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炮声隆隆，越来越响，越来越密。一场短时激战后，天津攻克。解放军直逼北平，没多久，就在修有雉堞的城墙外开始炮击。城内涌动的兴奋与期待愈发强烈。文人三五成群，约到一块“喝茶”，实际上要聊一聊破城之后怎么办。
2国民党丧心病狂。他們偏执多疑，歇斯底里，残杀政治犯，拘捕数百名无辜者。有个虔诚的基督徒姑娘，也是基督教女青年会会员，就因为有人跟警察局的某个家伙告了什么密，我们只好把她藏在家里好几个星期，直到北平解放。
3驻守北平的傅作义将军固不可彻，拒不投降。解放军锐不可当，但共产党念及城内百姓安全，也为城内无价瑰宝免遭战火，不想以武力手段夺取北平。因此，他们派特使同傅作义谈判。据说他女儿也参与其中，她在天津《大公报》当记者，实际上是地下党。共产党表示，只要傅作义肯投降，他和部下都会得到优待，他本人也可在新政府中担任与其级别相称的职位。
4傅作义犹豫了好几天，才表示同意。1949年1月31日，炮击停止，城里一片寂静。我骑上自行车去了北平西北角的西直门。解放军开始列队入城，年轻的战士个个衣着整洁，步伐整齐，面带笑容。一队队美国造吉普、卡车和炮车驶过大街。难怪共产党人不无讽刺地管蒋介石叫“运输大队长”。他的军队一批批地向共产党投降，美国给他的武器装备最终大部分都落在了解放军手里。
5人们欢呼雀跃，拍手欢迎。父母把孩子扛到肩头，好让他们看得见。轻松欢乐的气氛四处洋溢。对国民党抹黑共产党的那些话，肯定曾有人将信将疑，但好消息传得很快，许多人也听说这支军队在华北解放区军纪严明。不管怎样，战事结束了，这是所有人都乐见的。大街上彩旗飘扬，一片欢腾。
6随后几天里，有好几个机构的代表登门来找我，要我们把校舍租给他们。我让他们联系大学董事会的一位董事。他是美国人，在北平协和医学院（美国洛克菲勒基金会创办）做管理工作。他和后来成为文化部的这家单位签了租赁合同。文化部付了租金和留用老员工的工资。直到美国撤走外交人员，派遣第七舰队进入台湾海峡，这才不再支付租金。最后，中国政府接管了这处房产，听说付给产权人，也就是北美基督教联合会不少钱。不过这都是后话了。
7行政机关建立起来了，新政府开始运转。但新政权有其特点：直到1949年10月1日才正式宣布成立。此时中国大部分地区已经解放，共产党在治理大国方面也取得了更多的经验。
8那天，我和凤子同数十万人一起站在天安门广场。天安门是紫禁城的一个巨大入口，紫禁城则是中国五百年来的皇宫所在。而此刻，齐聚在黄琉璃瓦顶的巍峨城楼上的，是毛泽东和他最忠诚的战友们。毛泽东，这位理论家、诗人和学者，用洪亮的声音宣告中华人民共和国成立的那一刻，一定深刻地意识到了这一天意义非凡。
9凤子热泪盈眶，我也被深深打动。虽然这里不是我的国家，我还是个外国人，但在那人海之中，我感觉到激动情绪像电流一样传遍全身。人们穿着打补丁的破旧衣裳，军人们的军装虽然显得很旧，但都干净整洁。起初，一片寂静，人们还沉浸在苦难岁月和激烈战斗的回忆中。如今，终于胜利了！成千上万人的喉咙里迸发出一阵呐喊，喊出胜利的喜悦，喊出意志的坚定。
10好像没人知道该怎么安排我。那时，一个美国律师在社会主义中国确实没什么用武之地。等待期间，我读到一本刚出版的小说《新儿女英雄传》，小说很吸引人，于是我开始翻译，希望能在美国出版。小说写的是冀南芦苇荡中抗日游击战的故事，情节紧凑，用词犀利，多用方言，恐怕我当时把小说翻译成了戴蒙·鲁尼恩式的散文体了。不过译本还是由纽约自由图书俱乐部出版了，并以首部在美国出版的“红色”中国小说而闻名。
11如果我能翻译，何不做一名翻译工作者呢？后来对外文化联络局聘用了我，工作就是把各种各样的书籍和小册子译成英文。我们的工作环境很好，在一处很大的四合院里，瓦顶平房，当中有个花园。局长是著名剧作家洪深，有次在上海看电影，他看着看着竟然直接跳上舞台，痛斥影片中的帝国主义内容，着实把观众吓了一跳。他这个人兴味多样、激情澎湃，看到他，就知道所谓“捉摸不透的东方人”一说乃是无稽之谈。
12 1994年，凤子的回忆录出版后，我才知道自己这份工作是怎么得来的。凤子写信给周恩来，请求给我安排点儿事做，于是周总理就安排我去了对外文化联络局。消息是洪深到我家告诉我们的。他是凤子在复旦大学上学时的戏剧老师，也是老朋友，更是我家的常客。但这次他是以对外文化联络局局长的身份来的，只此一回。
13显然，周总理一直记挂着我和凤子。田汉是中华人民共和国国歌《义勇军进行曲》的词作者，曾和我们在同一个北平地下交通站待过。他跟我们说，他到达石家庄解放区时，周总理还问起我们，是什么事耽误了，怎么还没到。
The boom of artillery grew louder and more frequent.2 Tianjin had been taken in a brief but bloody fight.3 The People’s Liberation Army was closing in on4 Beijing. Soon they were lobbing shells just outside the crenellated city walls. There was a growing undercurrent of excited anticipation. Groups of Chinese literati began dropping in “for tea”—actually to discuss how they should coordinate with the impending take-over.
Kuomintang frenzy mounted to a fever pitch. They murdered political prisoners and arrested hundreds of innocuous people in a paranoic hysteria.5 One girl—a devout Christian and member of the YWCA—we had to conceal in our house for several weeks until liberation6 because someone or other had said something or other to some idiot7 in the police. Fu Zuoyi， the general holding the city， was stubbornly refusing to capitulate. The Communists didn’t want to take8 Beijing by storm， though their strength was overwhelming， out of consideration for the lives of its citizenry and to save the city’s priceless art treasures from damage. They sent emissaries to negotiate with Fu9—including， according to one account， his daughter， a revolutionary who was a correspondent for the Tianjin newspaper Ta Kung Pao. They said if he surrendered he and his men would be treated honorably， and Fu would be given a post in the new government commensurate with his rank.
