通译双语文库:巴黎圣母院Book 1 Chapter 4 Master Jacques Coppenole

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[p2]">ante Margaritam~, swine before the pearl."

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The whole little court in cassocks went into ecstacies over this play upon words. The cardinal felt a little relieved; he was quits with Coppenole, he also had had his jest applauded.

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Now, will those of our readers who possess the power of generalizing an image or an idea, as the expression runs in the style of to-day, permit us to ask them if they have formed a very clear conception of the spectacle presented at this moment, upon which we have arrested their attention, by the vast parallelogram of the grand hall of the palace.

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In the middle of the hall, backed against the western wall, a large and magnificent gallery draped with cloth of gold, into which enter in procession, through a small, arched door, grave personages, announced successively by the shrill voice of an usher. On the front benches were already a number of venerable figures, muffled in ermine, velvet, and scarlet. Around the dais--which remains silent and dignified--below, opposite, everywhere, a great crowd and a great murmur. Thousands of glances directed by the people on each face upon the dais, a thousand whispers over each name.

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Certainly, the spectacle is curious, and well deserves the attention of the spectators. But yonder, quite at the end, what is that sort of trestle work with four motley puppets upon it, and more below? Who is that man beside the trestle, with a black doublet and a pale face? Alas! my dear reader, it is Pierre Gringoire and his prologue.

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We have all forgotten him completely.

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This is precisely what he feared.

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From the moment of the cardinal’s entrance, Gringoire had never ceased to tremble for the safety of his prologue. At first he had enjoined the actors, who had stopped in suspense, to continue, and to raise their voices; then, perceiving that no one was listening, he had stopped them; and, during the entire quarter of an hour that the interruption lasted, he had not ceased to stamp, to flounce about, to appeal to Gisquette and Liénarde, and to urge his neighbors to the continuance of the prologue; all in vain. No one quitted the cardinal, the embassy, and the gallery--sole centre of this vast circle of visual rays.

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We must also believe, and we say it with regret, that the prologue had begun slightly to weary the audience at the moment when his eminence had arrived, and created a diversion in so terrible a fashion. After all, on the gallery as well as on the marble table, the spectacle was the same: the conflict of Labor and Clergy, of Nobility and Merchandise. And many people preferred to see them alive, breathing, moving, elbowing each other in flesh and blood, in this Flemish embassy, in this Episcopal court, under the cardinal’s robe, under Coppenole’s jerkin, than painted, decked out, talking in verse, and, so to speak, stuffed beneath the yellow amid white tunics in which Gringoire had so ridiculously clothed them.

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Nevertheless, when our poet beheld quiet reestablished to some extent, he devised a stratagem which might have redeemed all.

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"Monsieur," he said, turning towards one of his neighbors, a fine, big man, with a patient face, "suppose we begin again."

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"What?" said his neighbor.

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"Hé! the Mystery," said Gringoire.

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"As you like," returned his neighbor.

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This semi-approbation sufficed for Gringoire, and, conducting his own affairs, he began to shout, confounding himself with the crowd as much as possible: "Begin the mystery again! begin again!"

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"The devil!" said Joannes de Molendino, "what are they jabbering down yonder, at the end of the hall?" (for Gringoire was making noise enough for four.) "Say, comrades, isn’t that mystery finished? They want to begin it all over again. That’s not fair!"

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"No, no!" shouted all the scholars. "Down with the mystery! Down with it!"

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But Gringoire had multiplied himself, and only shouted the more vigorously: "Begin again! begin again!"

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These clamors attracted the attention of the cardinal.

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"Monsieur Bailiff of the Courts," said he to a tall, black man, placed a few paces from him, "are those knaves in a holy-water vessel, that they make such a hellish noise?"

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The bailiff of the courts was a sort of amphibious magistrate, a sort of bat of the judicial order, related to both the rat and the bird, the judge and the soldier.

