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堂吉诃德|Don Quixote

Part 2 第70章|Part 2 Chapter 68

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 塞万提斯] 阅读：[44471]
《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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当晚，桑乔与唐吉诃德同住一屋，睡在一张带轱辘的床上。桑乔本想避免与唐吉诃德同居一室，他知道唐吉诃德肯定会问这问那，不让他睡觉。桑乔不想多说话，浑身的疼痛迟迟不消，连舌头也不利索了。他宁愿只身睡在茅屋里，也不愿同唐吉诃德共享那个华丽的房间。桑乔的担心果然有道理。唐吉诃德一上床就说道：

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“桑乔，你觉得今晚的事情怎么样？冷酷无情的力量有多大，你亲眼看到了。不用箭，不用剑或其他兵器，仅凭我的冷酷就使阿尔蒂西多拉断送了性命。”

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“她愿意什么时候死，愿意怎么死，就去死吧，”桑乔说，“反正跟我没关系。我这辈子既没爱上她，也没蔑视她。我真不明白，就像我上次说过的，阿尔蒂西多拉这个想入非非的姑娘的死活，跟桑乔·潘萨受罪有什么关系？现在我必须承认，世界上的确有魔法师和魔法。让上帝保佑我吧，因为我也免不了会中魔法。不过，现在您还是让我睡觉吧。别再问这问那了，除非您是想逼我从窗口跳出去。”

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“那你就睡吧，桑乔朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“只要你在挨了针扎、又掐又拧和胡噜之后还能睡得着。”

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“疼倒是不疼，”桑乔说，“最讨厌的就是乱胡噜，让那些女佣乱胡噜一气。我再求您，让我睡觉吧，清醒的时候感觉到的痛苦，睡着了就会大大减轻。”

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“但愿如此，”唐吉诃德说，“愿上帝与你同在。”

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两人睡觉了。这部巨著的作者锡德·哈迈德想利用这段时间讲述一下，公爵和公爵夫人为什么又想起了安排上文那场闹剧。原来，参孙·卡拉斯科学士扮作镜子骑士被唐吉诃德打败，计划落空以后，他仍然念念不忘，仍然想再试试运气。他碰到曾经给桑乔的老婆特雷莎·潘萨捎信送礼的那个仆人，打听到唐吉诃德的下落，另找了一套盔甲和一匹马，拿着一块画有白月的盾牌，雇了个农夫，牵着一匹骡子，驮上各种必要的物品，又去找唐吉诃德。不过，他没有用原来那个侍从托梅·塞西亚尔，免得让桑乔或唐吉诃德认出来。

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参孙·卡拉斯科来到公爵的城堡。公爵告诉他唐吉诃德已经去了萨拉戈萨，准备参加在那儿举行的擂台赛。公爵还讲了戏弄桑乔，让他鞭打自己的屁股，为杜尔西内亚解除魔法的事，而且把桑乔欺骗唐吉诃德，说杜尔西内亚中了魔法，变成了农妇，而公爵夫人又让桑乔相信受骗的是他自己，杜尔西内亚真的中了魔法等等，都告诉了卡拉斯科。卡拉斯科感到很可笑，也感到惊奇，没想到桑乔竟如此单纯，而唐吉诃德又如此疯癫。公爵请求卡拉斯科在找到唐吉诃德后，无论是否战胜了唐吉诃德，都要回来把结果告诉他。卡拉斯科同意了。他启程去萨拉戈萨找唐吉诃德，没找到。他又继续找，结果出现了前面说过的情况。于是，他回到公爵的城堡，把情况告诉了公爵，包括他同唐吉诃德决斗前讲好的条件，而唐吉诃德作为一名忠实的游侠骑士，已同意回乡隐退一年。卡拉斯科说，但愿唐吉诃德的疯病在这一年里能够治愈，他也正是为此才化装而来的。他觉得，像唐吉诃德这样聪明的贵族竟变成了疯子，真是件令人遗憾的事情。

