<h1>Li Lansong: "Li Youran Chronology [Long Edition and Excerpt]" </h1>
<h1>1937 Ding Ugly (31 years old</h1>).
In April, the entire poem "Dedicated to the Decembrists" was published in Shanghai People, No. 4, 1937, signed by: [Russian] Pushkin (Pushkin), translated by Li Youyan. At that time, Ai Qing presented Li Youran with the poem "Dialogue of Coal - A-Y.R.".
In the spring, Ai Qing composed the poem "Coal Dialogue - A-Y.R.", and the inscription reads: "'A-Y.R.' 'Give and Run'". This is the second poem that Ai Qing gave to Li Youran. At that time, also 100 years after the death of the Russian poet Pushkin, Li Youran translated Pushkin's poem "Dedicated to the December Party", which was examined by the editors: "After comparing Li Youran's translation of Pushkin's (Pushkin)'s poem "Dedicated to the December Party", at the same time Ai Qing gave Li Youran's poem "Dialogue of Coal - A-Y.R.": the former wrote people - miners, the poem is four verses; the latter writes coal - anthropomorphism, and the poem has four questions. Looking at the original version of the real edition, the study of Li Youran's prose and Ai Qing's poems from 1933 to 1937 is that the two have the same spirit and influence each other in writing. Here, taking only the first and fourth stanzas of the two poems as an example, we can find the "anger" and its "outburst" contained in them- two poems, one is a translation, one is a creation, and the theme paragraph is the same, also at the same time. ”
On May 26, Li Jiaqi (Li Youran) sent a seventh letter (registered letter) to Romain Roland, from: Yu Fuzuo, Cultural Life Publishing House, No. 436 Fuzhou Road, Shanghai, China, to Li Jiaqi to: (via Siberia) Villa Olga in Vernef, Switzerland. The letter reported the latest situation to Romain Roland and requested:
(i) During these four years, I wrote several essays and commentaries, not without meaning; I was enthusiastically involved in the latinization of Esperanto and Chinese characters.
Several of my friends were gloriously imprisoned, to whom I remained loyal, and I served as one of the interpreters of the delegation of the World Anti-War Committee.
(iii) The bravest "soul engineers" here are almost all Lu Xun's students. Lu Xun died on October 19, 1936, and the masses attended his funeral.
(4) Xie Bingying sent her "Autobiography of a Female Soldier" to you through me, and implored Mr. Xie to reply to her letter to encourage her.
(5) I hope to send me some books and periodicals from time to time, especially the "art science" category of Marxism. I will share it with all my friends who know French and Esperanto and read it together.
At this point, Li youran wrote seven letters to Romain Roland under the French name LiChiaTsi (Li Jiaqi) (two postcards, five registered letters, two from Cixi and Shanghai after his return to China), and the authentic copies of these seven letters are now in the Manuscript Department of the Rihelieu Branch of the National Library of the French Republic.
On June 10, Ai Qing wrote a poem in the spring entitled "Dialogue on Coal - A-Y.R.", which contained the "Work and Study" series edited by Hu Feng (No. 4, June 10, 1937), and the first "Manger Collection > of the Wilderness <". It reads under the caption of "Dialogue on Coal": "'-A-Y.R.' 'Give and Be'".
In July, Li Youran took his nephew Ye Qiguan from Shanghai to Suzhou to take the primary examination and live in the teaching dormitory of Suzhou Caoqiao Junior High School. Ye Qiguan remembered: "Soon, my uncle took me back to Shanghai and entered the pre-primary class of Fudan Experimental Middle School. Unexpectedly, the August 13 Kou attacked Shanghai, and the school was on the side of the 'China Boundary' on Huashan Road behind Jiaotong University, and on both sides of the nearby Huaihai West Road, barbed wire and thrown armored vehicles. Helplessly, I escaped back. He followed his father and second uncle to temporarily avoid the concession, and the next day he fled back to Guan Haiwei. Soon, the uncle went to Suzhou to work in cuisine and borrowed the road to the Cixi countryside. The Japanese attacked Shanghai head-on, but were met with stubborn resistance from our army, that is, they tried to copy bread on the landing side of Jinshanwei. The cannon rumbled and the danger was imminent, and my uncle was determined to take me away from home, but the whole family opposed it, and I lost my temper every day. My parents decided to move out in a hurry and go back to the river to live. Soon, my uncle was also far away from Cixi – thus ending the brief time I spent with my uncle several times in my life. ”
In July and August, the July 7 Lugou Bridge Incident broke out, the Battle of Songhu on August 13 began, and the national war of resistance began. Li Youran and his family returned to their hometown to take refuge in GuanHaiwei. By October, Li Youran had been sent from Cixi Guanhaiwei Town to Jiang Village in Jinhua (Ai Qing left a note saying that he had gone to Wuhan first) at the request of Ai Qing, and never returned to his hometown again.