After hesitating for several days， he agreed.10 On January 31， 1949， the artillery barrages ceased. A hush fell on the city. I rode my bike to Xizhimen， Beijing’s northwest gate. The People’s Liberation Army began marching in， clean， smartly stepping， smiling young men.11 Contingents of jeeps， trucks， artillery caissons—made in the United States—rolled through the streets. No wonder the Communists referred to Chiang Kai-shek ironically as their “Quartermaster General.” As his troops went over to the Communists in droves， most of the equipment which Washington gave him ended up in PLA hands.
The people cheered and applauded. Parents held their kids higher on their shoulders for a better view12. Pleasure and relief were universal. No doubt there were some who wondered whether to give any credence13 to the horror the Kuomintang had spread about the newcomers. But good news travels fast， and many had also heard how correctly this army had behaved in other， already liberated， parts of the province. In any event the fighting was over， and this was something welcomed by all. The streets were gay with flags and bunting.
In the next few days representatives of several organizations called on me to request that we lease them the college premises. I put them in touch with an American who was on the college board， an administrator of PUMC， the Beijing Union Medical College14， a Rockefeller foundation. He entered into a contract with the unit which later became the Ministry of Culture. The ministry paid rent， plus the wages of the old staff， who were kept on. Only when the United States pulled their diplomatic personnel out of China and sent the Seventh Fleet into the Taiwan Straits were rent payments suspended. Eventually， the Chinese government took over the property and paid what I heard was a very good price to the title holders， the North American Council of Churches. That was some years later.15 Administrative organizations were set up， a government was functioning—though it was characteristic of the new regime that it wasn’t formally proclaimed until October 1， 1949， when most of China had been liberated and more experience16 had been gained in governing a huge country.
We17 stood that day with hundreds of thousands in the square before Tiananmen—the Gate of Heavenly Peace—massive entrance to what foreigners had called the Forbidden City， the place where for 500 years China’s emperors had ruled. Now， on the magnificent gate house， topped with tiles of imperial yellow， Mao Zedong and his staunchest colleagues18 had gathered. Mao， the philosopher， poet and scholar， was surely profoundly conscious of the significance of that day19 as he ringingly proclaimed the establishment of the People’s Republic of China.
