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堂吉诃德|Don Quixote

Part 1 第9章|Part 1 Chapter 9

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 塞万提斯] 阅读：[53042]
《堂吉诃德》是一部幽默诙谐、滑稽可笑、充满了奇思妙想的长篇文学巨著。此书主要描写了一个有趣、可敬、可悲、喜欢自欺欺人的没落贵族堂吉诃德，他痴狂地迷恋古代骑士小说，以至于放弃家业，用破甲驽马装扮成古代骑士的样子，再雇佣农民桑乔作侍从，三次出征周游全国，去创建所谓的扶弱锄强的骑士业绩。他们在征险的生涯中闹出了许多笑话，到处碰壁受辱，堂吉诃德多次被打成重伤，有一次还被当成疯子关在笼子里遣送回乡。最后，他因征战不利郁郁寡欢而与世长辞，临终前他那一番貌似悔悟的话语让人匪夷所思又哭笑不得。
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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前面我们谈到，英勇的比斯开人和著名的曼查人都高举利剑奋力向对方劈去。要是真劈着了，两人都会从头到脚被劈成两半，变成两个裂开的石榴。可是这个有趣的故事在关键时刻却戛然而止，作者也没有交代下文。

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我十分沮丧。阅读伊始吊起的胃口现在变成了难觅其余的惆怅。我意识到其余部分对这个有趣的故事十分重要。我觉得不可能也不应该，竟没有某位贤人负责把这位优秀骑士前所未闻的业绩记录下来。人们说，所有游侠骑士的历险经历他们都了解，因为每个游侠骑士都理所当然地有一两个贤人负责记录他的行动，而且还描绘他的每一个微小的思想变化和细节琐事，不管它们有多么隐秘。所以，如此优秀的骑士不应该如此不幸，更何况连普拉蒂尔和其他诸如此类的骑士都不乏贤人为他们写传呢。我不相信如此动人的故事会支离破碎，残缺不全。这只能归咎于可恶的时间，它吞噬了所有的一切，也隐匿或湮没了这个故事。

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可是又一想，我觉得既然他的藏书里有《情嫉醒悟》与《草地仙女和牧人》之类的现代书，那么，有关他的故事也应该是现代的。即使没有写成文字，也应该留在他的村庄及其周围居民的记忆里。这样一想，我更加坐立不安，更想了解我们西班牙这位著名的唐吉诃德的真正生活和奇迹了。他是曼查骑士的精英。在当今灾难深重的年代里，他率先投身于游侠事业，除暴安良，帮助寡妇，保护少女。那些黄花女子跃马扬鞭，翻山越岭，若不是遭到强盗、手持利斧和头戴头盔的村夫或某个巨人强暴，即使活到八十岁也不会在外面宿夜，进入坟墓时仍守身如玉。由于种种原因，我们英勇的唐吉诃德应当不断被传诵，我为寻求这个动人故事的结尾所付出的努力也应该得到承认。这个故事要是认真读，得用两个小时。我完全清楚，如果苍天、机遇和命运不助我一臂之力，世界上就不会有这部消遣之作。故事的其余部分是这样被发现的：

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有一天，我在托莱多的阿尔卡纳碰到一个小孩，他正在向个丝绸商兜售几个笔记本和一些旧纸。我爱看书，连街上扔的碎纸也要看看。被这种嗜好驱使，我拿过一个笔记本翻看，认出上面的字是阿拉伯文。我虽然能认出来，可是看不懂，于是就四处寻找，想找个懂阿尔哈米亚文①的摩尔人，结果没费什么力就找到了。倘若找其他更复杂、更古老语言的翻译，也能找到。总之，我凑巧找到了一个翻译。我告诉他我的想法。他把书本拿在手里，从中间翻开，读了一点儿就笑开了。我问他笑什么。他说笑书的边白上加的一个注释。我让他告诉我那上面说了什么，他边笑边说：

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“我说了，边白上这样写着：故事里常常提到的托博索的杜尔西内亚，据说是曼查所有妇女中腌猪肉的最佳能手。”

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我一听说托搏索的杜尔西内亚，先是一惊，然后才想起来，那几个笔记本里一定有唐吉诃德的故事。于是，我就催他把笔记本的开头部分念给我听。他当即把阿拉伯文翻译成西班牙文，说是“曼查人唐吉诃德的故事，阿拉伯历史学家锡德·哈迈德·贝嫩赫利著”。

