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堂吉诃德|Don Quixote

Part 1 第5章|Part 1 Chapter 5

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 塞万提斯] 阅读：[54017]
《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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看到自己动弹不得，唐吉诃德想起了自己的老办法——回想小说中的某一情节。他又疯疯癫癫地想起巴尔迪维诺在山上被卡尔·洛托打伤后遇到曼图亚侯爵的故事。这个故事孩子们知道，青年人知道，老年人更是大加赞赏，深信不疑，就像笃信穆罕默德的故事一样。唐吉诃德觉得这个情节与自己的处境极其相似，便作悲痛欲绝状，在地上打滚，嘴里还气息奄奄地说着据说是那位受伤的绿林好汉当时说的话：

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你在哪里，我的夫人？

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难道对我毫不怜悯？

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夫人也许真的不知，

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还是

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虚情假意，早已变心？

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然后，他又继续念小说里的歌谣，一直念到那句韵文：

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哦，显贵的曼图亚侯爵，

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我的舅父，长辈大人！

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刚念到这句，当地的一位农夫，他的邻居，正巧送麦子到磨坊经过此地。农夫看到地上躺着一个人，就过去问他是谁，哪儿不舒服，何以如此伤心地呻吟。唐吉诃德认定这人就是他的舅父曼图亚侯爵，所以什么也不回答，只是继续念叨歌谣，诉说自己的不幸，还有什么皇子和他夫人偷情等等，全是按照歌谣的内容说的。

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听了这番疯话，农夫惊讶不已。农夫掀开唐吉诃德的护眼罩，护眼罩已经被打碎了，拂去他脸上的灰尘，认出了他，说：

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“吉哈纳大人（在他尚未失去理性，由安分的贵族变成游侠骑士之前，大概是这样称呼他的），谁把您弄成这个样子？”

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可是不管农夫问什么，唐吉诃德只是继续说他的歌谣。这位好心人只好脱掉唐吉诃德的护胸护背，看看是否有伤，结果并没有发现血迹和伤痕。农夫把他从地上使劲扶了起来，又觉得还是自己的驴稳当，就把他扶到自己的驴上，费力可真不少，然后又收拾好甲胄，连同断矛一起捆在罗西南多的背上，牵着马和驴的缰绳回村，路上仍一直琢磨唐吉诃德那些胡言乱语的意思。唐吉诃德也不好受，遍体鳞伤的身躯在驴上摇摇晃晃，不时仰天长叹，于是农夫又问他哪儿难受。看来魔鬼又适时给他的记忆带来了故事，否则他怎么会在这个时候忘了巴尔多维诺斯，却想起了摩尔人阿温达赖斯被安特奎拉的要塞司令罗德里戈·德纳瓦埃斯捉住，送往要塞辖区的事呢。因此，农夫再问他感觉怎样时，他就用阿温达赖斯回答罗德里戈·德纳瓦埃斯的话回答农夫。这些话是他从豪尔赫·德蒙特马约尔的故事《迪亚娜》里读到的。农夫听他这么胡说八道，简直跟见了鬼似的，便明白了自己的邻居神经已经不正常，于是加紧往回赶，以免让唐吉诃德的滔滔不绝搅得心烦意乱。最后，唐吉诃德说：

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“您应该知道，唐罗德里戈·德纳瓦埃斯大人，我刚才说的美人哈丽法就是当今托博索的美人杜尔西内亚。我已经为她、正在为她并且将继续为她创造世界上绝无仅有的最辉煌的骑士业绩。”

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农夫回答说：

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“大人您看看，请恕罪，我不是唐罗德里戈·德纳瓦埃斯，也不是曼图亚侯爵。我是您的邻居佩德罗·阿隆索。您既不是巴尔多维诺斯，也不是阿温达赖斯，而是光荣的贵族吉哈纳大人。”

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“我知道我是谁，”唐吉诃德说，“我知道我不仅可以是我刚才说过的那些人，而且还可以当法兰西十二廷臣，甚至当世界九大俊杰。他们的业绩无论从总体看还是以个别论，都比不上我。”

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他们边说边走，回到村庄时天已渐黑。不过，农夫还得等天色完全黑下来，以免人们看到这位遍体鳞伤的贵族骑着这匹劣马。农夫觉得到时候了才进村，来到唐吉诃德家。唐吉诃德的家里熙熙攘攘，其中有村里的神甫和理发师，他们都是唐吉诃德的好朋友。女管家正高声对他们说：

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“佩罗·佩雷斯神甫（这是神甫的名字），您估计我的主人遇到了什么麻烦？他已经两天没露面了，马也没了，皮盾、长矛和甲胄都不见了。真倒霉！现在我才明白，事情本该如此，就像有生必有死的道理一样。那些可恨的骑士小说他读起来没完，结果把人读傻了。现在我想起来了，以前我经常听他自言自语地说，要去做游侠骑士，到各地去冒险。这些小说是教人学撒旦和巴巴拉①的，这不，全曼查最精明的人也完了。”

