, making me feel ashamed, urging me to renew myself, and increasing my courage and hope.

July 1920. ⑶

□Notes

⑴This article was originally published in Beijing's "Morning News·Anniversary Supplement" on December 1, 1919.

⑵ "Confucius said Shiyun": "Confucius said" means "Master said"; "Shiyun" means "Said in the Book of Songs". Generally refers to ancient Confucian books. This refers to the primary reading materials used in old schools.

⑶According to the year and month of publication in newspapers and "Lu Xun's Diary", this article was written in November 1919.

[Edit this paragraph] Writing background and thoughts and feelings

The writing background of Mr. Lu Xun's "A Little Thing" is: in 1919, the May Fourth Movement broke out. This movement enabled intellectuals to find the hope of revolutionizing the Chinese nation in the working people, and therefore put forward the slogan "labor is sacred". If students do not understand this background, they will generally only regard it as an ode to the integrity and selfless character of the rickshaw pullers, and will not elevate it to the level of praising the working people and advocating that intellectuals must learn from the working people.

[Edit this paragraph] English version

A SMALL INCIDENT

(From the "Call to Arms" collection)

translated by Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang)

Six years have slipped by since I came from the country to the

capital. During that time the number of so-called affairs of state I

have witnessed or heard about is far from small, but none of them made

much impression. If asked to define their influence on me, I can only

say they made my bad temper worse. Frankly speaking, they taught me

to take a poorer view of people every day.

One small incident, however, which struck me as significant and

jolted me out of my irritability, remains fixed even now in my memory.

It was the winter of 1917, a strong north wind was blustering,

but the exigencies of earning my living forced me to be up and out

early. I met scarcely a soul on the road, but eventually managed to

hire a rickshaw to take me to S -Gate. Presently the wind dropped a

little, having blown away the drifts of dust on the road to leave a

clean broad highway, and the rickshaw man quickened his pace. We were

just approaching S-Gate when we knocked into someone who slowly

toppled over.

It was a grey-haired woman in ragged clothes. She had stepped out abruptly from the roadside in front of us, and although the rick-

shaw man had swerved,

her tattered padded waistcoat, unbuttoned and

billowing in the wind, had caught on the shaft. Fortunately the rickshaw

man had slowed down, otherwise she would certainly have had a bad fall

and it might have been a serious accident.

She huddled there on the ground, and the rickshaw man stopped.

As I did not believe the old woman was hurt and as no one else had

seen us, I thought this halt of his uncalled for, liable to land him

trouble and hold me up.

"It's all right," I said. "Go on."

He paid no attention - he may not have heard - but set down the

shafts, took the old woman's arm and gently helped her up.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I hurt myself falling."

I thought： I saw how slowly you fell, how could you be hurt?

Putting on an act like this is simply disgusting. The rickshaw man

asked for trouble, and now he's got it. He' ll have to find his own

way out.

But the rickshaw man did not hesitate for a minute after hearing

the old woman's answer. Still holding her arm, he helped her slowly

forward. Rather puzzled by his I looked ahead and saw a police-

station. Because of the high wind, there was no one outside. It was

there that the rickshaw man was taking the old woman.

Suddenly I had the strange sensation that his dusty retreating

figure had

in that instant grown larger. Indeed, the further he

walked the larger he loomed, until I had to look up to him. At the same time he seemed gradually to be exerting a pressure on me which

threatened to overpower the small self hidden under my fur-lined gown.

Almost paralysed at that juncture I sat there motionless, my mind

a blank, until a policeman came out. Then I got down from the rick-

shaw.

The policeman came up to me and said, "Get another rickshaw. He

can't take you any further."

On the spur of the moment I pulled a handful of coppers from my

coat pocket and handed them to the policeman. "Please give him this,"

I said.

The wind had dropped completely, but the road was still quiet.

As I walked along thinking, I hardly dared to think about myself.

Quite apart from what had happened earlier, what had I meant by that

handful of coppers? Was it a reward? Who was I to judge the rickshaw

man? I could give myself no answer.

Even now, this incident keeps coming back to me. It keeps dis-

tressing me and makes me try to think about myself. The politics and

the fighting of those years have slipped my mind as completely as the

classics I read as a child. Yet this small incidents keep coming back

to me, often more vivid than in actual life, teaching me shame,

spur-

ring me on to reform, and imbuing me with fresh courage and fresh

hope.

July 1920

《一"A Little Thing" is characterized by being short and concise, and the content is profound. The full text is only about a thousand words, and the work describes a small thing in daily life. While praising the noble qualities of the working people at the lower levels, it also reflects the self-reflection of intellectuals and shows new ideas of sincerely learning from the working people. It was unusual to have such an understanding during the May 4th Movement, and it had far-reaching social significance. The writing characteristics of this article are: first, the use of contrasting techniques to compare the different attitudes of the coachman and "I" towards the same thing, revealing the selfishness and insignificance of "I" and reflecting the coachman's aboveboardness, courage, and care Someone else’s tall image. The beauty of this contrast is that it highlights the simplicity and selflessness of workers in an indirect and implicit way. In terms of expression, this article is like a sketch, and is close to a contemporary "little novel". It is short, concise, refreshing and meaningful; the plot is authentic and credible, and it has become one of the most widely praised famous articles in modern novels.