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我付出了极大的努力来掩饰我听到这个书名时的喜悦。我只花了半个雷阿尔，就把那孩子的所有纸张和笔记本从丝绸商那儿截了过来。如果那孩子再仔细点儿，发现我需要这些东西，完全可以再讨价还价，卖到六个雷阿尔以上。我随即和那个摩尔人来到一个大教堂的回廊里，让他把笔记本里所有关于唐吉诃德的内容原原本本地翻译成西班牙文，要多少钱都可以给他。他只要两阿罗瓦②葡萄干和两法内加③小麦，并答应尽快又好又准地翻译过来。我为了我们合作得更顺利，而且也不愿意让这样珍贵的发现离开我，就把他带到我家。他用了一个半月多一点儿的时间，就把整个故事都翻译过来了，其内容如下。

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①用阿拉伯字母拼写的西班牙文。

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②重量单位，一阿罗瓦相当于11．5公斤。

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③容量单位，一法内加在不同地区分别相当于22．5或55．5公升。

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第一个笔记本里有一幅唐吉诃德同比斯开人战斗的插图，画得非常逼真，完全就是故事里讲述的那个架势。两个人都举着剑，一个戴着头盔，另一个抱着坐垫。比斯开人的骡子也画得栩栩如生，一看就知道是头租来的骡子。比斯开人脚下还注着“唐桑乔·德阿斯佩蒂亚”，这无疑是他的名字。罗西南多脚下注着“唐吉诃德”。罗西南多画得简直绝了，又长又细，弱不禁风，弯腰拱背，病入膏肓，使罗西南多这个名字的特性一览无遗。旁边是桑乔·潘萨，牵着驴，脚下注明的是桑乔·桑卡斯。按照图上的画法，他是个大肚子，矮身材，长腿，大概因此才叫他潘萨和桑卡斯①吧。故事里有时候也是用这两个名字称呼他的。还有一些琐闻，不过都无关紧要，并不影响故事的真实性。所有琐闻都是真实的。

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①在西班牙文中“潘萨”为大肚子，“桑卡斯”为长腿。

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如果有人对它的真实性持异议，那无非因为作者是阿拉伯人。说谎是那个民族的特性之一。既然他们跟我们嫌隙颇深，故事里面真话只少不多也是可以理解的。我就是这样认为的。本来可以对这位优秀骑士浓笔酣墨地大加赞扬的地方，作者却故意闭口不谈。这种做法很可恶，想法也可恶。历史学家应当力求准确真实，不能掺杂自己的感情，更不能凭自己的情趣、恐惧、仇恨和喜好去歪曲事实。历史造就了真理，它要经受时间的考验。它记述了各种行为，是往昔的见证，是当今的圭臬，是未来的预示。我知道在这部传讯里可以找到一切需要的情节。如果它有所缺憾的话，我觉得那全是作者的毛病，而不是题材本身的过失。总之，按照译文，以下是第二部分的开头。

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两位愤怒的勇士高举利剑，只是利剑仿佛直指天空，直指深渊，这就是他们的勇气和风采。首先出击者是悻然的比斯开人。这一剑有力凶猛，要不是劈偏了，完全可以把比斯开人桀骜的对手干掉，我们的骑士及其征险生涯也就结束了。然而幸运的是，还有更重要的事情有待这位骑士去完成，所以利剑劈偏，只是把他左半边的甲胄、大半个头盔和半只耳朵由左肩劈下，七零八落地散在地上，使骑士十分难堪。

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上帝助我！现在谁能恰当地描述这位曼查人看到自己这副样子时怒火攻心的样子呢？闲话免谈，只说他重新翻身上马，双手持剑，气势汹汹地刺向比斯开人，正中坐垫和比斯开人的脑袋。比斯开人的脑袋可没戴头盔，结果如山压顶，鼻、嘴和耳朵开始流血，要不是他抱着骡子的脖子，早就栽下来了。不过，比斯开人的脚已经脱离了马镫，手后来也松开了。骡子被突如其来的攻击吓坏了，沿着田野狂奔起来，几个跳跃就把主人摔到了地上。

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唐吉诃德极其沉着地看着，看到比斯开人落马，便纵马悠然走到比斯开人面前，用剑尖指着他的眼睛，令他投降，否则，就要把他的脑袋割下来。比斯开人已经惊魂失魄，竟然一句话也说不出来。唐吉诃德正在气头上，幸亏车上那几位一直在惊恐地观战的夫人来到唐吉诃德面前，衰求他大发慈悲，饶恕她们的侍从。唐吉诃德极其骄矜地说：