In November, Ai Qing, his wife Zhang Zhuru, his sister Jiang Xihua and six others took a train from Jinhua to Wuhan via Nanchang. At that time, Wuhan, the central city of the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression, had become a cultural center, and many writers gathered in Wuhan, including Hu Feng, Tian Jian, Cyan Crossbow, Xiao Jun, Xiao Hong, Duanmu Hongliang... And later Jiang Feng and Li Youran also came.
On December 28, in Wuhan, Ai Qing composed the poem "Snow Falls on The Land of China"; the next day, when heavy snow fell, Ai Qing said to Li Youran: "Today's snow is for me." Li replied to him again: "You are a person who is so self-centered that he listens to your command even the heavens." ”
At the same time, Li Youran saw Yan Zonglin's signature and pronoun article in the Ta Kung Pao, and found Yan Zonglin to exchange information about the two people since they were separated.
Related Links:
<h1>Li Youran: "About Fame" </h1>
I miss a gentleman who taught modern art. Often speaking with the usual briskness, he first tells us about some plays, films or premieres that are being rehearsed or performed in Paris, or sculptures, ornaments or paintings that are being exhibited, make examples, and then apply the principles of aesthetics to these examples, or expound the principles of aesthetics from these examples. We used to listen to his lessons before we went to see them. To this day, whenever I have learned some understanding or joy in the appreciation of art, the happiness of the heart experience, I always think of this European gentleman with pleasure. His richness, tone of voice, appearance, and casual embellishments are all present; I am as cordial as I have just listened to his lessons. But the name of this European gentleman, not as famous as in Europe, I forgot.
Regretting my forgetfulness, I am sorry sir, but I look forward to the artistic workers, especially the comrades who are caught up in the study: they must pay attention to the deep impression that he has imprinted on people's hearts, and pay less attention to the withering of fame. There is nothing more famous than flies; there are hot days everywhere, their voices and footprints everywhere; there are more opportunities than you to fly close to beautiful women, and more opportunities to attend grand banquets than you do. You are lonely, I know. - How can I know. Since you are not famous, you are too lonely. But the "fly shoot" is not a tool for killing in the hands of the monk: the mentioned Oxfam bar.
Yes, there are more such people, laughing and opening their mouths like a broken gong, seeing that everyone said: "The three eunuchs personally scolded me for forgetting the eight eggs"; it is "the three eunuchs"! A man of fame, "scolding" himself, he congratulates himself; he is a man who is to enjoy this most heartfelt praise. And you, not the "eunuch of the three guarantees", neither is the one guarantee, just a nobody, who gives him honest praise for encouragement, although it is also "personal", he replaces the thanks, saying that you are patting yourself on the back; because he knows: you are a real nameless pawn, not a fake. But you also have the right to know: he is a real fool, not a fake. Everyone is not fake, and they do not suffer losses. If because he laughs, your heart is troubled by your namelessness, it means that the black man and the black night are fiercely fighting.
"Just feel faceless to the layman"? yes. So when fame grows naturally from hard work, you don't have to hide yourself like well water gushing out from under the well, which is the fruit of hard work. There should be well water in the well. People digging wells should also drink well water. The people who dig the well are so proud: the well water is dug out. And even if you dig a well for the sake of well water, and work hard for fame, you are very decent. But where is this "head" "buried"? Are you really buried in hard work? Or is it buried only in a quilt or in a flashy vanity? This must be clarified.
A friend tells — a joke. Saying that there was a bad memory, he escorted a monk to the far side of the army, opened an account, and checked every day before sending his feet: a straw hat, a shackle, a monk, and "I" one. The monk knew that he had recorded himself in the account like a straw hat, fearing that it would be lost like a straw hat. One night, as soon as he fell asleep, he shaved off his head, put the shackles on his head, and fled. When he got up the next day, he checked: a straw hat and a shackle, all in it; what about the monk? Touching his head, he shaved it, and the monk was there; what about "me"? Looking around, "I" didn't know where to go. He is still looking for his "me" to this day.