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卡拉斯科后来告别公爵，回到了家乡，等着唐吉诃德随后归来。公爵对桑乔和唐吉诃德意犹未尽，利用这段时间又开了刚才叙述的那场玩笑。公爵派了很多佣人，让他们有的骑马，有的步行，等候在城堡附近唐吉诃德可能经过的各条道路上，一旦发现唐吉诃德和桑乔，无论是哄骗还是强拉，一定要把他们带到城堡来。佣人们果然找到了唐吉诃德和桑乔，并且通知了公爵。公爵事先已准备好，于是点燃了院子里的火炬和蜡烛，并且让阿尔蒂西多拉躺到灵台上，一切都演得那么惟妙惟肖，跟真的差不多。锡德·哈迈德还说，他觉得，无论是戏弄别人还是被人戏弄都够疯的。公爵和公爵夫人起劲地戏弄两个疯子，他们自己也快成两个疯子了。而那两个真疯子一个睡得正香，另一个却睡不着觉，正在胡思乱想。天亮了，他们也该起床了。特别是唐吉诃德，无论是胜是负，从来都不喜欢睡懒觉。

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唐吉诃德真的以为那个阿尔蒂西多拉死而复生了，而她却接着她的主人继续拿唐吉诃德开心。她头上仍然戴着她在灵台上戴的那个花环，穿着一件绣着金花的白色塔夫绸长衫，头发披散在背上，手拿一根精制的乌木杖，走进了唐吉诃德的房间。唐吉诃德一见她进来，立刻慌作一团，缩进被单里，张口结舌，竟连一句客气话都说不出来了。阿尔蒂西多拉坐到床边的一把椅子上，长叹了一口气，娇声细气地说道：

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“尊贵的女人和庄重的姑娘只有在万不得已的时候才不顾廉耻，毫无顾忌地当众说出自己内心的秘密。唐吉诃德大人，我现在就处于这种情况。我多情善感，但仍然不失体面，内心十分痛苦。我难以忍受，因而丧了命。你如此冷酷地对待我——

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面对我的哀怨，你竟然无动于衷！

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没有良心的骑士啊，我已经死了两天，至少凡是看见我的人都认为我已经死了两天。若不是爱情怜悯我，以这位善良侍从受难的方式解救了我，现在我还在冥府里呆着呢。”

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“爱情完全可以让我的驴来做这件事嘛，”桑乔说，“那我就真得感谢它啦！但愿老天给你找一个比我主人更温存的情人。不过，姑娘，请你告诉我，你在冥府都看见什么了？真有地狱吗？凡是绝望而死的人，最后都得下地狱的。”

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“实话告诉你吧，”阿尔蒂西多接着说，“我并没有完全死去，所以我也没进入地狱。如果真进了地狱，那我就无论如何也出不来了。不过，我的确到了地狱的门口，有十几个鬼正在打球。他们都穿着裤子和紧身上衣，衣领和袖口上都绣着佛兰德式的花边，露出四寸长的手腕子，这样可以显得手更长。他们手里拿着火焰拍。令我惊奇的是，他们打的不是球，而是书，书里装的是气或者烂棉花之类的东西，真新鲜。而且，更让我惊奇的是，一般打球的时候是赢家高兴输者悲，可是他们打球的时候，都骂骂咧咧地互相埋怨。”

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“这不算新鲜，”桑乔说，“他们是鬼，所以不管玩不玩，不管赢没赢，他们都不会高兴。”

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“大概是这样吧。”阿尔蒂西多拉说，“还有一件事我也挺奇怪，应该说我当时非常奇怪，那就是他们的书只打一下就坏，不能再打第二下。所以总得换书，不管是新书旧书，简直神了。其中有一本新书，装订得很好，刚打了一下，书就散了。一个鬼对另一个鬼说：‘你看那是什么书？’那个鬼答道：‘这是《唐吉诃德》下卷，但不是原作者锡德·哈迈德写的那本，而是一个阿拉贡人写的，据说他家在托德西利亚斯那儿。’‘把它拿开，’另一个鬼说，‘把它扔到地狱的深渊里去，再也别让我看到它。’‘这本书就那么差吗？’一个鬼问道。‘太差了，’第一个鬼说，‘差得就是我想写这么差都写不了。’他们又继续玩，打一些书。我听他们提到了唐吉诃德这个名字，而我热爱唐吉诃德，所以把这个情况尽力记了下来。”

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“那肯定是一种虚幻，”唐吉诃德说，“因为世界上只有一个唐吉诃德。而且，这本书在这儿也曾传阅过，传来传去的，因为谁也不想要它。无论是听说这本书被扔进了地狱的深渊，还是听说它光明正大地在世上流传，我都不在乎，反正那本书里写的不是我。如果那本书写得好，写得真实，它就会流传于世；如果写得不好，它问世之后不久就会消失。”