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He approached his eminence, and not without a good deal of fear of the latter’s displeasure, he awkwardly explained to him the seeming disrespect of the audience: that noonday had arrived before his eminence, and that the comedians had been forced to begin without waiting for his eminence.

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The cardinal burst into a laugh.

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"On my faith, the rector of the university ought to have done the same. What say you, Master Guillaume Rym?"

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"Monseigneur," replied Guillaume Rym, "let us be content with having escaped half of the comedy. There is at least that much gained."

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"Can these rascals continue their farce?" asked the bailiff.

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"Continue, continue," said the cardinal, "it’s all the same to me. I’ll read my breviary in the meantime."

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The bailiff advanced to the edge of the estrade, and cried, after having invoked silence by a wave of the hand,--"Bourgeois, rustics, and citizens, in order to satisfy those who wish the play to begin again, and those who wish it to end, his eminence orders that it be continued."

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Both parties were forced to resign themselves. But the public and the author long cherished a grudge against the cardinal.

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So the personages on the stage took up their parts, and Gringoire hoped that the rest of his work, at least, would be listened to. This hope was speedily dispelled like his other illusions; silence had indeed, been restored in the audience, after a fashion; but Gringoire had not observed that at the moment when the cardinal gave the order to continue, the gallery was far from full, and that after the Flemish envoys there had arrived new personages forming part of the cortege, whose names and ranks, shouted out in the midst of his dialogue by the intermittent cry of the usher, produced considerable ravages in it.

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Let the reader imagine the effect in the midst of a theatrical piece, of the yelping of an usher, flinging in between two rhymes, and often in the middle of a line, parentheses like the following,--”Master Jacques Charmolue, procurator to the king in the Ecclesiastical Courts!”

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"Jehan de Harlay, equerry guardian of the office of chevalier of the night watch of the city of Paris!"

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"Messire Galiot de Genoilhac, chevalier, seigneur de Brussac, master of the king’s artillery!"

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"Master Dreux-Raguier, surveyor of the woods and forests of the king our sovereign, in the land of France, Champagne and Brie!"

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"Messire Louis de Graville, chevalier, councillor, and chamberlain of the king, admiral of France, keeper of the Forest of Vincennes!"

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"Master Denis le Mercier, guardian of the house of the blind at Paris!" etc., etc., etc.

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This was becoming unbearable.

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This strange accompaniment, which rendered it difficult to follow the piece, made Gringoire all the more indignant because he could not conceal from himself the fact that the interest was continually increasing, and that all his work required was a chance of being heard.It was, in fact, difficult to imagine a more ingenious and more dramatic composition. The four personages of the prologue were bewailing themselves in their mortal embarrassment, when Venus in person, (~vera incessa patuit dea~) presented herself to them, clad in a fine robe bearing the heraldic device of the ship of the city of Paris. She had come herself to claim the dolphin promised to the most beautiful.

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Jupiter, whose thunder could be heard rumbling in the dressing-room, supported her claim, and Venus was on the point of carrying it off,--that is to say, without allegory, of marrying monsieur the dauphin, when a young child clad in white damask, and holding in her hand a daisy (a transparent personification of Mademoiselle Marguerite of Flanders) came to contest it with Venus.

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Theatrical effect and change.After a dispute, Venus, Marguerite, and the assistants agreed to submit to the good judgment of time holy Virgin. There was another good part, that of the king of Mesopotamia; but through so many interruptions, it was difficult to make out what end he served. All these persons had ascended by the ladder to the stage.

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But all was over; none of these beauties had been felt nor understood. On the entrance of the cardinal, one would have said that an invisible magic thread had suddenly drawn all glances from the marble table to the gallery, from the southern to the western extremity of the hall. Nothing could disenchant the audience; all eyes remained fixed there, and the new-comers and their accursed names, and their faces, and their costumes, afforded a continual diversion. This was very distressing. With the exception of Gisquette and Liénarde, who turned round from time to time when Gringoire plucked them by the sleeve; with the exception of the big, patient neighbor, no one listened, no one looked at the poor, deserted morality full face. Gringoire saw only profiles.

