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堂吉诃德|Don Quixote

Part 2 第72章|Part 2 Chapter 70

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 塞万提斯] 阅读：[44727]
《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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唐吉诃德和桑乔那天在客店里等待天黑。他们一个想在野外把自己那顿鞭子打完，另一个想看看打完之后，自己的愿望是否能够实现。这时，一个骑马的客人带着三四个佣人来到了客店。一个佣人向那个看样子是主人的人说道：

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“阿尔瓦罗·塔费大人，您可以先在这儿睡个午觉，这个客店既干净又凉快。”

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唐吉诃德听到此话，对桑乔说道：

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“你看，桑乔，我随手翻阅那本写我的小说下卷时，常见到这个阿尔瓦罗·塔费的名字。”

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“那很可能，”桑乔说，“咱们等他下了马，然后去问问他。”

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那人下了马，来到唐吉诃德对面的房间。

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原来店主也给了他一个楼下的房间。在那间房子里也挂着同唐吉诃德这个房间一样的皮雕画。新来的客人换了身夏天的衣服，来到客店门口。门口宽敞凉爽。他见唐吉诃德正在门口散步，便问道：

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“请问您要到哪儿去，尊贵的大人？”

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唐吉诃德答道：

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“离这儿不远的一个村庄。我是那儿的人。您准备到哪儿去？”

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“我嘛，大人，”那人说道，“要去格拉纳达，那儿是我的故乡。”

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“多好的地方啊！”唐吉诃德说，“请问您尊姓大名，这对我来说很重要，只是说来话长。”

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“我叫阿尔瓦罗·塔费。”那个客人答道。

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唐吉诃德说道：

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“有一位文坛新手刚刚出版了一本《唐吉诃德》下卷，里面有个阿尔瓦罗·塔费，大概就是您吧。”

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“正是我，”那人答道，“书里的那个主人公唐吉诃德是我的老朋友，是我把他从家乡带出去的。别的不说，至少他去萨拉戈萨参加擂台赛，就是我鼓动他去的。说实在的，我真帮了他不少忙，多亏我才使他背上免受了皮肉之苦。他这个人太鲁莽。”

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“那么请您告诉我，您看我有点儿像您说的那个唐吉诃德吗？”

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“不像，”那人说道，“一点儿也不像。”

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“那个唐吉诃德还带了一个名叫桑乔·潘萨的侍从吧？”

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唐吉诃德问道。

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“是有个侍从。”阿尔瓦罗说道，“虽然我听说这个侍从很滑稽，却从来没听他说过一句俏皮话。”

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“这点我完全相信，”桑乔这时也插嘴道，“因为俏皮话并不是人人都会说的。尊贵的大人，您说的那个桑乔准是个头号的笨蛋、傻瓜、盗贼，我才是真正的桑乔·潘萨呢。我妙语连珠，不信您可以试试。您跟着我至少一年，就会发现我开口就是俏皮话，常常是我还没意识到自己说了什么，就把听我说话的人全都逗笑了。曼查的那位真正的唐吉诃德声名显赫，既勇敢又聪明。他多情善感，铲除邪恶，扶弱济贫，保护寡妇，惹得姑娘们为他死去活来，他唯一的心上人就是托博索的杜尔西内亚。他就是您眼前这位大人。他是我的主人，其他的所有唐吉诃德和桑乔都是骗人的。”

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“天哪，一点儿也不错。”阿尔瓦罗说，“朋友，你开口几句就说得妙不可言。我原来见过的那个桑乔说得倒是不少，可是没你说得风趣。他不能说却挺能吃，不滑稽却挺傻。我敢肯定，那些专同唐吉诃德作对的魔法师也想借那个坏唐吉诃德来同我作对。我不知道该怎么说才好，但我敢发誓，那个唐吉诃德已经让我送到托莱多的天神院①去治疗了，现在又冒出一个唐吉诃德来，虽然这位大人与我那个唐吉诃德大不相同。”

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①这里指疯人院。

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“我是不是好人，我不知道。”唐吉诃德说，“我只知道我不是坏人。为了证明这一点，我想告诉您，阿尔瓦罗·塔费大人，我这辈子从未去过萨拉戈萨。我听说那个冒牌的唐吉诃德已经去了萨拉戈萨，准备参加擂台赛，我就不去了，以正视听。于是我直奔巴塞罗那。那儿是礼仪之邦，是外来人的安身处，是济贫处，是勇士的摇篮。它给受难之人以慰籍，给真正的朋友以交往的场所，无论地势或者风景，都是独一无二的理想之处。