And we don't lose ourselves in our work; in things like fame, we don't have to look for ,—— care about it, "Where have I gone?" "Right. There is no shortage of such people in the world: they have no voice like books, and they contain wisdom in their hearts like books; they are scattered in distant corners and are silently near you; so you are not lonely, and when you are really working hard, someone knows.
Some people travel thousands of miles to pick a flower — to ask for a name. The flower withered before his age. As we walk on the road, we have a greater purpose. We walked on the road, it was snowing, so we brought a few snowflakes home, and it didn't matter if we didn't blow it off.
It is not too early for Mr. Romain Rolland to become famous in his fifties. "On Balance" by Wang Chong of the Han Dynasty (?) It took years to become famous; it wasn't too late... It's too late not to work hard.
The side of the artist's temperament is that he does not care about fame or ,—— which is free, like our European gentleman.
I miss him.
Dear dear gentlemen who deserve it – and my contemporaries, I, wish I had more – like this European gentleman.
<h1>Tolstoy's sketches of scenes in writing</h1>
<h1>Lee Youran: The Great Comforter – In Memory of Mr. Romain Rolland </h1>
A relationship with Tolstoy
When he was young, he threw himself like a bouquet of flowers to Shakespeare—poetry, especially music. While the other children were still playing noisy games, Mr. Li had grasped the infinite world of sensations from the tone of the piano.
In his later years, Tolstoy said that art is "the door of the vast number of failures", Shakespeare was a fourth-rate poet and plagiarist, music is a pleasure that makes people ignore obligations, and what about Saint Beethoven? Carnalists.
If ordinary people make such arguments and hear the same people, nothing will happen. But this is Tolstoy's discourse to the whole world in his Treatise on Art, and among those who hear it is the young Roman Roland, and the matter is profound and serious.
"The supreme goodness, the truthfulness and the absolute straightness of this man [Toon], in this prevalence of moral confusion," the gentleman tells us, "is my right guide." But I've loved art, especially music, since I was a kid, and it's my daily food...
In this way, the young man who was once worshipped as the "conscience of the world" at that time, who was only 22 years old, would be miserable.
How good is it? Such a large artist in his later years partially attacked art, art or Tolstoy, can one of the two be unreal? How to achieve harmony between Tolstoy and Beethoven? Alienate one? Neither is supreme. Standing in the middle of them? Both sides are as close as they are, as far away as they are. Abandon the mission of comforting people with poetry, especially music? Music is again "a revelation higher than all wisdom and all philosophy" (Beethoven); "dear music" is "the song of the times and the flower of history" (Romain Rolland).
Such an inner tragedy is only available to the noblest. Proportional to such personal suffering is the happiness of all men. Fanatics want to dedicate themselves to the cause that is most beneficial to mankind, but how is it most valuable to act? How good is it? Wandering, confused, conflicting inside. Dedication burns like a fire, and the future of the career is uncertain. How good is it? How good is it?
Finally, the gentleman wrote to Tolstoy to express his distress, and Tolstoy wrote a letter of comfort. It happened so calmly that some would be surprised to think we were exaggerating, when we say: This is a magnificent monument to the history of our human evolution. The inscription reads:
People who are moving forward, please read this inscription and go again.
"Dear brother, I have received your first letter. It touched my heart. I read it with tears in my eyes. "The famous reply of Jesyena Polyana of the Holy Land of October 4, 1887, thus began.
"I have received your first letter," which is really saying, "I look forward to your second letter, the third, the fourth, fifth, and sixth... Let us correspond forever, dear brother! As if to immediately push away the work, rush out to meet the enthusiastic and shy young guest, guessing that he was worried that his visit would annoy the host, he shouted: "Welcome! The most gracious hospitality belongs to you! ”
This young man who looks at everything from a high place is already too touched to receive a reply unexpectedly, and he has to thank him all his life, and this reply is a very thick and heavy bag that has grown to thirty-eight pages, and Tolstoy wrote it himself, so how much time and energy should it take his old man? Look! The world's literary heroes are dedicated to writing a complete paper with all their strength for an unknown person!