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With what bitterness did he behold his whole erection of glory and of poetry crumble away bit by bit! And to think that these people had been upon the point of instituting a revolt against the bailiff through impatience to hear his work! now that they had it they did not care for it. This same representation which had been begun amid so unanimous an acclamation! Eternal flood and ebb of popular favor! To think that they had been on the point of hanging the bailiff’s sergeant! What would he not have given to be still at that hour of honey!

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But the usher’s brutal monologue came to an end; every one had arrived, and Gringoire breathed freely once more; the actors continued bravely. But Master Coppenole, the hosier, must needs rise of a sudden, and Gringoire was forced to listen to him deliver, amid universal attention, the following abominable harangue.

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"Messieurs the bourgeois and squires of Paris, I don’t know, cross of God! what we are doing here. I certainly do see yonder in the corner on that stage, some people who appear to be fighting. I don’t know whether that is what you call a "mystery," but it is not amusing; they quarrel with their tongues and nothing more. I have been waiting for the first blow this quarter of an hour; nothing comes; they are cowards who only scratch each other with insults.

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You ought to send for the fighters of London or Rotterdam; and, I can tell you! you would have had blows of the fist that could be heard in the Place; but these men excite our pity. They ought at least, to give us a moorish dance, or some other mummer! That is not what was told me; I was promised a feast of fools, with the election of a pope. We have our pope of fools at Ghent also; we’re not behindhand in that, cross of God! But this is the way we manage it; we collect a crowd like this one here, then each person in turn passes his head through a hole, and makes a grimace at the rest; time one who makes the ugliest, is elected pope by general acclamation; that’s the way it is. It is very diverting.

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Would you like to make your pope after the fashion of my country? At all events, it will be less wearisome than to listen to chatterers. If they wish to come and make their grimaces through the hole, they can join the game. What say you, Messieurs les bourgeois? You have here enough grotesque specimens of both sexes, to allow of laughing in Flemish fashion, and there are enough of us ugly in countenance to hope for a fine grinning match.”

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Gringoire would have liked to retort; stupefaction, rage, indignation, deprived him of words. Moreover, the suggestion of the popular hosier was received with such enthusiasm by these bourgeois who were flattered at being called "squires," that all resistance was useless. There was nothing to be done but to allow one’s self to drift with the torrent. Gringoire hid his face between his two hands, not being so fortunate as to have a mantle with which to veil his head, like Agamemnon of Timantis.

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上页 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 下页

Book 1 Chapter 4 Master Jacques Coppenole

那穿皮外衣的人把他的肩膀一推。

“这家伙想把我怎么样？”他大声嚷道，使得整座大厅里都开始注意这奇怪的对话来了。“你没有看见我是同他们一道的吗？”

“你的姓名叫什么？”

“雅克·科勃诺尔。”

“你的身份是什么？”

“袜店商人，刚城的三链记袜店。”

守门人犹豫起来。通报执政官和市政官们，那还说得过去，但是要通报一个袜店商人，可就困难了。红衣主教如坐针毡，所有的人观看着，倾听着。

“守门人，”红衣主教高声说道：“给著名的刚城执政官的秘书雅克·科勃诺尔通报！”

这是一个误会。居约姆·韩以为他个人就能把这个困难搪塞过去，可是雅克·科勃诺尔听出了红衣主教的声音。

爆发了一阵哄笑和赞叹。俏皮话在巴黎是马上就会被人听懂的，当然也总是受到喝采的。

可是对于可怜的红衣主教，一切还没有完结，既然陪着那样的客人，他就得尝尽辛酸。

乞丐回过头去，两人脸上都现出惊异、熟识和兴高采烈的样子。于是这个袜店商人毫不在乎观众会怎样想，就同那生疮的乞丐握着手低声交谈起来。克洛潘·图意弗的破衣烂衫衬在看台的金色帷幔上，就跟青虫爬在桔柑上一样。

