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堂吉诃德|Don Quixote

Part 2 第30章|Part 2 Chapter 28

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 塞万提斯] 阅读：[44749]
《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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骑士和侍从垂头丧气地回到了自己的牲口旁边。特别是桑乔，用掉那些钱简直让他心疼死了，从他那儿拿钱就像挖了他眼珠似的。两人最后默默无言地骑上了牲口，离开了那条有名的大河。唐吉诃德仍沉浸在他的情思里，桑乔却在盘算，要想发财，看来前途已经很渺茫了。他虽然不聪明，却完全可以看清楚，主人的所有行动或大部分行动都是疯疯癫癫的。他想寻找机会，某一天神不知鬼不觉地回自己老家去。

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可是，命运偏偏让他越不愿意怎样就越得怎样。

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第二天，太阳刚下山，他们就走出了树林。唐吉诃德向绿草地极目望去，只见草地尽头正有一群人向他们走来。唐吉诃德看清了，那是一群放鹰打猎的猎人。待他们走得更近时，又发现其中有一位体态优美的夫人，骑着一匹浑身雪白的小马，绿色的宝石镶嵌座儿，还有个白银的靠背马鞍。那位夫人也穿了一身绿衣服，显得雍容华贵而又英姿飒爽。她的左手托着一只苍鹰，唐吉诃德一见那苍鹰，就猜到她一定是位贵夫人，而且是那群猎人的主子。唐吉诃德果然没猜错。

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唐吉诃德对桑乔说道：

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“你赶紧过去，桑乔小子，告诉那位骑小马、擎苍鹰的夫人，就说我狮子骑士希望吻这位尊贵夫人的手。如果她允许，我就过去吻，并且愿意全力为她效劳，听凭她的吩咐。不过，你说话注意点儿，桑乔，别总是带上你那些乱七八糟的俗语。”

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“您这回可算是说错人了！”桑乔说，“您这话竟是对我说的！我这辈子又不是第一次向高贵的夫人传话！”

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“除了向杜尔西内亚夫人传过话外，”唐吉诃德说，“我不知道你是否还对别人传过话，至少在我这儿没有。”

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“这倒是真的，”桑乔说，“不过，‘兜里有钱，不怕欠帐；家里有粮，做饭不慌’。我是说，您什么也不用提醒我，我什么都会，什么都知道一点儿。”

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“我也相信，桑乔，”唐吉诃德说，“上帝会帮助你，祝你走运。”

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桑乔催着他的驴跑起来。跑到那位美丽的狩猎夫人面前时，他下了马，跪倒在夫人面前，说道：

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“美丽的夫人，那边的那位骑士名叫狮子骑士，是我的主人。我是他的侍从，家里人都叫我桑乔。这位狮子骑士不久前也叫猥獕骑士，他派我来对您说，请您赏光允许他心甘情愿地实现他的愿望。根据他说的和我想的，这个愿望不是别的，就是为您这位高贵美丽的夫人效劳。如果您能同意这件事，不但对您有利，也可以为他脸上增光。”

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“说得对，优秀的侍从，”那位夫人说，“你已经十分得体地完成了你的使命。站起来吧，像猥獕骑士这样伟大的骑士我们早有耳闻，他的侍从跪在地上就不合适了。站起来吧，朋友，告诉你的主人，我和我的公爵丈夫欢迎他到我们这儿的别墅来做客。”

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桑乔站了起来。他对这位夫人的美貌和气质修养深感惊讶。不过更让他惊奇的是，这位夫人竟然听说过他的主人猥獕骑士。她没称他狮子骑士，大概因为狮子骑士这个称号是最近才提出来的。公爵夫人又问道：

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“告诉我，侍从兄弟，你的主人是否就是现已出版的小说《唐吉诃德》里的那个人？而且，他还把托博索一个叫杜尔西内亚的女人当作自己的意中人？”

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“就是他，夫人。”桑乔说，“他还有个侍从，这本小说里也应该有，除非是从一开始就漏掉了，我是说，在印刷的时候漏掉了。侍从的名字叫桑乔，就是我。”

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“我为此非常高兴，”公爵夫人说，“去吧，桑乔兄弟，去告诉你的主人，说我们欢迎他到我们这儿来，再没有任何事能比这件事更让我高兴了。”