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阿尔蒂西多拉还想继续埋怨唐吉诃德，唐吉诃德却对她说道：

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“我已经同你说过多次了，姑娘，你总是对我寄托情思，这让我很为难。我对此只能表示感谢，却不能予以回报。我生来就属于托博索的杜尔西内亚。如果真的存在命运的话，那么，命运已把我安排给了她。若想用另外一个美女来代替她在我心中的地位，那是根本不可能的事。这就足以让你明白了，你应该自重，不可能的事情谁也不能勉强。”

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听到此话，阿尔蒂西多拉脸上骤然变色。她对唐吉诃德说道：

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“好啊，你这个骨瘦如柴的家伙，榆木脑袋死心眼，比乡巴佬还固执，怎么说都不行！我真想扑过去，把你的眼睛挖出来！你这个战败的大人，挨揍的大人，难道你真以为我会为你去死吗？你昨天晚上看到的一切都是假的，我可不是那种女人！谁稍微碰我一下我都嫌疼，就更别说为了像你这样的笨蛋去死了。”

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“这点我相信，”唐吉诃德说，“为情而死是笑话，那只是说说而已；要说真的去死，鬼才信呢。”

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他们正说着话，前一天晚上唱歌的那位音乐家、歌手兼诗人进来了。他向唐吉诃德鞠了个躬，说道：

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“骑士大人，我很早以前就听说了您的英名和事迹，非常崇拜您。请您把我当作您的一个仆人吧。”

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唐吉诃德说：

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“请您告诉我您是谁，我将以礼相待。”

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小伙子说他就是前一天晚上唱歌的那个人。

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“不错，”唐吉诃德说，“您的嗓子确实不错。不过，我觉得您唱的内容不一定合适，加西拉索的诗同这个姑娘的死有什么关系呢？”

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“您别见怪，”小伙子说，“我们这些毛头诗人总是想写什么就写什么，想抄谁的就抄谁的，也不管对题不对题。如果不是胡唱乱写，那倒是怪事了。”

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唐吉诃德正要答话，却被进来看望他的公爵和公爵夫人打断了。宾主高高兴兴地谈了很长时间，桑乔又说了很多趣话和傻话，让公爵和公爵夫人出乎意料，弄不清桑乔到底是聪明还是傻。唐吉诃德请求公爵和公爵夫人允许他当天就离开，因为像他这样的战败骑士应该住在简陋的小屋，而不是住在豪华的殿堂里。公爵和公爵夫人很痛快地答应了。公爵夫人问唐吉诃德是否喜欢阿尔蒂西多拉，唐吉诃德说道：

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“大人，您应该明白，这个姑娘的毛病来源于闲散，解决的办法就是让她总有点儿正经活干。她说地狱里很时兴花边，而且她又会做花边，那就不应该让她的手闲着。织来织去，就没工夫想什么情人不情人的事情了。这是事实。这是我的看法，也是我的忠告。”

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“这也是我的看法和忠告。”桑乔说道，“我这辈子还没听说过哪个织花边的姑娘为爱情而死呢。活儿一多，姑娘们就只想着完成任务，没时间去想什么爱情了。我的情况就是这样。我刨地的时候就爱把我的内人，我是说我的特雷莎·潘萨忘记，尽管我爱她胜过自己的眼睫毛。”

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“你说得很对，桑乔，”伯爵夫人说，“以后我准备让阿尔蒂西多拉做点针线活。她的针线活很好。”

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“没必要采用这种方法，夫人。”阿尔蒂西多拉说，“一想到这位流浪汉对我的冷酷无情，不必采用任何方法，我就会把他忘得一干二净。夫人，请允许我出去吧，免得这个已经不是可悲而是可恶的形象总是在我眼前晃动。”

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“我觉得，”公爵说，“这就是人们常说的——

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骂个不停，

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怒气将平。”

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阿尔蒂西多拉假装用手绢擦了擦眼泪，向公爵和公爵夫人鞠了个躬，然后走出了房间。

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“我敢担保，”桑乔说，“姑娘，你运气不好，因为你碰到了一个心眼好、心肠硬的人。要是碰上我这样的人，情况就大不一样了。”

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聊完以后，唐吉诃德穿好衣服，同公爵和公爵夫人一起吃了饭，当天下午就离开了。