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“是的，美丽的夫人们，我十分愿意遵命，不过有个条件，就是这位骑士得答应去托博索，以我的名义去拜见至尊的唐娜杜尔西内亚，由她打发这位骑士去做她愿意做的任何事情。”

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惊恐万状的夫人们其实并没有弄清唐吉诃德要求的是什么，也没问谁是杜尔西内亚，就答应让她们的侍人按照他的吩咐去办。

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“我相信你们的话，就不再惩罚他了。他本来是不该轻饶的。”

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In the First Part of this history we left the valiant Biscayan and the renowned Don Quixote with drawn swords uplifted, ready to deliver two such furious slashing blows that if they had fallen full and fair they would at least have split and cleft them asunder from top to toe and laid them open like a pomegranate; and at this so critical point the delightful history came to a stop and stood cut short without any intimation from the author where what was missing was to be found.

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This distressed me greatly, because the pleasure derived from having read such a small portion turned to vexation at the thought of the poor chance that presented itself of finding the large part that, so it seemed to me, was missing of such an interesting tale. It appeared to me to be a thing impossible and contrary to all precedent that so good a knight should have been without some sage to undertake the task of writing his marvellous achievements; a thing that was never wanting to any of those knights-errant who, they say, went after adventures; for every one of them had one or two sages as if made on purpose, who not only recorded their deeds but described their most trifling thoughts and follies, however secret they might be; and such a good knight could not have been so unfortunate as not to have what Platir and others like him had in abundance. And so I could not bring myself to believe that such a gallant tale had been left maimed and mutilated, and I laid the blame on Time, the devourer and destroyer of all things, that had either concealed or consumed it.

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On the other hand, it struck me that, inasmuch as among his books there had been found such modern ones as “The Enlightenment of Jealousy” and the “Nymphs and Shepherds of Henares,” his story must likewise be modern, and that though it might not be written, it might exist in the memory of the people of his village and of those in the neighbourhood. This reflection kept me perplexed and longing to know really and truly the whole life and wondrous deeds of our famous Spaniard, Don Quixote of La Mancha, light and mirror of Manchegan chivalry, and the first that in our age and in these so evil days devoted himself to the labour and exercise of the arms of knight-errantry, righting wrongs, succouring widows, and protecting damsels of that sort that used to ride about, whip in hand, on their palfreys, with all their virginity about them, from mountain to mountain and valley to valley — for, if it were not for some ruffian, or boor with a hood and hatchet, or monstrous giant, that forced them, there were in days of yore damsels that at the end of eighty years, in all which time they had never slept a day under a roof, went to their graves as much maids as the mothers that bore them. I say, then, that in these and other respects our gallant Don Quixote is worthy of everlasting and notable praise, nor should it be withheld even from me for the labour and pains spent in searching for the conclusion of this delightful history; though I know well that if Heaven, chance and good fortune had not helped me, the world would have remained deprived of an entertainment and pleasure that for a couple of hours or so may well occupy him who shall read it attentively. The discovery of it occurred in this way.

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One day, as I was in the Alcana of Toledo, a boy came up to sell some pamphlets and old papers to a silk mercer, and, as I am fond of reading even the very scraps of paper in the streets, led by this natural bent of mine I took up one of the pamphlets the boy had for sale, and saw that it was in characters which I recognised as Arabic, and as I was unable to read them though I could recognise them, I looked about to see if there were any Spanish-speaking Morisco at hand to read them for me; nor was there any great difficulty in finding such an interpreter, for even had I sought one for an older and better language I should have found him. In short, chance provided me with one, who when I told him what I wanted and put the book into his hands, opened it in the middle and after reading a little in it began to laugh. I asked him what he was laughing at, and he replied that it was at something the book had written in the margin by way of a note. I bade him tell it to me; and he still laughing said, “In the margin, as I told you, this is written: ‘This Dulcinea del Toboso so often mentioned in this history, had, they say, the best hand of any woman in all La Mancha for salting pigs.’”

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When I heard Dulcinea del Toboso named, I was struck with surprise and amazement, for it occurred to me at once that these pamphlets contained the history of Don Quixote. With this idea I pressed him to read the beginning, and doing so, turning the Arabic offhand into Castilian, he told me it meant, “History of Don Quixote of La Mancha, written by Cide Hamete Benengeli, an Arab historian.” It required great caution to hide the joy I felt when the title of the book reached my ears, and snatching it from the silk mercer, I bought all the papers and pamphlets from the boy for half a real; and if he had had his wits about him and had known how eager I was for them, he might have safely calculated on making more than six reals by the bargain. I withdrew at once with the Morisco into the cloister of the cathedral, and begged him to turn all these pamphlets that related to Don Quixote into the Castilian tongue, without omitting or adding anything to them, offering him whatever payment he pleased. He was satisfied with two arrobas of raisins and two bushels of wheat, and promised to translate them faithfully and with all despatch; but to make the matter easier, and not to let such a precious find out of my hands, I took him to my house, where in little more than a month and a half he translated the whole just as it is set down here.