He pondered. He started the draft. He modified. He does a big job. He transcribed it himself in italics. He sealed it with his own hands. He hurriedly sent it out and was afraid of being late. He read the letter with tears in his eyes, and he was still impressed when he wrote back. He wrote in French, and there was a little error in grammar—and from this error one should see that he worked harder than he wrote in Russian. There was nothing else in the whole world at this time, in him; he was bent on making his helpless brother, whom he did not know from afar, no longer distressed. He felt that it was his own extreme arguments to remind people not to indulge in the pleasures of art, and the anger of Shakespeare and Beethoven, that it was this serious French youth who was suffering; he was uneasy, he was sympathetic, and his attitude towards art was gentle again, right? - As soon as the letter ended, a new era began.
Roman Rolland wrote letters, Tolstoy read letters, Tolstoy wrote replies, Roman Rolland read replies, and later, Roman Rolland read the letters of countless people who asked for help, and must reply, encourage, help, comfort them,—— the depths of the souls of this pair of gentlemen and students, how can we say good? As soon as the human language and writing arrived here, I am afraid that the only way to give way to silence was moved. We can only understand a few points of wisdom, just like the whole world is full of flowers, and we can only see what we can see.
yes! The waves on the surface of the sea are already so majestic, what about the scene under the sea? Oceanographers also have only rudimentary knowledge. How can we see through all the great emotions, the great thoughts that rise and fall in a mind larger than the sea?
The great Russian old man was incomparably kind and earnest, detailing how he saw art. He said: "The product of real science and real art is the product of sacrifice, not of material gain." "There is value in uniting people; artists who sacrifice for faith are valuable artists." The precondition for the cry of truth is never the love of art, but the love of humanity. Only people who are filled with this kind of love can hope that they will always do everything worth doing as artists. ”
This view of art, we accept it as if we were eating grapes: plucking off the stalks of grapes, spitting out the skin and core; we absorb the nourishment. People built houses out of trees, and primitive people used stone axes to cut off branches. "What materials are used?" It's important; but more importantly, it's "how to use materials?" For whom? And who uses it? "Elementary school students cut a few more pencils than middle school students; in the hands of skilled workers, there is very little waste,—— and waste materials are turned from raw materials into raw materials, and can be turned into raw materials again!"
The flower that blooms on the cliff, the whole power of nature--thunder, rain, wind, lightning--all strikes it, but it is far more colorful and longer than the flower in the vase; because its roots are not in the water, its roots are deeply rooted in the soil. Our soil is Marxism-Leninism; let us first take a fundamental stand, and then boldly absorb the essence of all kinds of beautiful ideas. A powerful expedition, full of precious treasures, returned triumphantly and set out to explore again.
The "prerequisite for truth is never to love art", and denying the supremacy of art is a precious guide. "Love humanity"? It was abstract human love, old and dangerous. - If used by people who deliberately want to blur class consciousness, it is even more robust and insidious.
We "love the people". Our artists are full of this love—love for the people, active in the brilliance of Mao Zedong's literary and artistic thought, using sound and color... to combine the revolutionary and all possible revolutionary people, and first of all to do everything worth doing to the workers, peasants, and soldiers. Comrades in literary and artistic work: Mr. Romain Rolland wants us to be great, and you are what he rejoices in, because you are the kind of artists he wants to "be great and not appear great", that is, the "precious artists" that his husband praises, which are worthy and lovely.
Moreover, this view of art may have been mentioned by Tolstoy before; perhaps someone had mentioned it in roughly the same way before Tolstoy; and the young man who wrote the letter himself vaguely thought of it. I mean to say that the influence on Mr. Tolstoy's life is not so much the theory of Tolstoy's reply, but also the spirit of Tolstoy's efforts to write a reply to a person who asks for help.
This spirit is like a grain of grain. We don't know where the grain originally came from: we can't find the original object of gratitude. We see that this grain of grain has fallen with great honor from the hands of the writer of War and Peace to the heart of Roman Roland, a boundless land of spiritual food, and the process of our human civilization has been further and expanded, because:
Roman Roland cultivated this grain seed, harvested it, spread it to the hearts of countless people, and then spread it out from this vast crowd, spread it out, spread it out, until it was infinite, infinite, infinite...
Relationship with the victims
For cities to prosper, fires must be prevented; the unfortunate need strong encouragement. You comfort a traumatized man who may not be able to save a besieged city, let alone suppress an earthquake; but he perks up, and he will always do something good. Losing the peace of mind, not feeling loved – ("Love is understanding") Can you still have a big plan? Pick up the crying child, lift up the person who has fallen to the ground.