Phoenix was in tears， and I was deeply moved. It wasn’t my country， I was a foreigner. But in that sea of humanity I could feel the emotions sweeping through like an electric current. People in shabby patched clothes. Army men and women， sprucer， but whose uniforms showed signs of hard wear. The crowd had been silent at first， recalling years of suffering and fierce fighting. But now， at last， victory. A roar welled from thousands of throats， a heart-cry of triumph and resolve.
No one seemed to know what to do with me. There wasn’t much use in socialist China for an American lawyer at that time. While waiting， I found a new novel which appealed to me called Daughters and Sons， and began translating it， hopefully for the American market. The story of guerrilla warfare against the Japanese amid the reedy marshes of southern Hebei Province20， it was fast-moving， hard-hitting， and full of peasant colloquialisms， which I’m afraid I rendered into rather Damon Runyonesque21 prose. Still， it was published in New York by the Liberty Book Club， and had the distinction of being the first novel out of “Red” China to appear in the States.
If I could translate， why not make me a translator？ I was taken on by the Bureau of Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries22， where I worked on turning into English diverse books and pamphlets. We operated in a charming setting—a large traditional compound of one-storey tile-roofed buildings in a hollow square around a garden. The head was Hong Shen23， a well-known dramatist who had once startled a movie audience in Shanghai by leaping on the stage and denouncing the film for its imperialist content. He was a colorful， emotional fellow， another living refutation of the canard about the “inscrutable Oriental.”
Only in 1994 when Phoenix’s memoir was published did I learn how I got the job. Phoenix had written to Zhou Enlai requesting that I be given something to do. He had assigned me to the bureau. Hong Shen dropped by to tell us the news. As Phoenix’s former drama professor at Fudan University and an old friend he was a frequent caller. Only this time24 he came in his official capacity of director of the Bureau of Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries.
Apparently Zhou had been keeping a watchful eye on Phoenix and me. Tian Han， composer of the lyrics of Arise！， China’s national anthem， had gone through the same underground station with us in Beijing. He told us that when he got to Shijiazhuang in the Liberated Areas， Zhou Enlai had asked him what had happened to us， and why we still hadn’t arrived.
2国民党丧心病狂。他們偏执多疑，歇斯底里，残杀政治犯，拘捕数百名无辜者。有个虔诚的基督徒姑娘，也是基督教女青年会会员，就因为有人跟警察局的某个家伙告了什么密，我们只好把她藏在家里好几个星期，直到北平解放。
3驻守北平的傅作义将军固不可彻，拒不投降。解放军锐不可当，但共产党念及城内百姓安全，也为城内无价瑰宝免遭战火，不想以武力手段夺取北平。因此，他们派特使同傅作义谈判。据说他女儿也参与其中，她在天津《大公报》当记者，实际上是地下党。共产党表示，只要傅作义肯投降，他和部下都会得到优待，他本人也可在新政府中担任与其级别相称的职位。