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①巴巴拉是耶稣在耶路撒冷被捕时的监内一囚犯。

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他的外甥女也这么说，而且还说：

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“您知道吗，尼古拉斯师傅（这是理发师的名字），有很多次，我舅舅连续两天两夜读那些晦气的勾魂小说，看完后，把书一扔，拿着剑对墙乱刺，刺累了，就说自己已经杀死了四个高塔般的巨人，累出的汗是搏斗中受伤流的血。然后，他喝一大罐凉水，才安静下来，还说那水是他的朋友大魔法师埃斯费贤人送给他的圣水。不过，都怪我，没有告诉您我舅舅这些疯疯癫癫的事，趁他还没变成现在这个样子之前管管他，把那些邪书都烧了。他的很多书都应该像对异教邪说那样一把火烧掉。”

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“我也这样认为，”神甫说，“明天一定要公审那些书，并且处以火刑，以免让那些读了这种书的人像我的善良的朋友一样做出那些事。”

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这些话全被农夫和唐吉诃德听到了。农夫这才明白唐吉诃德得的是什么病。于是他大声说：

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“请你们给巴尔多维诺斯大人和曼图亚侯爵大人开门，他伤得很重；还有摩尔人阿温达赖斯大人，他把安特奎拉的要塞司令，那位勇敢的罗德里戈·德纳瓦埃斯给抓来了。”

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农夫这么一喊，大家都跑了出来，有些人认出这是他们的朋友，两个女人也认出了她们的主人和舅舅。唐吉诃德还骑在驴上，下不来，大家只好跑过去抱住他。他说：

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“你们听着，我受了重伤，这全怪我的马。你们把我送到床上去。如果可能的话，叫乌甘达女巫来治治我的伤吧。”

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“您看，真不幸，”女管家说，“我的心灵告诉我，我主人的条腿跛了。您正好上床去，不用找什么乌疙瘩了，我们知道怎么给你治。那些该上百次诅咒的骑士小说把您害成了这个样子。”

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人们把他抬到床上检查伤口，可是一个伤口也没找到。他说，他的伤全是在他的坐骑罗西南多跌倒时摔的。当时他正同十名世界罕见的胆大妄为的巨人搏斗。

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“好啊，好啊，”神甫说，“这回还有巨人！我向十字架发誓，明天天黑之前我要把他们都烧死。”

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大家向唐吉诃德提了很多问题，可是他一个问题也不愿回答，只是要求给他吃的，让他睡觉，现在这最重要。于是，神甫详细地询问农夫是如何找到唐吉诃德的。农夫把碰到唐吉诃德时他的丑态，以及带他来时半路上说的那些疯话都介绍了一遍。这回神甫听了愈发想找一天做他想做的那件事了。第二天，神甫叫上他的朋友尼古拉斯理发师，一同来到唐吉诃德家。

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Finding, then, that, in fact he could not move, he thought himself of having recourse to his usual remedy, which was to think of some passage in his books, and his craze brought to his mind that about Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left him wounded on the mountain side, a story known by heart by the children, not forgotten by the young men, and lauded and even believed by the old folk; and for all that not a whit truer than the miracles of Mahomet. This seemed to him to fit exactly the case in which he found himself, so, making a show of severe suffering, he began to roll on the ground and with feeble breath repeat the very words which the wounded knight of the wood is said to have uttered: Where art thou, lady mine, that thou My sorrow dost not rue?

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Thou canst not know it, lady mine,

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Or else thou art untrue.

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And so he went on with the ballad as far as the lines:

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O noble Marquis of Mantua,

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My Uncle and liege lord!

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As chance would have it, when he had got to this line there happened to come by a peasant from his own village, a neighbour of his, who had been with a load of wheat to the mill, and he, seeing the man stretched there, came up to him and asked him who he was and what was the matter with him that he complained so dolefully.

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Don Quixote was firmly persuaded that this was the Marquis of Mantua, his uncle, so the only answer he made was to go on with his ballad, in which he told the tale of his misfortune, and of the loves of the Emperor’s son and his wife all exactly as the ballad sings it.

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The peasant stood amazed at hearing such nonsense, and relieving him of the visor, already battered to pieces by blows, he wiped his face, which was covered with dust, and as soon as he had done so he recognised him and said, “Senor Quixada” (for so he appears to have been called when he was in his senses and had not yet changed from a quiet country gentleman into a knight-errant), “who has brought your worship to this pass?” But to all questions the other only went on with his ballad.

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Seeing this, the good man removed as well as he could his breastplate and backpiece to see if he had any wound, but he could perceive no blood nor any mark whatever. He then contrived to raise him from the ground, and with no little difficulty hoisted him upon his ass, which seemed to him to be the easiest mount for him; and collecting the arms, even to the splinters of the lance, he tied them on Rocinante, and leading him by the bridle and the ass by the halter he took the road for the village, very sad to hear what absurd stuff Don Quixote was talking.

