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堂吉诃德|Don Quixote
Part 2 第68章|Part 2 Chapter 66
属类：
双语小说
【分类】世界名著
-[作者: 塞万提斯]
阅读：[44771]
《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。
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那天晚上比较黑。虽然月亮仍在天上，可就是不愿露面。这位狄安娜夫人大概到地球的另一面去散步了，结果弄得山谷都是黑乎乎的。唐吉诃德只打了个盹儿，就再也没睡着。桑乔却相反，一觉睡到大天亮，一看就知道是个心宽体胖的人。唐吉诃德心事重重，睡不着，只好把桑乔叫醒，对他说道：
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“桑乔，我对你什么都不在乎的脾气真感到惊讶。你大概是石凿的或铁打的，什么时候都无动于衷。我守夜时你睡觉，我哭泣时你唱歌，我饿得头昏眼花时你却撑得直犯懒。好佣人应该为主人分忧，忧主人之忧嘛。你看这夜色多么清幽，万籁俱寂，仿佛在邀请我们从梦中醒来，与它共度良宵呢。赶紧起来吧，往远处走一点儿，拿出点儿勇气和报恩的精神来，打自己三四百鞭子，为了让杜尔西内亚摆脱魔法而把欠的帐还上一部分吧。我求求你，我不想像上次那样跟你动手了。你打完自己之后，今夜剩下的时间咱们就唱歌儿。我倾诉我的相思，你赞颂你的忠贞。回村以后那种牧羊的生活咱们现在就可以开始了。”
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“大人，”桑乔说，“我又不是苦行僧，没必要半夜三更起来鞭挞自己，而且我也不信鞭挞的痛苦能转化为快乐的歌声。您还是让我睡觉吧，别再逼我抽打自己了，不然的话我发誓，以后别说碰我的皮肉，就连衣服上的一根细毛儿也休想碰我！”
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“多狠的心肠呀！多么冷酷的侍从呀！我白养活你了，我对你的照顾和以后会给你的照顾，你全忘记了！你靠着我才当上了总督，你靠着我才有望获得伯爵或者类似的称号，而且在过了这一年之后，这个诺言很快就会实现。黑暗即将过去，曙光就在前头呀。”
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“这些我不懂，”桑乔说，“我只知道在我睡觉的时候，既没有感到痛苦，也没有感到希望，没有辛劳，也没有荣耀。不知是谁发明了睡眠，真该感谢他。睡眠消除了人类的一切思想，成了解饥的饭食，解渴的清水，驱寒的火焰，驱热的清凉，一句话，睡眠是可以买到一切东西的货币；无论是国王还是平民，无论是智者还是傻瓜，它都像个天平，一视同仁。我听说睡眠只有一点不好，那就是和死差不多，睡着了的人就像死人一样。”
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“我从没有听到你像现在这样慷慨陈词，”唐吉诃德说，“由此我认识到，你的一句口头语说得很对：‘出身并不重要，关键是跟谁过。’”
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“见鬼去吧，我的大人，”桑乔说，“现在并不是我张口就是俗语，而是您动不动就来两句俗语，而且比我说得更多！您和我之间只有一个区别，那就是您比我说得恰当，我说得常常对不上号。但是不管怎么说，它们都是俗语。”
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这时，他们忽然听到一阵沉闷的嘈杂声以及凄厉的声音响彻了谷地。唐吉诃德站起来，手握剑柄；桑乔则赶紧钻到驴下面，用驴驮的盔甲和驮鞍挡住自己。桑乔吓得直发抖，唐吉诃德也茫然不知所措。声音越来越大，离他们越来越近，把其中一个人吓得够呛，而另一个人的胆量是大家都知道的。原来，是有人赶着六百多头猪到集上去卖，正好从那儿路过。那群猪呼哧着鼻子拼命地叫，把唐吉诃德和桑乔的耳朵都快震聋了，因而他们已经分不清那到底是什么声音了。大群的猪浩浩荡荡地呼叫着开过来，根本不理会唐吉诃德和桑乔的尊严。它们冲破了桑乔的防御工事，不仅撞倒了唐吉诃德，顺便还把罗西南多也带倒了。那群愚蠢的牲畜迅速地冲过来，把驮鞍、盔甲、驴、罗西南多、桑乔和唐吉诃德都掀翻在地，一片狼藉。桑乔挣扎着站起来，向唐吉诃德要剑，说要把这帮粗鲁的猪大爷宰掉几个。唐吉诃德对桑乔说道：
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“算了吧，朋友，是我造了孽，咱们才受到这种冒犯。这是上帝对一个战败的游侠骑士的惩罚。战败的游侠骑士就应该被狼啃，被蜂蜇，被猪踩！”
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“这也是老天对战败骑士的侍从的惩罚。”桑乔说，“这样的侍从就应该被蚊虫叮，被虱子咬，忍饥挨饿。假如我们这些侍从是我们服侍的骑士的儿子或者什么近亲，那就是把我们惩罚到第三代或者第四代也不为过。可是，桑乔家族跟唐吉诃德家族有什么关系呀？好了，咱们还是先歇着吧。天快亮了，咱们再睡一会儿，有什么事天亮再说吧。”
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“你去睡吧，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“你就知道睡觉！我可要守夜。在天亮之前的这段时间里，我要丢开我的思绪，做一首情诗。你不知道，昨天晚上我就已经打好腹稿了。”
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“依我看，”桑乔说，“想做诗的心情也没什么了不起的。您愿意怎么做诗就怎么做吧，我反正是能睡多少就睡多少。”
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然后，他随意躺到了地上，蜷缩成一团，进入了梦乡，什么欠帐、痛苦之类的事情，全都置之脑后了。唐吉诃德靠着一棵山毛榉或者栓皮槠，锡德·哈迈德·贝嫩赫利没说清是什么树，唉声叹气地念起诗来：
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每当我想着你，爱情，
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都是对我的痛苦折磨。