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桑乔带着这个令人愉快的答复，非常高兴地跑回到主人那儿，把那位贵夫人对他讲的话又重复了一遍，并且用自己那套粗言俗语把贵夫人的美貌和风雅的举止捧上了天。唐吉诃德在马鞍上气宇轩昂地坐好，把脚在马蹬里放正，戴好护眼罩，催动罗西南多，风度翩翩地去吻公爵夫人的手。公爵夫人此时也把公爵丈夫叫来，把自己刚才对桑乔说的那番话告诉了丈夫。两人都是骑士小说的爱好者，原来都读过这部小说的上卷，了解唐吉诃德缺乏理智的可笑行为，所以非常愿意也非常高兴认识唐吉诃德。他们打算按照小说里记述的各种习惯和礼节来接待唐吉诃德，在唐吉诃德同他们在一起的几天里继续看他的热闹，他说什么都依着他。

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这时唐吉诃德到了。他掀起护眼罩，看样子是想下马。桑乔赶紧过去为唐吉诃德扶住马蹬，可是很不幸，他下驴时，一只脚被驮鞍的绳子绊住，挣脱不出，结果脚吊在绳子上，嘴和胸着地摔了下来。唐吉诃德已经习惯了有人为他扶住马蹬下马，这回也以为桑乔已为他扶好了马蹬，便猛然翻身下马。那鞍子大概没捆好，结果他连人带鞍摔到了地上。唐吉诃德很不好意思，心里暗暗诅咒桑乔，其实桑乔的一只脚那时仍被绊着呢。

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公爵连忙吩咐那些猎手把唐吉诃德和桑乔扶起来。唐吉诃德摔得浑身疼痛，一瘸一拐地想向公爵夫妇跪拜。可是公爵无论如何也不同意。相反，公爵却跳下马来，抱住了唐吉诃德，对他说道：

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“我很抱歉，猥獕骑士大人，您第一次到我这儿来就发生了这样不幸的事情。侍从不小心往往会招致很严重的麻烦。”

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“我见到了您，勇敢的公爵大人，”唐吉诃德说，“就不可能存在任何不幸了。即使我摔进深渊，见到您的荣耀也会让我重新腾飞，从深渊里脱身。我这个侍从，让上帝诅咒他吧，他只会张嘴胡说八道，连个鞍子都捆不结实。可是无论我怎么样，无论我摔倒了还是站立着，无论我步行还是骑马，我都时刻准备为您和您尊贵的夫人——美女之王、风雅公主之典范即我们的公爵夫人效劳。”

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“且慢，我的唐吉诃德大人！”公爵说，“只要有托博索杜尔西内亚夫人在，您就不该称赞其他美人。”

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桑乔此时已从绳子的纠缠中解脱出来，正站在旁边。他不等主人答话，就抢先说道：

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“无可否认，我们的杜尔西内亚夫人确实很美丽。不料，能人又遇到高手，我听说这叫自然规律。这就好比一个陶器工匠做出一只精美的陶杯，也就可以做出两只、三只、上百只精美的陶杯那样。我这样说是因为我们的公爵夫人肯定不次于我的女主人杜尔西内亚夫人。”

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唐吉诃德转身向公爵夫人说道：

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“您完全可以想象到，世界上所有游侠骑士的侍从都不如我这个侍从多嘴而又滑稽。如果您能允许我为您效劳几天，他就会证明我说的是真的。”

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公爵夫人答道：

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“要是这位好桑乔滑稽，那我就更喜欢他了，滑稽证明他很机灵。滑稽与风趣，唐吉诃德大人，您知道，并不是愚蠢的人能够做到的。所以，如果说桑乔滑稽而又风趣，那么，我可以肯定他很机灵。”

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“还爱多嘴。”唐吉诃德又补充了一句。

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“那就更好了，”公爵说，“很多滑稽的事情不是三言两语可以说完的。咱们先不要在这个问题上耽误时间了，伟大的猥獕骑士，请您……”

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“您该称狮子骑士，”桑乔说，“猥獕骑士已经不存在了，现在是狮子骑士的形象了。”

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公爵接着说道：

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“我说狮子骑士大人，请您到附近我的城堡里去吧，您将在那里享受贵人的待遇。我和我的夫人常常在那里接待路过的游侠骑士。”

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桑乔此时已把罗西南多的鞍具收拾妥当，并且捆好，唐吉诃德骑了上去。公爵也骑上一匹漂亮的马，让公爵夫人走在两人中间，一起向城堡走去。公爵夫人吩咐桑乔跟在她旁边，说她喜欢听桑乔说话。桑乔也不客气，夹在三人中间，一起说着话。公爵和公爵夫人很高兴，觉得在他们的城堡里接待这样一位游侠骑士和一位侍从游子，真是一件很有趣的事情。