With gratitude to Tolstoy, the great communicator Romain Roland reached out his hand to caress all the suffering of the heart. Even if it is too busy to study even the "eternal blossom festival", the history of music (many friends in the music industry regret), this hand that sorts out the sound from the noise, the hand of music, is ready to comfort the unfortunate. It wasn't so much that they went to him, but that he was looking for them. "Who isn't the unfortunate, after all?" He asked, like "time" itself, without time to rest, always working for true eternal peace, always trying to comfort the unfortunate: "Disasters have absolute value, misfortune is the source of strength." ”
We know of a young European man, who was rescued by suicide and in pain, wrote to Romain Rowland, who helped him, encouraged him, and with his own efforts, later became a great writer. Another young man from the Far East, who was in poverty, fell into the water as if he could not swim, and as soon as the gentleman knew, he immediately sent him money, and at the same time entrusted a friend in Paris to take care of him at any time. - Time is in a hurry, no more examples.
Stick to what you think is true! This is the gentleman's general instruction to those who ask for help. You can't be real only, but you have to be real first. Although the real truth and the pure truth are not as unobstructed as the sunlight entering the open window, they are not interconnected by obstacles! I don't know how many people have been touched and influenced by Mr. Li and embarked on the road of revolution. Sir is the bridge, sir is the lighthouse.
From modern times until ever, everyone has received directly or indirectly the benefits of Mr. Mister; but some people do not feel it themselves, as if they did not know to breathe air when they were asleep. We wake up every morning, with countless tomorrows ahead of us, because we are also breathing air in the dark of night and in sleep.
The anti-fascist masses of the people of the whole world and their elite elements, on the sea, on the continent, in the mountains, in the forests, in the sky, in the underground work, in university lectures, in private letters, in the newsroom, on the radio, in music, in silence, and in the diaries, in the heart,—— deeply, mourn mr. Mothers are teaching their children to pronounce: "Romain Rolland"; they are showing children portraits: "Romain Rolland"; they are teaching children to grow up to be such a person: "Romain Rolland". The tone of the name is incomparably pleasant. "Romain Rolland" – this is the eternal voice.
I can no longer see sir — but he is everywhere ...
<h1>Ding Ling: "Write a few words for Comrade Li Youran's collection of essays"</h1>
I heard a story that in the days when the "Gang of Four" was proud, a comrade also came together, ready to sing praises and write an article to show loyalty. Unfortunately, there was a little accident, the article has not yet been written, and on October 6, the "Gang of Four" fell into the ocean, but he escaped from danger, and there is still a chance to change. It is true that Saion has not lost his horse, and has been spared and blessed. There are always many people in the world who are blessed. It seems that this kind of blessing also takes great pains and is not easy to come by. But there are other people who always seem to live in poverty and sorrow for many years give people the impression of being poor and depressed. I felt this way when I first met Comrade Li Youran. It felt as if he were a character in Dostoevsky's novel. I still feel that he has struggled all his life, but he rarely succeeds and is full of spirits. He always secretly blessed others and lived his own life lonely. He was a good man, a man who never had a harmful heart. Is a weak person, but also a strong person.
I know that Comrade Li Youran will not agree to this. He himself felt, and often felt that he was a man who stood on a high place, who was not a man of pity, but a man of constant pity for others; he was a proud man, and he would feel that his life was full, generous, and proud. Yet I always felt that he needed sympathy and warmth. He has given love to others, he has given sympathy to others, he has given warmth to others, but he has received very little. (He must be against me saying this.) Comrade Hukao once called him "aunt", meaning that he was like The Aunt of Copperfield in Dickens's novel. I thought it was an apt metaphor. Unfortunately, this aunt was born in 20th-century China, and with the progress of the revolution, after many movements and decades of disaster, he is now paralyzed, sick, and unable to go out. He could only follow the trail of the revolution and his new and old friends from newspapers and periodicals, staggering forward, watching the various changes in the world, and more deeply appreciating the many wise sayings left to us by the sages.
But that's only one aspect. Comrade Li Youran was indeed young, busy, and lived a very full life. I remember that around 1941, when we were living in the Yan'an Border District Literary Association, he was teaching Esperanto at the Women's University and tutoring the amateur literature group of the Women's University. One day at dawn, I was standing outside the cave and saw him hurrying down the hill. I asked him, "Li Youran, where are you busy going so early?" He replied: "When I went to the women's university, yesterday I wrote a poster for them, and in the middle of the night I remembered a wrong word." It is easy to wait until dawn, so I rush to correct it. I said, "It's not too late to eat breakfast!" I see you haven't even washed your face yet. As he continued down the hill, he said, "That's not okay, that's not okay, it's too late." They might read the poster early in the morning. Later, he came back and said that there were no typos in the article in the poster, but he thought it was wrong, and he did not regret running away unjustly.