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我真想奔向死亡，
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从此把无穷的痛苦摆脱。
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然而当我到达死亡的边缘，
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却又裹足不前；
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爱情给我带来了如此的欢乐，
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欲死不忍心，生活更执著。
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我总是虽生求死，
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死又复活；
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生生死死，
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百般蹉跎①！
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①这是意大利诗人佩德罗·本博的一首情诗。
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唐吉诃德念着诗，叹着气，泪眼潸然，心中似乎为自己战败和思念杜尔西内亚而痛苦万分。
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天亮了，阳光照到了桑乔的眼睛上。他起身伸了个懒腰，活动了一下四肢，望着自己带的干粮被猪群毁得一片狼藉，不禁又诅咒起来，而且骂的还不仅仅是那群猪。后来，唐吉诃德和桑乔又继续赶路。下午，他们看到迎面走来近十个骑马的人和四五个步行的人。唐吉诃德不由得心情紧张起来，桑乔也吓得够呛，因为那些人手持长矛和盾牌，一副气势汹汹的样子。唐吉诃德转身对桑乔说：
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“桑乔，如果不是我的诺言束缚了我的手脚，如果我还能操持武器的话，我完全可以把对面来的这群人打得落花流水，那么情况就不一样了。”
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这时，那几个骑马的人手持长矛，一声不响地围住了唐吉诃德，分别用长矛指着他的前胸和后背。一个步行的人把手放在嘴边上，示意唐吉诃德别出声，抓着罗西南多的笼头，把它牵出了大路。其他几个步行的人揪着桑乔的驴，非常奇怪地一句话也不说，跟在唐吉诃德他们后面。唐吉诃德几次想开口问他们要把自己带到哪里去，想干什么，可是刚一开口，就有人用长矛的铁头指指他，示意他住嘴。桑乔的情况也一样，他刚要说话，就有人用带刺的棍子捅他，而且还捅他的驴，仿佛驴也想说话似的。夜色降临，那几个人加快了脚步，唐吉诃德和桑乔也更紧张了，尤其是听到那几个人不时地么喝：
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“快走，你们这两个野人！”
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“住嘴，蠢货！”
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“小心点儿，你们这两个吃人的家伙！”
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“别吭声，够了！不许把眼睛瞪那么大，你们这两个杀人的魔鬼，吃人不吐骨头的野狮！”
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那几个人还骂了其他一些话，唐吉诃德和桑乔听着都十分刺耳。桑乔心里说：“我们怎么‘噎人’，怎么‘闯祸’，又怎么成‘痴人’和‘野屎’①啦？这些话真不好听。真是屋漏偏逢下雨，人不顺心连喝凉水都塞牙缝儿。但愿这场灾祸到此为止吧。”
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①桑乔没听清楚那几个人喊的话，误作声音相近的词了。
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唐吉诃德也同样莫名其妙，猜不透那些人为什么用这些词骂他和桑乔，但他估计是凶多吉少。
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他们在黑夜中走了大约一小时，来到一座城堡前。唐吉诃德认出那是他们前不久还住过的公爵城堡。
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“上帝保佑！”唐吉诃德说道，“这是怎么回事呀？这儿原先是热情好客的地方，可是，对战败的人连好地方也变坏了，坏地方就变得更糟糕了。”
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他们进了城堡的院子。看到里面的陈设，唐吉诃德和桑乔更惊奇，也更害怕了。详情请看下章。
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As he left Barcelona, Don Quixote turned gaze upon the spot where he had fallen. “Here Troy was,” said he; “here my ill-luck, not my cowardice, robbed me of all the glory I had won; here Fortune made me the victim of her caprices; here the lustre of my achievements was dimmed; here, in a word, fell my happiness never to rise again.”