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In the first pamphlet the battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan was drawn to the very life, they planted in the same attitude as the history describes, their swords raised, and the one protected by his buckler, the other by his cushion, and the Biscayan’s mule so true to nature that it could be seen to be a hired one a bowshot off. The Biscayan had an inscription under his feet which said, “Don Sancho de Azpeitia,” which no doubt must have been his name; and at the feet of Rocinante was another that said, “Don Quixote.” Rocinante was marvellously portrayed, so long and thin, so lank and lean, with so much backbone and so far gone in consumption, that he showed plainly with what judgment and propriety the name of Rocinante had been bestowed upon him. Near him was Sancho Panza holding the halter of his ass, at whose feet was another label that said, “Sancho Zancas,” and according to the picture, he must have had a big belly, a short body, and long shanks, for which reason, no doubt, the names of Panza and Zancas were given him, for by these two surnames the history several times calls him. Some other trifling particulars might be mentioned, but they are all of slight importance and have nothing to do with the true relation of the history; and no history can be bad so long as it is true.

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If against the present one any objection be raised on the score of its truth, it can only be that its author was an Arab, as lying is a very common propensity with those of that nation; though, as they are such enemies of ours, it is conceivable that there were omissions rather than additions made in the course of it. And this is my own opinion; for, where he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so worthy a knight, he seems to me deliberately to pass it over in silence; which is ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business and duty of historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from passion, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor love, should make them swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, storehouse of deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel for the present, and warning for the future. In this I know will be found all that can be desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting in any good quality, I maintain it is the fault of its hound of an author and not the fault of the subject. To be brief, its Second Part, according to the translation, began in this way:

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With trenchant swords upraised and poised on high, it seemed as though the two valiant and wrathful combatants stood threatening heaven, and earth, and hell, with such resolution and determination did they bear themselves. The fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow, which was delivered with such force and fury that had not the sword turned in its course, that single stroke would have sufficed to put an end to the bitter struggle and to all the adventures of our knight; but that good fortune which reserved him for greater things, turned aside the sword of his adversary, so that although it smote him upon the left shoulder, it did him no more harm than to strip all that side of its armour, carrying away a great part of his helmet with half of his ear, all which with fearful ruin fell to the ground, leaving him in a sorry plight.

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Good God! Who is there that could properly describe the rage that filled the heart of our Manchegan when he saw himself dealt with in this fashion? All that can be said is, it was such that he again raised himself in his stirrups, and, grasping his sword more firmly with both hands, he came down on the Biscayan with such fury, smiting him full over the cushion and over the head, that — even so good a shield proving useless — as if a mountain had fallen on him, he began to bleed from nose, mouth, and ears, reeling as if about to fall backwards from his mule, as no doubt he would have done had he not flung his arms about its neck; at the same time, however, he slipped his feet out of the stirrups and then unclasped his arms, and the mule, taking fright at the terrible blow, made off across the plain, and with a few plunges flung its master to the ground. Don Quixote stood looking on very calmly, and, when he saw him fall, leaped from his horse and with great briskness ran to him, and, presenting the point of his sword to his eyes, bade him surrender, or he would cut his head off. The Biscayan was so bewildered that he was unable to answer a word, and it would have gone hard with him, so blind was Don Quixote, had not the ladies in the coach, who had hitherto been watching the combat in great terror, hastened to where he stood and implored him with earnest entreaties to grant them the great grace and favour of sparing their squire’s life; to which Don Quixote replied with much gravity and dignity, “In truth, fair ladies, I am well content to do what ye ask of me; but it must be on one condition and understanding, which is that this knight promise me to go to the village of El Toboso, and on my behalf present himself before the peerless lady Dulcinea, that she deal with him as shall be most pleasing to her.”

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The terrified and disconsolate ladies, without discussing Don Quixote’s demand or asking who Dulcinea might be, promised that their squire should do all that had been commanded.

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“Then, on the faith of that promise,” said Don Quixote, “I shall do him no further harm, though he well deserves it of me.”

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