4傅作义犹豫了好几天，才表示同意。1949年1月31日，炮击停止，城里一片寂静。我骑上自行车去了北平西北角的西直门。解放军开始列队入城，年轻的战士个个衣着整洁，步伐整齐，面带笑容。一队队美国造吉普、卡车和炮车驶过大街。难怪共产党人不无讽刺地管蒋介石叫“运输大队长”。他的军队一批批地向共产党投降，美国给他的武器装备最终大部分都落在了解放军手里。
5人们欢呼雀跃，拍手欢迎。父母把孩子扛到肩头，好让他们看得见。轻松欢乐的气氛四处洋溢。对国民党抹黑共产党的那些话，肯定曾有人将信将疑，但好消息传得很快，许多人也听说这支军队在华北解放区军纪严明。不管怎样，战事结束了，这是所有人都乐见的。大街上彩旗飘扬，一片欢腾。
6随后几天里，有好几个机构的代表登门来找我，要我们把校舍租给他们。我让他们联系大学董事会的一位董事。他是美国人，在北平协和医学院（美国洛克菲勒基金会创办）做管理工作。他和后来成为文化部的这家单位签了租赁合同。文化部付了租金和留用老员工的工资。直到美国撤走外交人员，派遣第七舰队进入台湾海峡，这才不再支付租金。最后，中国政府接管了这处房产，听说付给产权人，也就是北美基督教联合会不少钱。不过这都是后话了。
7行政机关建立起来了，新政府开始运转。但新政权有其特点：直到1949年10月1日才正式宣布成立。此时中国大部分地区已经解放，共产党在治理大国方面也取得了更多的经验。
8那天，我和凤子同数十万人一起站在天安门广场。天安门是紫禁城的一个巨大入口，紫禁城则是中国五百年来的皇宫所在。而此刻，齐聚在黄琉璃瓦顶的巍峨城楼上的，是毛泽东和他最忠诚的战友们。毛泽东，这位理论家、诗人和学者，用洪亮的声音宣告中华人民共和国成立的那一刻，一定深刻地意识到了这一天意义非凡。
9凤子热泪盈眶，我也被深深打动。虽然这里不是我的国家，我还是个外国人，但在那人海之中，我感觉到激动情绪像电流一样传遍全身。人们穿着打补丁的破旧衣裳，军人们的军装虽然显得很旧，但都干净整洁。起初，一片寂静，人们还沉浸在苦难岁月和激烈战斗的回忆中。如今，终于胜利了！成千上万人的喉咙里迸发出一阵呐喊，喊出胜利的喜悦，喊出意志的坚定。
10好像没人知道该怎么安排我。那时，一个美国律师在社会主义中国确实没什么用武之地。等待期间，我读到一本刚出版的小说《新儿女英雄传》，小说很吸引人，于是我开始翻译，希望能在美国出版。小说写的是冀南芦苇荡中抗日游击战的故事，情节紧凑，用词犀利，多用方言，恐怕我当时把小说翻译成了戴蒙·鲁尼恩式的散文体了。不过译本还是由纽约自由图书俱乐部出版了，并以首部在美国出版的“红色”中国小说而闻名。
11如果我能翻译，何不做一名翻译工作者呢？后来对外文化联络局聘用了我，工作就是把各种各样的书籍和小册子译成英文。我们的工作环境很好，在一处很大的四合院里，瓦顶平房，当中有个花园。局长是著名剧作家洪深，有次在上海看电影，他看着看着竟然直接跳上舞台，痛斥影片中的帝国主义内容，着实把观众吓了一跳。他这个人兴味多样、激情澎湃，看到他，就知道所谓“捉摸不透的东方人”一说乃是无稽之谈。
12 1994年，凤子的回忆录出版后，我才知道自己这份工作是怎么得来的。凤子写信给周恩来，请求给我安排点儿事做，于是周总理就安排我去了对外文化联络局。消息是洪深到我家告诉我们的。他是凤子在复旦大学上学时的戏剧老师，也是老朋友，更是我家的常客。但这次他是以对外文化联络局局长的身份来的，只此一回。
13显然，周总理一直记挂着我和凤子。田汉是中华人民共和国国歌《义勇军进行曲》的词作者，曾和我们在同一个北平地下交通站待过。他跟我们说，他到达石家庄解放区时，周总理还问起我们，是什么事耽误了，怎么还没到。
The boom of artillery grew louder and more frequent.2 Tianjin had been taken in a brief but bloody fight.3 The People’s Liberation Army was closing in on4 Beijing. Soon they were lobbing shells just outside the crenellated city walls. There was a growing undercurrent of excited anticipation. Groups of Chinese literati began dropping in “for tea”—actually to discuss how they should coordinate with the impending take-over.
Kuomintang frenzy mounted to a fever pitch. They murdered political prisoners and arrested hundreds of innocuous people in a paranoic hysteria.5 One girl—a devout Christian and member of the YWCA—we had to conceal in our house for several weeks until liberation6 because someone or other had said something or other to some idiot7 in the police. Fu Zuoyi， the general holding the city， was stubbornly refusing to capitulate. The Communists didn’t want to take8 Beijing by storm， though their strength was overwhelming， out of consideration for the lives of its citizenry and to save the city’s priceless art treasures from damage. They sent emissaries to negotiate with Fu9—including， according to one account， his daughter， a revolutionary who was a correspondent for the Tianjin newspaper Ta Kung Pao. They said if he surrendered he and his men would be treated honorably， and Fu would be given a post in the new government commensurate with his rank.