“凭十字架的名义，红衣主教大人，”科勃诺尔依旧握着克洛潘的手说：“他是我的朋友呀！”

“大人，”大僧正回答道，“你在对这些弗朗德勒的蠢猪白糟蹋礼貌哪。珍珠在猪的前边呀。”

“不如这样说吧，”红衣主教微笑着回答，“猪在珍珠前边。”

穿长袍的那一小群人都很欣赏这个文字游戏。红衣主教感到了一点安慰，他到底对科勃诺尔进行了报复，因为他的俏皮话也赢得了赞赏。

现在，请让我们问一问读者中间那些能用现今人们的方法把概念和想象综合起来的人，在我们请他们注意的时刻，从我们提供的情景，他们对那巨大的长方形的司法宫大厅是否能有个清楚的印象。

那景象的确很热闹，很值得一看。可是在那边，在大厅的尽里头，那上下各站着四个彩色木偶般人物的是个什么台子呀？台子旁边那个穿黑衣服的脸色发白的人又是谁呀？哎哟，亲爱的读者，那就是比埃尔·甘果瓦同他的序幕。

我们几乎完全把他忘记啦。

这却正是他所担心的。

然而当我们的诗人看见人们稍为安静了一点，他就又想出了一个补救的办法。

“先生，”他侧身向旁边一个样子很耐心的正派的胖子问道，“还要演下去吗？”

“什么？”那人说。

“哎，圣迹剧呀！”

“随您的便吧。”那人马上回答。

这句半带赞同的回答对于甘果瓦就已经足够了，他便亲自出马，尽可能让自己夹杂在观众的呼声里喊道：“重新开演圣迹剧呀，重新开演呀！”

“见鬼！”若望·德·梅朗狄诺说，“他在那边唱些什么，在那尽里头？（因为甘果瓦装出四个人的声音在喊。）说呀，同学们，圣迹剧不是还没有演完吗？他们倒想重新开演。这可不对呀。”

“不对！不对！”全体学生一齐嚷道，“打倒圣迹剧！打倒！”

但这却使甘果瓦更加活跃起来，喊得更响了：“重新开演！重新开演！”

这些叫嚷引起了红衣主教的注意。

“司法官先生，”他向离他几步远的一个阴沉沉的高个儿说：“难道这些家伙是在圣水盆里吗？竟弄出这种可恶的怪叫？”

那个司法官是个两栖类，是司法界的蝙蝠那一类的人物，他又是老鼠又是鸟雀，又是审判官又是士兵。

他唯恐红衣主教发脾气，便走到主教跟前，结结巴巴地向他说明群众的轻举妄动：由于正午在他殿下莅临之前就到来了，演员们没等他殿下来到就被迫开演了。

红衣主教哈哈大笑起来。

“其实，就是大学校长也只能这样办呢！你的意见怎样，居约姆·韩阁下？”

“大人，”居约姆·韩回答道，“我们倒应该高兴逃过了半场戏呢。真是因祸得福了。”

“还让这些家伙演下去么？”司法官问。

“演下去吧，演下去吧！”红衣主教说，“这对于我都是一样的，我要趁这当儿读我的祈祷书。”

司法官走到看台边做了个手势叫大家肃静以后，喊道：“乡里和城里的公民们，为了让希望重新开演的人和希望马上结束的人都满意，主教殿下吩咐接着演下去！”

双方只好让步。因此戏剧的作者和观众都把红衣主教埋怨了一阵。

读者请想象一下，一场戏剧刚演到半当中，守门人就朝两个诗韵或者往往是两个音缀当中扔进去这样一些象连珠炮似的插曲：“雅克·沙尔莫吕阁下，国王的宗教法庭检察官！”