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“虽然我也在那儿遇到一些不愉快的事情，而且很糟糕，但毕竟亲眼见到了它，总算不虚此行。总之，阿尔瓦罗·塔费大人，我就是曼查的那位名扬四海的唐吉诃德，而不是什么欺世盗名的可怜虫。您既然是位绅士，我就请求您当着这个村的长官的面声明，您是平生第一次见到我，我不是那本书的下卷里说的那个唐吉诃德，我的这个侍从桑乔·潘萨也不是您见过的那个桑乔。”

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“乐于从命。”阿尔瓦罗说，“想不到我竟同时见到了两个名字完全相同、行为却大相径庭的唐吉诃德和桑乔，真让我惊讶。我简直不能相信我见到和遇到的事情了。”

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“您肯定像托博索的杜尔西内亚一样中了魔法。”桑乔说，“您可以祈求老天，让我像对待她那样，为解除附在您身上的魔法而再打自己三千多鞭子。我一定尽力，而且分文不取。”

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“我不明白什么鞭子不鞭子。”阿尔瓦罗说。

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桑乔说，说来话长，不过既然同路，可以在路上再慢慢讲。这时，到了吃饭的时间，唐吉诃德和阿尔瓦罗一起进餐。恰巧该村的村长来到了客店，还带了个文书。唐吉诃德请求村长，说他有权力让那位在场的绅士阿尔瓦罗·塔费在村长面前发表声明，这位绅士刚才居然没认出曼查的唐吉诃德，而这个唐吉诃德并不是托德西利亚斯一个叫阿韦利亚内达的人出版的一本《唐吉诃德》下卷里说的那个唐吉诃德。村长按照法律规定办理了这个声明，而且这个声明具有完全的法律效力。唐吉诃德和桑乔非常高兴，觉得这个声明对于他们很重要，似乎他们自己的言行还不足以证明两个唐吉诃德和两个桑乔之间的差别似的。阿尔瓦罗和唐吉诃德寒暄了一番，感觉这位曼查的唐吉诃德很明世理，于是阿尔瓦罗真的以为是自己错了，竟遇到了两个完全不同的唐吉诃德，以为是自己中了魔法。

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当天下午，他们离开了那个客店，走了约半西里路，来到一个岔路口，一条路通向唐吉诃德居住的村庄，另一条则是阿尔瓦罗要走的那条路。在这段短短的路程上，唐吉诃德向阿尔瓦罗讲述了他被打败的倒霉事，以及杜尔西内亚如何中了魔法又如何摆脱魔法的事，令阿尔瓦罗惊讶不已。阿尔瓦罗拥抱了唐吉诃德和桑乔之后继续赶自己的路。唐吉诃德也接着往前走。当晚，他在一片小树林里过夜，以便让桑乔完成他尚未完成的那部分鞭笞。桑乔又像前一天晚上那样如法炮制，结果没伤着自己的背，倒把几棵山毛榉的树皮打得够呛。桑乔根本就没抽自己的背。假如他背上有个苍蝇，也不会被鞭笞轰走。唐吉诃德丝毫不差地计着数，加上前一夜打的，一共打了三千零二十九下。太阳好像早早就升起来了，想看看桑乔怎样折腾自己。天亮之后，他们又继续赶路，一路上谈的无非是阿尔瓦罗如何受了骗，他们又如何办理了正式的法律文件。

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他们走了一天一夜，一路上没遇到什么值得记叙的事情。由于桑乔完成了鞭笞的任务，唐吉诃德特别高兴。他期待着天明，想看看能否在路上遇到他那位已经摆脱了魔法的杜尔西内亚。路上每碰到一个女人，唐吉诃德都要看看是不是杜尔西内亚。他坚信梅尔林的话不会有错。他这样胡思乱想着，同桑乔一起爬上了一个山坡，从山坡上可以看到他们的村庄。

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桑乔一看到村庄，便跪下来说道：

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“我渴望已久的家乡啊，睁开眼睛看看吧，你的儿子桑乔·潘萨回来了。他虽然没能发财，却挨足了鞭子。张开你的臂膀，也请接受你的儿子唐吉诃德吧。他虽然败在了别人手下，却战胜了自己。他对我说过，这是他所企盼的最大胜利。我现在手里有钱了。虽然我狠狠地挨了鞭子，却也算个体面的人物了。”