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When the brave man flees, treachery is manifest and it is for wise men to reserve themselves for better occasions. This proved to be the case with Don Quixote, who, giving way before the fury of the townsfolk and the hostile intentions of the angry troop, took to flight and, without a thought of Sancho or the danger in which he was leaving him, retreated to such a distance as he thought made him safe. Sancho, lying across his ass, followed him, as has been said, and at length came up, having by this time recovered his senses, and on joining him let himself drop off Dapple at Rocinante’s feet, sore, bruised, and belaboured. Don Quixote dismounted to examine his wounds, but finding him whole from head to foot, he said to him, angrily enough, “In an evil hour didst thou take to braying, Sancho! Where hast thou learned that it is well done to mention the rope in the house of the man that has been hanged? To the music of brays what harmonies couldst thou expect to get but cudgels? Give thanks to God, Sancho, that they signed the cross on thee just now with a stick, and did not mark thee per signum crucis with a cutlass.”

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“I’m not equal to answering,” said Sancho, “for I feel as if I was speaking through my shoulders; let us mount and get away from this; I’ll keep from braying, but not from saying that knights-errant fly and leave their good squires to be pounded like privet, or made meal of at the hands of their enemies.”

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“He does not fly who retires,” returned Don Quixote; “for I would have thee know, Sancho, that the valour which is not based upon a foundation of prudence is called rashness, and the exploits of the rash man are to be attributed rather to good fortune than to courage; and so I own that I retired, but not that I fled; and therein I have followed the example of many valiant men who have reserved themselves for better times; the histories are full of instances of this, but as it would not be any good to thee or pleasure to me, I will not recount them to thee now.”

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Sancho was by this time mounted with the help of Don Quixote, who then himself mounted Rocinante, and at a leisurely pace they proceeded to take shelter in a grove which was in sight about a quarter of a league off. Every now and then Sancho gave vent to deep sighs and dismal groans, and on Don Quixote asking him what caused such acute suffering, he replied that, from the end of his back-bone up to the nape of his neck, he was so sore that it nearly drove him out of his senses.

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“The cause of that soreness,” said Don Quixote, “will be, no doubt, that the staff wherewith they smote thee being a very long one, it caught thee all down the back, where all the parts that are sore are situated, and had it reached any further thou wouldst be sorer still.”

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“By God,” said Sancho, “your worship has relieved me of a great doubt, and cleared up the point for me in elegant style! Body o’ me! is the cause of my soreness such a mystery that there’s any need to tell me I am sore everywhere the staff hit me? If it was my ankles that pained me there might be something in going divining why they did, but it is not much to divine that I’m sore where they thrashed me. By my faith, master mine, the ills of others hang by a hair; every day I am discovering more and more how little I have to hope for from keeping company with your worship; for if this time you have allowed me to be drubbed, the next time, or a hundred times more, we’ll have the blanketings of the other day over again, and all the other pranks which, if they have fallen on my shoulders now, will be thrown in my teeth by-and-by. I would do a great deal better (if I was not an ignorant brute that will never do any good all my life), I would do a great deal better, I say, to go home to my wife and children and support them and bring them up on what God may please to give me, instead of following your worship along roads that lead nowhere and paths that are none at all, with little to drink and less to eat. And then when it comes to sleeping! Measure out seven feet on the earth, brother squire, and if that’s not enough for you, take as many more, for you may have it all your own way and stretch yourself to your heart’s content. Oh that I could see burnt and turned to ashes the first man that meddled with knight-errantry or at any rate the first who chose to be squire to such fools as all the knights-errant of past times must have been! Of those of the present day I say nothing, because, as your worship is one of them, I respect them, and because I know your worship knows a point more than the devil in all you say and think.”

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“I would lay a good wager with you, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that now that you are talking on without anyone to stop you, you don’t feel a pain in your whole body. Talk away, my son, say whatever comes into your head or mouth, for so long as you feel no pain, the irritation your impertinences give me will he a pleasure to me; and if you are so anxious to go home to your wife and children, God forbid that I should prevent you; you have money of mine; see how long it is since we left our village this third time, and how much you can and ought to earn every month, and pay yourself out of your own hand.”