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“Senor,” said Sancho on hearing this, “it is the part of brave hearts to be patient in adversity just as much as to be glad in prosperity; I judge by myself, for, if when I was a governor I was glad, now that I am a squire and on foot I am not sad; and I have heard say that she whom commonly they call Fortune is a drunken whimsical jade, and, what is more, blind, and therefore neither sees what she does, nor knows whom she casts down or whom she sets up.”
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“Thou art a great philosopher, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “thou speakest very sensibly; I know not who taught thee. But I can tell thee there is no such thing as Fortune in the world, nor does anything which takes place there, be it good or bad, come about by chance, but by the special preordination of heaven; and hence the common saying that ‘each of us is the maker of his own Fortune.’ I have been that of mine; but not with the proper amount of prudence, and my self-confidence has therefore made me pay dearly; for I ought to have reflected that Rocinante’s feeble strength could not resist the mighty bulk of the Knight of the White Moon’s horse. In a word, I ventured it, I did my best, I was overthrown, but though I lost my honour I did not lose nor can I lose the virtue of keeping my word. When I was a knight-errant, daring and valiant, I supported my achievements by hand and deed, and now that I am a humble squire I will support my words by keeping the promise I have given. Forward then, Sancho my friend, let us go to keep the year of the novitiate in our own country, and in that seclusion we shall pick up fresh strength to return to the by me never-forgotten calling of arms.”
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“Senor,” returned Sancho, “travelling on foot is not such a pleasant thing that it makes me feel disposed or tempted to make long marches. Let us leave this armour hung up on some tree, instead of some one that has been hanged; and then with me on Dapple’s back and my feet off the ground we will arrange the stages as your worship pleases to measure them out; but to suppose that I am going to travel on foot, and make long ones, is to suppose nonsense.”
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“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “let my armour be hung up for a trophy, and under it or round it we will carve on the trees what was inscribed on the trophy of Roland’s armour —
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These let none move Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.”
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“That’s the very thing,” said Sancho; “and if it was not that we should feel the want of Rocinante on the road, it would be as well to leave him hung up too.”
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“And yet, I had rather not have either him or the armour hung up,” said Don Quixote, “that it may not be said, ‘for good service a bad return.’”
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“Your worship is right,” said Sancho; “for, as sensible people hold, ‘the fault of the ass must not be laid on the pack-saddle;’ and, as in this affair the fault is your worship’s , punish yourself and don’t let your anger break out against the already battered and bloody armour, or the meekness of Rocinante, or the tenderness of my feet, trying to make them travel more than is reasonable.”
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In converse of this sort the whole of that day went by, as did the four succeeding ones, without anything occurring to interrupt their journey, but on the fifth as they entered a village they found a great number of people at the door of an inn enjoying themselves, as it was a holiday. Upon Don Quixote’s approach a peasant called out, “One of these two gentlemen who come here, and who don’t know the parties, will tell us what we ought to do about our wager.”
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“That I will, certainly,” said Don Quixote, “and according to the rights of the case, if I can manage to understand it.”
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“Well, here it is, worthy sir,” said the peasant; “a man of this village who is so fat that he weighs twenty stone challenged another, a neighbour of his, who does not weigh more than nine, to run a race. The agreement was that they were to run a distance of a hundred paces with equal weights; and when the challenger was asked how the weights were to be equalised he said that the other, as he weighed nine stone, should put eleven in iron on his back, and that in this way the twenty stone of the thin man would equal the twenty stone of the fat one.”
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“Not at all,” exclaimed Sancho at once, before Don Quixote could answer; “it’s for me, that only a few days ago left off being a governor and a judge, as all the world knows, to settle these doubtful questions and give an opinion in disputes of all sorts.”
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“Answer in God’s name, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I am not fit to give crumbs to a cat, my wits are so confused and upset.”