After hesitating for several days， he agreed.10 On January 31， 1949， the artillery barrages ceased. A hush fell on the city. I rode my bike to Xizhimen， Beijing’s northwest gate. The People’s Liberation Army began marching in， clean， smartly stepping， smiling young men.11 Contingents of jeeps， trucks， artillery caissons—made in the United States—rolled through the streets. No wonder the Communists referred to Chiang Kai-shek ironically as their “Quartermaster General.” As his troops went over to the Communists in droves， most of the equipment which Washington gave him ended up in PLA hands.
The people cheered and applauded. Parents held their kids higher on their shoulders for a better view12. Pleasure and relief were universal. No doubt there were some who wondered whether to give any credence13 to the horror the Kuomintang had spread about the newcomers. But good news travels fast， and many had also heard how correctly this army had behaved in other， already liberated， parts of the province. In any event the fighting was over， and this was something welcomed by all. The streets were gay with flags and bunting.
In the next few days representatives of several organizations called on me to request that we lease them the college premises. I put them in touch with an American who was on the college board， an administrator of PUMC， the Beijing Union Medical College14， a Rockefeller foundation. He entered into a contract with the unit which later became the Ministry of Culture. The ministry paid rent， plus the wages of the old staff， who were kept on. Only when the United States pulled their diplomatic personnel out of China and sent the Seventh Fleet into the Taiwan Straits were rent payments suspended. Eventually， the Chinese government took over the property and paid what I heard was a very good price to the title holders， the North American Council of Churches. That was some years later.15 Administrative organizations were set up， a government was functioning—though it was characteristic of the new regime that it wasn’t formally proclaimed until October 1， 1949， when most of China had been liberated and more experience16 had been gained in governing a huge country.
We17 stood that day with hundreds of thousands in the square before Tiananmen—the Gate of Heavenly Peace—massive entrance to what foreigners had called the Forbidden City， the place where for 500 years China’s emperors had ruled. Now， on the magnificent gate house， topped with tiles of imperial yellow， Mao Zedong and his staunchest colleagues18 had gathered. Mao， the philosopher， poet and scholar， was surely profoundly conscious of the significance of that day19 as he ringingly proclaimed the establishment of the People’s Republic of China.
Phoenix was in tears， and I was deeply moved. It wasn’t my country， I was a foreigner. But in that sea of humanity I could feel the emotions sweeping through like an electric current. People in shabby patched clothes. Army men and women， sprucer， but whose uniforms showed signs of hard wear. The crowd had been silent at first， recalling years of suffering and fierce fighting. But now， at last， victory. A roar welled from thousands of throats， a heart-cry of triumph and resolve.
No one seemed to know what to do with me. There wasn’t much use in socialist China for an American lawyer at that time. While waiting， I found a new novel which appealed to me called Daughters and Sons， and began translating it， hopefully for the American market. The story of guerrilla warfare against the Japanese amid the reedy marshes of southern Hebei Province20， it was fast-moving， hard-hitting， and full of peasant colloquialisms， which I’m afraid I rendered into rather Damon Runyonesque21 prose. Still， it was published in New York by the Liberty Book Club， and had the distinction of being the first novel out of “Red” China to appear in the States.
If I could translate， why not make me a translator？ I was taken on by the Bureau of Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries22， where I worked on turning into English diverse books and pamphlets. We operated in a charming setting—a large traditional compound of one-storey tile-roofed buildings in a hollow square around a garden. The head was Hong Shen23， a well-known dramatist who had once startled a movie audience in Shanghai by leaping on the stage and denouncing the film for its imperialist content. He was a colorful， emotional fellow， another living refutation of the canard about the “inscrutable Oriental.”
Only in 1994 when Phoenix’s memoir was published did I learn how I got the job. Phoenix had written to Zhou Enlai requesting that I be given something to do. He had assigned me to the bureau. Hong Shen dropped by to tell us the news. As Phoenix’s former drama professor at Fudan University and an old friend he was a frequent caller. Only this time24 he came in his official capacity of director of the Bureau of Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries.
Apparently Zhou had been keeping a watchful eye on Phoenix and me. Tian Han， composer of the lyrics of Arise！， China’s national anthem， had gone through the same underground station with us in Beijing. He told us that when he got to Shijiazhuang in the Liberated Areas， Zhou Enlai had asked him what had happened to us， and why we still hadn’t arrived.