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Nor was Don Quixote less so, for what with blows and bruises he could not sit upright on the ass, and from time to time he sent up sighs to heaven, so that once more he drove the peasant to ask what ailed him. And it could have been only the devil himself that put into his head tales to match his own adventures, for now, forgetting Baldwin, he bethought himself of the Moor Abindarraez, when the Alcaide of Antequera, Rodrigo de Narvaez, took him prisoner and carried him away to his castle; so that when the peasant again asked him how he was and what ailed him, he gave him for reply the same words and phrases that the captive Abindarraez gave to Rodrigo de Narvaez, just as he had read the story in the “Diana” of Jorge de Montemayor where it is written, applying it to his own case so aptly that the peasant went along cursing his fate that he had to listen to such a lot of nonsense; from which, however, he came to the conclusion that his neighbour was mad, and so made all haste to reach the village to escape the wearisomeness of this harangue of Don Quixote’s ; who, at the end of it, said, “Senor Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, your worship must know that this fair Xarifa I have mentioned is now the lovely Dulcinea del Toboso, for whom I have done, am doing, and will do the most famous deeds of chivalry that in this world have been seen, are to be seen, or ever shall be seen.”

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To this the peasant answered, “Senor — sinner that I am! — cannot your worship see that I am not Don Rodrigo de Narvaez nor the Marquis of Mantua, but Pedro Alonso your neighbour, and that your worship is neither Baldwin nor Abindarraez, but the worthy gentleman Senor Quixada?”

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“I know who I am,” replied Don Quixote, “and I know that I may be not only those I have named, but all the Twelve Peers of France and even all the Nine Worthies, since my achievements surpass all that they have done all together and each of them on his own account.”

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With this talk and more of the same kind they reached the village just as night was beginning to fall, but the peasant waited until it was a little later that the belaboured gentleman might not be seen riding in such a miserable trim. When it was what seemed to him the proper time he entered the village and went to Don Quixote’s house, which he found all in confusion, and there were the curate and the village barber, who were great friends of Don Quixote, and his housekeeper was saying to them in a loud voice, “What does your worship think can have befallen my master, Senor Licentiate Pero Perez?” for so the curate was called; “it is three days now since anything has been seen of him, or the hack, or the buckler, lance, or armour. Miserable me! I am certain of it, and it is as true as that I was born to die, that these accursed books of chivalry he has, and has got into the way of reading so constantly, have upset his reason; for now I remember having often heard him saying to himself that he would turn knight-errant and go all over the world in quest of adventures. To the devil and Barabbas with such books, that have brought to ruin in this way the finest understanding there was in all La Mancha!”

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The niece said the same, and, more: “You must know, Master Nicholas” — for that was the name of the barber — “it was often my uncle’s way to stay two days and nights together poring over these unholy books of misventures, after which he would fling the book away and snatch up his sword and fall to slashing the walls; and when he was tired out he would say he had killed four giants like four towers; and the sweat that flowed from him when he was weary he said was the blood of the wounds he had received in battle; and then he would drink a great jug of cold water and become calm and quiet, saying that this water was a most precious potion which the sage Esquife, a great magician and friend of his, had brought him. But I take all the blame upon myself for never having told your worships of my uncle’s vagaries, that you might put a stop to them before things had come to this pass, and burn all these accursed books — for he has a great number — that richly deserve to be burned like heretics.”

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“So say I too,” said the curate, “and by my faith to-morrow shall not pass without public judgment upon them, and may they be condemned to the flames lest they lead those that read to behave as my good friend seems to have behaved.”

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All this the peasant heard, and from it he understood at last what was the matter with his neighbour, so he began calling aloud, “Open, your worships, to Senor Baldwin and to Senor the Marquis of Mantua, who comes badly wounded, and to Senor Abindarraez, the Moor, whom the valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, the Alcaide of Antequera, brings captive.”

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At these words they all hurried out, and when they recognised their friend, master, and uncle, who had not yet dismounted from the ass because he could not, they ran to embrace him.

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“Hold!” said he, “for I am badly wounded through my horse’s fault; carry me to bed, and if possible send for the wise Urganda to cure and see to my wounds.”

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“See there! plague on it!” cried the housekeeper at this: “did not my heart tell the truth as to which foot my master went lame of? To bed with your worship at once, and we will contrive to cure you here without fetching that Hurgada. A curse I say once more, and a hundred times more, on those books of chivalry that have brought your worship to such a pass.”

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They carried him to bed at once, and after searching for his wounds could find none, but he said they were all bruises from having had a severe fall with his horse Rocinante when in combat with ten giants, the biggest and the boldest to be found on earth.

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“So, so!” said the curate, “are there giants in the dance? By the sign of the Cross I will burn them to-morrow before the day over.”

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They put a host of questions to Don Quixote, but his only answer to all was — give him something to eat, and leave him to sleep, for that was what he needed most. They did so, and the curate questioned the peasant at great length as to how he had found Don Quixote. He told him, and the nonsense he had talked when found and on the way home, all which made the licentiate the more eager to do what he did the next day, which was to summon his friend the barber, Master Nicholas, and go with him to Don Quixote’s house.

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