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“别犯傻了，”唐吉诃德说，“咱们还是径直回村吧。回去以后咱们就充分发挥咱们的想象力，筹划一下咱们的牧人乐园生活吧。”

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说着两人就下了山坡，进村去了。

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Sancho slept that night in a cot in the same chamber with Don Quixote, a thing he would have gladly excused if he could for he knew very well that with questions and answers his master would not let him sleep, and he was in no humour for talking much, as he still felt the pain of his late martyrdom, which interfered with his freedom of speech; and it would have been more to his taste to sleep in a hovel alone, than in that luxurious chamber in company. And so well founded did his apprehension prove, and so correct was his anticipation, that scarcely had his master got into bed when he said, “What dost thou think of tonight’s adventure, Sancho? Great and mighty is the power of cold-hearted scorn, for thou with thine own eyes hast seen Altisidora slain, not by arrows, nor by the sword, nor by any warlike weapon, nor by deadly poisons, but by the thought of the sternness and scorn with which I have always treated her.”

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“She might have died and welcome,” said Sancho, “when she pleased and how she pleased; and she might have left me alone, for I never made her fall in love or scorned her. I don’t know nor can I imagine how the recovery of Altisidora, a damsel more fanciful than wise, can have, as I have said before, anything to do with the sufferings of Sancho Panza. Now I begin to see plainly and clearly that there are enchanters and enchanted people in the world; and may God deliver me from them, since I can’t deliver myself; and so I beg of your worship to let me sleep and not ask me any more questions, unless you want me to throw myself out of the window.”

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“Sleep, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote, “if the pinprodding and pinches thou hast received and the smacks administered to thee will let thee.”

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“No pain came up to the insult of the smacks,” said Sancho, “for the simple reason that it was duennas, confound them, that gave them to me; but once more I entreat your worship to let me sleep, for sleep is relief from misery to those who are miserable when awake.”

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“Be it so, and God be with thee,” said Don Quixote.

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They fell asleep, both of them, and Cide Hamete, the author of this great history, took this opportunity to record and relate what it was that induced the duke and duchess to get up the elaborate plot that has been described. The bachelor Samson Carrasco, he says, not forgetting how he as the Knight of the Mirrors had been vanquished and overthrown by Don Quixote, which defeat and overthrow upset all his plans, resolved to try his hand again, hoping for better luck than he had before; and so, having learned where Don Quixote was from the page who brought the letter and present to Sancho’s wife, Teresa Panza, he got himself new armour and another horse, and put a white moon upon his shield, and to carry his arms he had a mule led by a peasant, not by Tom Cecial his former squire for fear he should be recognised by Sancho or Don Quixote. He came to the duke’s castle, and the duke informed him of the road and route Don Quixote had taken with the intention of being present at the jousts at Saragossa. He told him, too, of the jokes he had practised upon him, and of the device for the disenchantment of Dulcinea at the expense of Sancho’s backside; and finally he gave him an account of the trick Sancho had played upon his master, making him believe that Dulcinea was enchanted and turned into a country wench; and of how the duchess, his wife, had persuaded Sancho that it was he himself who was deceived, inasmuch as Dulcinea was really enchanted; at which the bachelor laughed not a little, and marvelled as well at the sharpness and simplicity of Sancho as at the length to which Don Quixote’s madness went. The duke begged of him if he found him (whether he overcame him or not) to return that way and let him know the result. This the bachelor did; he set out in quest of Don Quixote, and not finding him at Saragossa, he went on, and how he fared has been already told. He returned to the duke’s castle and told him all, what the conditions of the combat were, and how Don Quixote was now, like a loyal knight-errant, returning to keep his promise of retiring to his village for a year, by which time, said the bachelor, he might perhaps be cured of his madness; for that was the object that had led him to adopt these disguises, as it was a sad thing for a gentleman of such good parts as Don Quixote to be a madman. And so he took his leave of the duke, and went home to his village to wait there for Don Quixote, who was coming after him. Thereupon the duke seized the opportunity of practising this mystification upon him; so much did he enjoy everything connected with Sancho and Don Quixote. He had the roads about the castle far and near, everywhere he thought Don Quixote was likely to pass on his return, occupied by large numbers of his servants on foot and on horseback, who were to bring him to the castle, by fair means or foul, if they met him. They did meet him, and sent word to the duke, who, having already settled what was to be done, as soon as he heard of his arrival, ordered the torches and lamps in the court to be lit and Altisidora to be placed on the catafalque with all the pomp and ceremony that has been described, the whole affair being so well arranged and acted that it differed but little from reality. And Cide Hamete says, moreover, that for his part he considers the concocters of the joke as crazy as the victims of it, and that the duke and duchess were not two fingers’ breadth removed from being something like fools themselves when they took such pains to make game of a pair of fools.