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With this permission Sancho said to the peasants who stood clustered round him, waiting with open mouths for the decision to come from his, “Brothers, what the fat man requires is not in reason, nor has it a shadow of justice in it; because, if it be true, as they say, that the challenged may choose the weapons, the other has no right to choose such as will prevent and keep him from winning. My decision, therefore, is that the fat challenger prune, peel, thin, trim and correct himself, and take eleven stone of his flesh off his body, here or there, as he pleases, and as suits him best; and being in this way reduced to nine stone weight, he will make himself equal and even with nine stone of his opponent, and they will be able to run on equal terms.”
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“By all that’s good,” said one of the peasants as he heard Sancho’s decision, “but the gentleman has spoken like a saint, and given judgment like a canon! But I’ll be bound the fat man won’t part with an ounce of his flesh, not to say eleven stone.”
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“The best plan will be for them not to run,” said another, “so that neither the thin man break down under the weight, nor the fat one strip himself of his flesh; let half the wager be spent in wine, and let’s take these gentlemen to the tavern where there’s the best, and ‘over me be the cloak when it rains.”
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“I thank you, sirs,” said Don Quixote; “but I cannot stop for an instant, for sad thoughts and unhappy circumstances force me to seem discourteous and to travel apace;” and spurring Rocinante he pushed on, leaving them wondering at what they had seen and heard, at his own strange figure and at the shrewdness of his servant, for such they took Sancho to be; and another of them observed, “If the servant is so clever, what must the master be? I’ll bet, if they are going to Salamanca to study, they’ll come to be alcaldes of the Court in a trice; for it’s a mere joke — only to read and read, and have interest and good luck; and before a man knows where he is he finds himself with a staff in his hand or a mitre on his head.”
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That night master and man passed out in the fields in the open air, and the next day as they were pursuing their journey they saw coming towards them a man on foot with alforjas at the neck and a javelin or spiked staff in his hand, the very cut of a foot courier; who, as soon as he came close to Don Quixote, increased his pace and half running came up to him, and embracing his right thigh, for he could reach no higher, exclaimed with evident pleasure, “O Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, what happiness it will be to the heart of my lord the duke when he knows your worship is coming back to his castle, for he is still there with my lady the duchess!”
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“I do not recognise you, friend,” said Don Quixote, “nor do I know who you are, unless you tell me.”
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“I am Tosilos, my lord the duke’s lacquey, Senor Don Quixote,” replied the courier; “he who refused to fight your worship about marrying the daughter of Dona Rodriguez.”
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“God bless me!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “is it possible that you are the one whom mine enemies the enchanters changed into the lacquey you speak of in order to rob me of the honour of that battle?”
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“Nonsense, good sir!” said the messenger; “there was no enchantment or transformation at all; I entered the lists just as much lacquey Tosilos as I came out of them lacquey Tosilos. I thought to marry without fighting, for the girl had taken my fancy; but my scheme had a very different result, for as soon as your worship had left the castle my lord the duke had a hundred strokes of the stick given me for having acted contrary to the orders he gave me before engaging in the combat; and the end of the whole affair is that the girl has become a nun, and Dona Rodriguez has gone back to Castile, and I am now on my way to Barcelona with a packet of letters for the viceroy which my master is sending him. If your worship would like a drop, sound though warm, I have a gourd here full of the best, and some scraps of Tronchon cheese that will serve as a provocative and wakener of your thirst if so be it is asleep.”
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“I take the offer,” said Sancho; “no more compliments about it; pour out, good Tosilos, in spite of all the enchanters in the Indies.”
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“Thou art indeed the greatest glutton in the world, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and the greatest booby on earth, not to be able to see that this courier is enchanted and this Tosilos a sham one; stop with him and take thy fill; I will go on slowly and wait for thee to come up with me.”
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The lacquey laughed, unsheathed his gourd, unwalletted his scraps, and taking out a small loaf of bread he and Sancho seated themselves on the green grass, and in peace and good fellowship finished off the contents of the alforjas down to the bottom, so resolutely that they licked the wrapper of the letters, merely because it smelt of cheese.
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Said Tosilos to Sancho, “Beyond a doubt, Sancho my friend, this master of thine ought to be a madman.”
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“Ought!” said Sancho; “he owes no man anything; he pays for everything, particularly when the coin is madness. I see it plain enough, and I tell him so plain enough; but what’s the use? especially now that it is all over with him, for here he is beaten by the Knight of the White Moon.”
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Tosilos begged him to explain what had happened him, but Sancho replied that it would not be good manners to leave his master waiting for him; and that some other day if they met there would be time enough for that; and then getting up, after shaking his doublet and brushing the crumbs out of his beard, he drove Dapple on before him, and bidding adieu to Tosilos left him and rejoined his master, who was waiting for him under the shade of a tree.
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