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“When I worked for Tom Carrasco, the father of the bachelor Samson Carrasco that your worship knows,” replied Sancho, “I used to earn two ducats a month besides my food; I can’t tell what I can earn with your worship, though I know a knight-errant’s squire has harder times of it than he who works for a farmer; for after all, we who work for farmers, however much we toil all day, at the worst, at night, we have our olla supper and sleep in a bed, which I have not slept in since I have been in your worship’s service, if it wasn’t the short time we were in Don Diego de Miranda’s house, and the feast I had with the skimmings I took off Camacho’s pots, and what I ate, drank, and slept in Basilio’s house; all the rest of the time I have been sleeping on the hard ground under the open sky, exposed to what they call the inclemencies of heaven, keeping life in me with scraps of cheese and crusts of bread, and drinking water either from the brooks or from the springs we come to on these by-paths we travel.”

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“I own, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that all thou sayest is true; how much, thinkest thou, ought I to give thee over and above what Tom Carrasco gave thee?”

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“I think,” said Sancho, “that if your worship was to add on two reals a month I’d consider myself well paid; that is, as far as the wages of my labour go; but to make up to me for your worship’s pledge and promise to me to give me the government of an island, it would be fair to add six reals more, making thirty in all.”

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“Very good,” said Don Quixote; “it is twenty-five days since we left our village, so reckon up, Sancho, according to the wages you have made out for yourself, and see how much I owe you in proportion, and pay yourself, as I said before, out of your own hand.”

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“O body o’ me!” said Sancho, “but your worship is very much out in that reckoning; for when it comes to the promise of the island we must count from the day your worship promised it to me to this present hour we are at now.”

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“Well, how long is it, Sancho, since I promised it to you?” said Don Quixote.

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“If I remember rightly,” said Sancho, “it must be over twenty years, three days more or less.”

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Don Quixote gave himself a great slap on the forehead and began to laugh heartily, and said he, “Why, I have not been wandering, either in the Sierra Morena or in the whole course of our sallies, but barely two months, and thou sayest, Sancho, that it is twenty years since I promised thee the island. I believe now thou wouldst have all the money thou hast of mine go in thy wages. If so, and if that be thy pleasure, I give it to thee now, once and for all, and much good may it do thee, for so long as I see myself rid of such a good-for-nothing squire I’ll be glad to be left a pauper without a rap. But tell me, thou perverter of the squirely rules of knight-errantry, where hast thou ever seen or read that any knight-errant’s squire made terms with his lord, ‘you must give me so much a month for serving you’? Plunge, scoundrel, rogue, monster — for such I take thee to be — plunge, I say, into the mare magnum of their histories; and if thou shalt find that any squire ever said or thought what thou hast said now, I will let thee nail it on my forehead, and give me, over and above, four sound slaps in the face. Turn the rein, or the halter, of thy Dapple, and begone home; for one single step further thou shalt not make in my company. O bread thanklessly received! O promises ill-bestowed! O man more beast than human being! Now, when I was about to raise thee to such a position, that, in spite of thy wife, they would call thee ‘my lord,’ thou art leaving me? Thou art going now when I had a firm and fixed intention of making thee lord of the best island in the world? Well, as thou thyself hast said before now, honey is not for the mouth of the ass. Ass thou art, ass thou wilt be, and ass thou wilt end when the course of thy life is run; for I know it will come to its close before thou dost perceive or discern that thou art a beast.”

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Sancho regarded Don Quixote earnestly while he was giving him this rating, and was so touched by remorse that the tears came to his eyes, and in a piteous and broken voice he said to him, “Master mine, I confess that, to be a complete ass, all I want is a tail; if your worship will only fix one on to me, I’ll look on it as rightly placed, and I’ll serve you as an ass all the remaining days of my life. Forgive me and have pity on my folly, and remember I know but little, and, if I talk much, it’s more from infirmity than malice; but he who sins and mends commends himself to God.”

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“I should have been surprised, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “if thou hadst not introduced some bit of a proverb into thy speech. Well, well, I forgive thee, provided thou dost mend and not show thyself in future so fond of thine own interest, but try to be of good cheer and take heart, and encourage thyself to look forward to the fulfillment of my promises, which, by being delayed, does not become impossible.”

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Sancho said he would do so, and keep up his heart as best he could. They then entered the grove, and Don Quixote settled himself at the foot of an elm, and Sancho at that of a beech, for trees of this kind and others like them always have feet but no hands. Sancho passed the night in pain, for with the evening dews the blow of the staff made itself felt all the more. Don Quixote passed it in his never-failing meditations; but, for all that, they had some winks of sleep, and with the appearance of daylight they pursued their journey in quest of the banks of the famous Ebro, where that befell them which will be told in the following chapter.

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