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The night was somewhat dark, for though there was a moon in the sky it was not in a quarter where she could be seen; for sometimes the lady Diana goes on a stroll to the antipodes, and leaves the mountains all black and the valleys in darkness. Don Quixote obeyed nature so far as to sleep his first sleep, but did not give way to the second, very different from Sancho, who never had any second, because with him sleep lasted from night till morning, wherein he showed what a sound constitution and few cares he had. Don Quixote’s cares kept him restless, so much so that he awoke Sancho and said to him, “I am amazed, Sancho, at the unconcern of thy temperament. I believe thou art made of marble or hard brass, incapable of any emotion or feeling whatever. I lie awake while thou sleepest, I weep while thou singest, I am faint with fasting while thou art sluggish and torpid from pure repletion. It is the duty of good servants to share the sufferings and feel the sorrows of their masters, if it be only for the sake of appearances. See the calmness of the night, the solitude of the spot, inviting us to break our slumbers by a vigil of some sort. Rise as thou livest, and retire a little distance, and with a good heart and cheerful courage give thyself three or four hundred lashes on account of Dulcinea’s disenchantment score; and this I entreat of thee, making it a request, for I have no desire to come to grips with thee a second time, as I know thou hast a heavy hand. As soon as thou hast laid them on we will pass the rest of the night, I singing my separation, thou thy constancy, making a beginning at once with the pastoral life we are to follow at our village.”

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“Senor,” replied Sancho, “I’m no monk to get up out of the middle of my sleep and scourge myself, nor does it seem to me that one can pass from one extreme of the pain of whipping to the other of music. Will your worship let me sleep, and not worry me about whipping myself? or you’ll make me swear never to touch a hair of my doublet, not to say my flesh.”

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“O hard heart!” said Don Quixote, “O pitiless squire! O bread ill-bestowed and favours ill-acknowledged, both those I have done thee and those I mean to do thee! Through me hast thou seen thyself a governor, and through me thou seest thyself in immediate expectation of being a count, or obtaining some other equivalent title, for I— post tenebras spero lucem.”

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“I don’t know what that is,” said Sancho; “all I know is that so long as I am asleep I have neither fear nor hope, trouble nor glory; and good luck betide him that invented sleep, the cloak that covers over all a man’s thoughts, the food that removes hunger, the drink that drives away thirst, the fire that warms the cold, the cold that tempers the heat, and, to wind up with, the universal coin wherewith everything is bought, the weight and balance that makes the shepherd equal with the king and the fool with the wise man. Sleep, I have heard say, has only one fault, that it is like death; for between a sleeping man and a dead man there is very little difference.”

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“Never have I heard thee speak so elegantly as now, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “and here I begin to see the truth of the proverb thou dost sometimes quote, ‘Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art fed.’”

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“Ha, by my life, master mine,” said Sancho, “it’s not I that am stringing proverbs now, for they drop in pairs from your worship’s mouth faster than from mine; only there is this difference between mine and yours, that yours are well-timed and mine are untimely; but anyhow, they are all proverbs.”

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At this point they became aware of a harsh indistinct noise that seemed to spread through all the valleys around. Don Quixote stood up and laid his hand upon his sword, and Sancho ensconced himself under Dapple and put the bundle of armour on one side of him and the ass’s pack-saddle on the other, in fear and trembling as great as Don Quixote’s perturbation. Each instant the noise increased and came nearer to the two terrified men, or at least to one, for as to the other, his courage is known to all. The fact of the matter was that some men were taking above six hundred pigs to sell at a fair, and were on their way with them at that hour, and so great was the noise they made and their grunting and blowing, that they deafened the ears of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, and they could not make out what it was. The wide-spread grunting drove came on in a surging mass, and without showing any respect for Don Quixote’s dignity or Sancho’s, passed right over the pair of them, demolishing Sancho’s entrenchments, and not only upsetting Don Quixote but sweeping Rocinante off his feet into the bargain; and what with the trampling and the grunting, and the pace at which the unclean beasts went, pack-saddle, armour, Dapple and Rocinante were left scattered on the ground and Sancho and Don Quixote at their wits’ end.

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Sancho got up as well as he could and begged his master to give him his sword, saying he wanted to kill half a dozen of those dirty unmannerly pigs, for he had by this time found out that that was what they were.