“若望·德·阿雷，巴黎巡夜骑兵队办事处的守卫和武官！”

“加约·德·吉诺亚克老爷，骑士，布鲁沙的爵士，国王的炮兵队长！”

“德厄·阿盖阁下，归法兰西国王管辖的香槟省和勃里省的森林与水泽管理人！”

“路易·德·格拉维尔老爷，国王的骑士、顾问和管家，法兰西海军总司令，凡赛纳森林的护林官！”

“德里·勒·梅西耶阁下，巴黎盲人院监督！”等等，等等，等等。

简直是难以忍受。

守门人粗声粗气的独唱终于停止了，所有的人都已到齐，甘果瓦又呼吸自如了，演员们起劲地继续表演。那个袜店商人科勃诺尔老板不知为什么突然站了起来，在全场专心听戏的当儿，发表了一通讨厌的议论：

The man in the leather jerkin shouldered him aside.

"What does this knave want with me?" said he, in stentorian tones, which rendered the entire hall attentive to this strange colloquy. "Don’t you see that I am one of them?"

"Your name?" demanded the usher.

"Jacques Coppenole."

"Your titles?"

"Hosier at the sign of the ’Three Little Chains,’ of Ghent."

The usher recoiled. One might bring one’s self to announce aldermen and burgomasters, but a hosier was too much. The cardinal was on thorns. All the people were staring and listening.

"Usher," interposed the cardinal, aloud, "announce Master Jacques Coppenole, clerk of the aldermen of the illustrious city of Ghent."

This was a mistake. Guillaume Rym alone might have conjured away the difficulty, but Coppenole had heard the cardinal.

"No, cross of God?" he exclaimed, in his voice of thunder, "Jacques Coppenole, hosier. Do you hear, usher? Nothing more, nothing less. Cross of God! hosier; that’s fine enough. Monsieur the Archduke has more than once sought his gant in my hose."

Laughter and applause burst forth. A jest is always understood in Paris, and, consequently, always applauded.

Nevertheless, all was over for the poor cardinal, and he was obliged to quaff to the dregs the bitter cup of being in such bad company.

"Cross of God! monseigneur the cardinal," said Coppenole, without quitting Clopin’s hand, "he’s a friend of mine."

[p1]"Your eminence," replied the abbé, "wastes your politeness on these Flemish swine. ~Margaritas 23

[p2]">ante porcos~, pearls before swine."

[p1]"Say rather," retorted the cardinal, with a smile, "~Porcos 25

[p2]">ante Margaritam~, swine before the pearl."

The whole little court in cassocks went into ecstacies over this play upon words. The cardinal felt a little relieved; he was quits with Coppenole, he also had had his jest applauded.

We have all forgotten him completely.

This is precisely what he feared.

Nevertheless, when our poet beheld quiet reestablished to some extent, he devised a stratagem which might have redeemed all.

"Monsieur," he said, turning towards one of his neighbors, a fine, big man, with a patient face, "suppose we begin again."

"What?" said his neighbor.

"Hé! the Mystery," said Gringoire.

"As you like," returned his neighbor.

This semi-approbation sufficed for Gringoire, and, conducting his own affairs, he began to shout, confounding himself with the crowd as much as possible: "Begin the mystery again! begin again!"

"The devil!" said Joannes de Molendino, "what are they jabbering down yonder, at the end of the hall?" (for Gringoire was making noise enough for four.) "Say, comrades, isn’t that mystery finished? They want to begin it all over again. That’s not fair!"

"No, no!" shouted all the scholars. "Down with the mystery! Down with it!"

But Gringoire had multiplied himself, and only shouted the more vigorously: "Begin again! begin again!"

These clamors attracted the attention of the cardinal.

"Monsieur Bailiff of the Courts," said he to a tall, black man, placed a few paces from him, "are those knaves in a holy-water vessel, that they make such a hellish noise?"