After the victory of the Anti-Japanese War, he went to the northeast and taught at Jilin University. This job is very suitable for him. I heard from my classmates that he was a good teacher. Comrade Hu Zhao, the poet, has learned a lot from him. Naturally, there are many other students; and around Comrade Li Youran, there are also many people who really have deep feelings for him in their hearts. But I don't know very well.
I used to think his prose was well written, but this time I re-read the collection of essays published for him by the Writers' Press in the 1950s, The Great Comforter, and I still feel great comfort. It turned out that Comrade Li Youran was still a very healthy person. He has a healthy and full enthusiasm, loves the motherland, the people, the Communist Party, and the socialist cause. He not only had a bodhisattva heart, not just an "aunt," but a strong warrior, a warrior. His feelings were those of a warrior. Unfortunately, he did not get the opportunity to continue to play, and his health was indeed not very good. His recent memoirs are a bit old. Some things may not be remembered so accurately. However, his contacts with Comrade Ai Qing in his youth are still very touching and can be recorded in the annals of literary history.
I can say that I do not fully understand Comrade Li Youran, but I still frankly say some of my own one-sided feelings. I'm willing to introduce my readers to his prose and to say a little bit of my bias against him. Ask the author and reader for correction.
<h1>May 26, 1937 (registered letter</h1>).
Dear Master,
I miss you respectfully every day like a son. I hope to always follow in your footsteps. I saw only the road behind it, a wasteland ahead: the road followed behind, and if I didn't go forward, the road would never appear.
But my remorse and inaction caused me to lose my self-esteem and become dull and stupid. How many times have I felt myself standing in front of you in the darkness of the night, with my eyes down, not daring to touch your gaze, like a religious outsider confessing. I have nothing else to ask for! It's just too clumsy with words.
I have often been eager to write to you, and you have graciously encouraged me in this way (July 3, 1932):
"Feel free to write to me! That will make me happy. I want to see through your eyes what's going on over there, and through you, to keep in touch with your companions over there. ”
But my poor French, after returning to China four years ago, became even more pitiful.
Master, in these four years I have tried to do something that will please you: I have written several reviews and essays, not without meaning; I have been enthusiastic in the work of Latinization of Esperanto and Chinese; several friends have been gloriously imprisoned, to whom I have remained loyal; and I have served as one of the translators of the delegation of the World Anti-War Committee. (There are quite a few years of young people here who know French better than I do.) However, I belong to people who know how to apply them skillfully...
Master, I finally got a job last summer, and since I don't separate ambitions from careers, the students love me as much as they love their brothers. I teach social sciences and librarian at a middle school in Suzhou. In another month, as soon as the semester was over, the school would no longer hire me.
All right! The end is the beginning... I hope I don't lack the strength to start a turbulent life again! Life hit me again, so hard. However, I thought that accepting the hammer strike was steelmaking, and I hoped that the master would always treat me as a good child!
My friend Miss Xie Bingying, a young female soldier author of the Chinese revolution, gave her latest work to the master, the title of the book "The Autobiography of Female Soldiers", the work is full of frankness, straightness and vitality. She asked me to write to the master to show her deep respect and asked the master to write a letter of encouragement to her in his own handwriting.
She had been to Japan, and two (or three years) earlier, had spent several months in prison for dealing with leftist writers there. She was physically weak and almost about to commit suicide, but still struggling. Her mother had recently died at the hands of quacks.
Master, I hope to send me some books and periodicals from time to time, especially the Marxist "art science" category. I will share it with all my friends who know French and Esperanto and read it together. I love books in both languages, but I've only bought a dozen or so in the last four years because of a lack of money. Master, please give me a copy of the masterpiece Beethoven's edition, I only have the ordinary version. I tried to translate it, but it wasn't done.
At present, the bravest "soul engineers" here are almost all Lu Xun's students. Lu Xun died on October 19, 1936, and the masses attended his funeral.
Master, I will continue to study French so that there will be no difficulty in writing letters.
Congratulations to Master Fu'an!
[The letter contains a photo of Li Youran's own head, cut from a group life photo, with the words "Saigon in 1928" written below; this is a photo of Li Youran with the people in the same boat on his way to France to study]