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As for the latter, one was sleeping soundly and the other lying awake occupied with his desultory thoughts, when daylight came to them bringing with it the desire to rise; for the lazy down was never a delight to Don Quixote, victor or vanquished. Altisidora, come back from death to life as Don Quixote fancied, following up the freak of her lord and lady, entered the chamber, crowned with the garland she had worn on the catafalque and in a robe of white taffeta embroidered with gold flowers, her hair flowing loose over her shoulders, and leaning upon a staff of fine black ebony. Don Quixote, disconcerted and in confusion at her appearance, huddled himself up and well-nigh covered himself altogether with the sheets and counterpane of the bed, tongue-tied, and unable to offer her any civility. Altisidora seated herself on a chair at the head of the bed, and, after a deep sigh, said to him in a feeble, soft voice, “When women of rank and modest maidens trample honour under foot, and give a loose to the tongue that breaks through every impediment, publishing abroad the inmost secrets of their hearts, they are reduced to sore extremities. Such a one am I, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, crushed, conquered, love-smitten, but yet patient under suffering and virtuous, and so much so that my heart broke with grief and I lost my life. For the last two days I have been dead, slain by the thought of the cruelty with which thou hast treated me, obdurate knight,

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O harder thou than marble to my plaint;

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or at least believed to be dead by all who saw me; and had it not been that Love, taking pity on me, let my recovery rest upon the sufferings of this good squire, there I should have remained in the other world.”

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“Love might very well have let it rest upon the sufferings of my ass, and I should have been obliged to him,” said Sancho. “But tell me, senora — and may heaven send you a tenderer lover than my master — what did you see in the other world? What goes on in hell? For of course that’s where one who dies in despair is bound for.”

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“To tell you the truth,” said Altisidora, “I cannot have died outright, for I did not go into hell; had I gone in, it is very certain I should never have come out again, do what I might. The truth is, I came to the gate, where some dozen or so of devils were playing tennis, all in breeches and doublets, with falling collars trimmed with Flemish bonelace, and ruffles of the same that served them for wristbands, with four fingers’ breadth of the arms exposed to make their hands look longer; in their hands they held rackets of fire; but what amazed me still more was that books, apparently full of wind and rubbish, served them for tennis balls, a strange and marvellous thing; this, however, did not astonish me so much as to observe that, although with players it is usual for the winners to be glad and the losers sorry, there in that game all were growling, all were snarling, and all were cursing one another.” “That’s no wonder,” said Sancho; “for devils, whether playing or not, can never be content, win or lose.”

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“Very likely,” said Altisidora; “but there is another thing that surprises me too, I mean surprised me then, and that was that no ball outlasted the first throw or was of any use a second time; and it was wonderful the constant succession there was of books, new and old. To one of them, a brand-new, well-bound one, they gave such a stroke that they knocked the guts out of it and scattered the leaves about. ‘Look what book that is,’ said one devil to another, and the other replied, ‘It is the “Second Part of the History of Don Quixote of La Mancha,” not by Cide Hamete, the original author, but by an Aragonese who by his own account is of Tordesillas.’ ‘Out of this with it,’ said the first, ‘and into the depths of hell with it out of my sight.’ ‘Is it so bad?’ said the other. ‘So bad is it,’ said the first, ‘that if I had set myself deliberately to make a worse, I could not have done it.’ They then went on with their game, knocking other books about; and I, having heard them mention the name of Don Quixote whom I love and adore so, took care to retain this vision in my memory.”