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“Let them be, my friend,” said Don Quixote; “this insult is the penalty of my sin; and it is the righteous chastisement of heaven that jackals should devour a vanquished knight, and wasps sting him and pigs trample him under foot.”

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“I suppose it is the chastisement of heaven, too,” said Sancho, “that flies should prick the squires of vanquished knights, and lice eat them, and hunger assail them. If we squires were the sons of the knights we serve, or their very near relations, it would be no wonder if the penalty of their misdeeds overtook us, even to the fourth generation. But what have the Panzas to do with the Quixotes? Well, well, let’s lie down again and sleep out what little of the night there’s left, and God will send us dawn and we shall be all right.”

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“Sleep thou, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “for thou wast born to sleep as I was born to watch; and during the time it now wants of dawn I will give a loose rein to my thoughts, and seek a vent for them in a little madrigal which, unknown to thee, I composed in my head last night.”

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“I should think,” said Sancho, “that the thoughts that allow one to make verses cannot be of great consequence; let your worship string verses as much as you like and I’ll sleep as much as I can;” and forthwith, taking the space of ground he required, he muffled himself up and fell into a sound sleep, undisturbed by bond, debt, or trouble of any sort. Don Quixote, propped up against the trunk of a beech or a cork tree — for Cide Hamete does not specify what kind of tree it was — sang in this strain to the accompaniment of his own sighs: When in my mind I muse, O Love, upon thy cruelty, To death I flee, In hope therein the end of all to find.

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But drawing near That welcome haven in my sea of woe, Such joy I know, That life revives, and still I linger here.

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Thus life doth slay,

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And death again to life restoreth me;

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Strange destiny,

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That deals with life and death as with a play!

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He accompanied each verse with many sighs and not a few tears, just like one whose heart was pierced with grief at his defeat and his separation from Dulcinea.

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And now daylight came, and the sun smote Sancho on the eyes with his beams. He awoke, roused himself up, shook himself and stretched his lazy limbs, and seeing the havoc the pigs had made with his stores he cursed the drove, and more besides. Then the pair resumed their journey, and as evening closed in they saw coming towards them some ten men on horseback and four or five on foot. Don Quixote’s heart beat quick and Sancho’s quailed with fear, for the persons approaching them carried lances and bucklers, and were in very warlike guise. Don Quixote turned to Sancho and said, “If I could make use of my weapons, and my promise had not tied my hands, I would count this host that comes against us but cakes and fancy bread; but perhaps it may prove something different from what we apprehend.” The men on horseback now came up, and raising their lances surrounded Don Quixote in silence, and pointed them at his back and breast, menacing him with death. One of those on foot, putting his finger to his lips as a sign to him to be silent, seized Rocinante’s bridle and drew him out of the road, and the others driving Sancho and Dapple before them, and all maintaining a strange silence, followed in the steps of the one who led Don Quixote. The latter two or three times attempted to ask where they were taking him to and what they wanted, but the instant he began to open his lips they threatened to close them with the points of their lances; and Sancho fared the same way, for the moment he seemed about to speak one of those on foot punched him with a goad, and Dapple likewise, as if he too wanted to talk. Night set in, they quickened their pace, and the fears of the two prisoners grew greater, especially as they heard themselves assailed with — “Get on, ye Troglodytes;” “Silence, ye barbarians;” “March, ye cannibals;” “No murmuring, ye Scythians;” “Don’t open your eyes, ye murderous Polyphemes, ye blood-thirsty lions,” and suchlike names with which their captors harassed the ears of the wretched master and man. Sancho went along saying to himself, “We, tortolites, barbers, animals! I don’t like those names at all; ‘it’s in a bad wind our corn is being winnowed;’ ‘misfortune comes upon us all at once like sticks on a dog,’ and God grant it may be no worse than them that this unlucky adventure has in store for us.”

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Don Quixote rode completely dazed, unable with the aid of all his wits to make out what could be the meaning of these abusive names they called them, and the only conclusion he could arrive at was that there was no good to be hoped for and much evil to be feared. And now, about an hour after midnight, they reached a castle which Don Quixote saw at once was the duke’s , where they had been but a short time before. “God bless me!” said he, as he recognised the mansion, “what does this mean? It is all courtesy and politeness in this house; but with the vanquished good turns into evil, and evil into worse.”

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They entered the chief court of the castle and found it prepared and fitted up in a style that added to their amazement and doubled their fears, as will be seen in the following chapter.

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