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“A vision it must have been, no doubt,” said Don Quixote, “for there is no other I in the world; this history has been going about here for some time from hand to hand, but it does not stay long in any, for everybody gives it a taste of his foot. I am not disturbed by hearing that I am wandering in a fantastic shape in the darkness of the pit or in the daylight above, for I am not the one that history treats of. If it should be good, faithful, and true, it will have ages of life; but if it should be bad, from its birth to its burial will not be a very long journey.”

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Altisidora was about to proceed with her complaint against Don Quixote, when he said to her, “I have several times told you, senora that it grieves me you should have set your affections upon me, as from mine they can only receive gratitude, but no return. I was born to belong to Dulcinea del Toboso, and the fates, if there are any, dedicated me to her; and to suppose that any other beauty can take the place she occupies in my heart is to suppose an impossibility. This frank declaration should suffice to make you retire within the bounds of your modesty, for no one can bind himself to do impossibilities.”

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Hearing this, Altisidora, with a show of anger and agitation, exclaimed, “God’s life! Don Stockfish, soul of a mortar, stone of a date, more obstinate and obdurate than a clown asked a favour when he has his mind made up, if I fall upon you I’ll tear your eyes out! Do you fancy, Don Vanquished, Don Cudgelled, that I died for your sake? All that you have seen to-night has been make-believe; I’m not the woman to let the black of my nail suffer for such a camel, much less die!”

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“That I can well believe,” said Sancho; “for all that about lovers pining to death is absurd; they may talk of it, but as for doing it — Judas may believe that!”

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While they were talking, the musician, singer, and poet, who had sung the two stanzas given above came in, and making a profound obeisance to Don Quixote said, “Will your worship, sir knight, reckon and retain me in the number of your most faithful servants, for I have long been a great admirer of yours, as well because of your fame as because of your achievements?” “Will your worship tell me who you are,” replied Don Quixote, “so that my courtesy may be answerable to your deserts?” The young man replied that he was the musician and songster of the night before. “Of a truth,” said Don Quixote, “your worship has a most excellent voice; but what you sang did not seem to me very much to the purpose; for what have Garcilasso’s stanzas to do with the death of this lady?”

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“Don’t be surprised at that,” returned the musician; “for with the callow poets of our day the way is for every one to write as he pleases and pilfer where he chooses, whether it be germane to the matter or not, and now-a-days there is no piece of silliness they can sing or write that is not set down to poetic licence.”

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Don Quixote was about to reply, but was prevented by the duke and duchess, who came in to see him, and with them there followed a long and delightful conversation, in the course of which Sancho said so many droll and saucy things that he left the duke and duchess wondering not only at his simplicity but at his sharpness. Don Quixote begged their permission to take his departure that same day, inasmuch as for a vanquished knight like himself it was fitter he should live in a pig-sty than in a royal palace. They gave it very readily, and the duchess asked him if Altisidora was in his good graces.

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He replied, “Senora, let me tell your ladyship that this damsel’s ailment comes entirely of idleness, and the cure for it is honest and constant employment. She herself has told me that lace is worn in hell; and as she must know how to make it, let it never be out of her hands; for when she is occupied in shifting the bobbins to and fro, the image or images of what she loves will not shift to and fro in her thoughts; this is the truth, this is my opinion, and this is my advice.”

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“And mine,” added Sancho; “for I never in all my life saw a lace-maker that died for love; when damsels are at work their minds are more set on finishing their tasks than on thinking of their loves. I speak from my own experience; for when I’m digging I never think of my old woman; I mean my Teresa Panza, whom I love better than my own eyelids.” “You say well, Sancho,” said the duchess, “and I will take care that my Altisidora employs herself henceforward in needlework of some sort; for she is extremely expert at it.” “There is no occasion to have recourse to that remedy, senora,” said Altisidora; “for the mere thought of the cruelty with which this vagabond villain has treated me will suffice to blot him out of my memory without any other device; with your highness’s leave I will retire, not to have before my eyes, I won’t say his rueful countenance, but his abominable, ugly looks.” “That reminds me of the common saying, that ‘he that rails is ready to forgive,’” said the duke.

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Altisidora then, pretending to wipe away her tears with a handkerchief, made an obeisance to her master and mistress and quitted the room.

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“Ill luck betide thee, poor damsel,” said Sancho, “ill luck betide thee! Thou hast fallen in with a soul as dry as a rush and a heart as hard as oak; had it been me, i’faith ‘another cock would have crowed to thee.’”

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So the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote dressed himself and dined with the duke and duchess, and set out the same evening.

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