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雙語·老實人 第二十五章 佛尼市貴族波谷居朗泰訪問記

所屬教程:譯林版·老實人

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2022年06月11日

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Chapter 25 Candide and Martin Pay a Visit to Seignor Pococurante, a Noble Venetian

Candide and his friend Martin went in a gondola on the Brenta, and arrived at the palace of the noble Pococurante. The gardens were laid out in elegant taste, and adorned with fne marble statues;his palace was built after the most approved rules of architecture.The master of the house, who was a man of affairs, and very rich, received our two travelers with great politeness, but without much ceremony, which somewhat disconcerted Candide, but was not at all displeasing to Martin.

As soon as they were seated, two very pretty girls, neatly dressed, brought in chocolate, which was extremely well prepared. Candide could not help praising their beauty and graceful carriage.

“The creatures are all right,”said the senator;“I amuse myself with them sometimes, for I am heartily tired of the women of the town, their coquetry, their jealousy, their quarrels, their humors, their meannesses, their pride, and their folly;I am weary of making sonnets, or of paying for sonnets to be made on them;but after all, these two girls begin to grow very indifferent to me.”

After having refreshed himself, Candide walked into a large gallery, where he was struck with the sight of a fne collection of paintings.

“Pray,”said Candide,“by what master are the two frst of these?”

“They are by Raphael,”answered the senator.“I gave a great deal of money for them seven years ago, purely out of curiosity, as they were said to be the fnest pieces in Italy;but I cannot say they please me:the coloring is dark and heavy;the fgures do not swell nor come out enough;and the drapery is bad. In short, notwithstanding the encomiums lavished upon them, they are not, in my opinion, a true representation of nature.I approve of no paintings save those wherein I think I behold nature itself;and there are few, if any, of that kind to be met with.I have what is called a fne collection, but I take no manner of delight in it.”

While dinner was being prepared Pococurante ordered a concert. Candide praised the music to the skies.

“This noise,”said the noble Venetian,“may amuse one for a little time, but if it were to last above half an hour, it would grow tiresome to everybody, though perhaps no one would care to own it. Music has become the art of executing what is diffcult;now, whatever is diffcult cannot be long pleasing.

“I believe I might take more pleasure in an opera, if they had not made such a monster of that species of dramatic entertainment as perfectly shocks me;and I am amazed how people can bear to see wretched tragedies set to music;where the scenes are contrived for no other purpose than to lug in, as it were by the ears, three or four ridiculous songs, to give a favorite actress an opportunity of exhibiting her pipe. Let who will die away in raptures at the trills of a eunuch quavering the majestic part of Caesar or Cato, and strutting in a foolish manner upon the stage, but for my part I have long ago renounced these paltry entertainments, which constitute the glory of modern Italy, and are so dearly purchased by crowned heads.”

Candide opposed these sentiments;but he did it in a discreet manner;as for Martin, he was entirely of the old senator's opinion.

Dinner being served they sat down to table, and, after a hearty repast, returned to the library. Candide, observing Homer richly bound, commended the noble Venetian's taste.

“This,”said he,“is a book that was once the delight of the great Pangloss, the best philosopher in Germany.”

“Homer is no favorite of mine,”answered Pococurante, coolly,“I was made to believe once that I took a pleasure in reading him;but his continual repetitions of battles have all such a resemblance with each other;his gods that are forever in haste and bustle, without ever doing anything;his Helen, who is the cause of the war, and yet hardly acts in the whole performance;his Troy, that holds out so long, without being taken:in short, all these things together make the poem very insipid to me. I have asked some learned men, whether they are not in reality as much tired as myself with reading this poet:those who spoke ingenuously, assured me that he had made them fall asleep, and yet that they could not well avoid giving him a place in their libraries;but that it was merely as they would do an antique, or those rusty medals which are kept only for curiosity, and are of no manner of use in commerce.”

“But your excellency does not surely form the same opinion of Virgil?”said Candide.

“Why, I grant,”replied Pococurante,“that the second, third, fourth, and sixth books of his Aeneid, are excellent;but as for his pious Aeneas, his strong Cloanthus, his friendly Achates, his boy Ascanius, his silly king Latinus, his ill-bred Amata, his insipid Lavinia, and some other characters much in the same strain, I think there cannot in nature be anything more fat and disagreeable. I must confess I prefer Tasso far beyond him;nay, even that sleepy taleteller Ariosto.”

“May I take the liberty to ask if you do not experience great pleasure from reading Horace?”said Candide.

“There are maxims in this writer,”replied Pococurante,“whence a man of the world may reap some benefit;and the short measure of the verse makes them more easily to be retained in the memory. But I see nothing extraordinary in his journey to Brundusium, and his account of his bad dinner;nor in his dirty, low quarrel between one Rupillius, whose words, as he expresses it, were full of poisonous flth;and another, whose language was dipped in vinegar.His indelicate verses against old women and witches have frequently given me great offense:nor can I discover the great merit of his telling his friend Maecenas, that if he will but rank him in the class of lyric poets, his lofty head shall touch the stars.Ignorant readers are apt to judge a writer by his reputation.For my part, I read only to please myself.I like nothing but what makes for my purpose.”

Candide, who had been brought up with a notion of never making use of his own judgment, was astonished at what he heard;but Martin found there was a good deal of reason in the senator's remarks.

“Oh!Here is a Tully,”said Candide;“this great man I fancy you are never tired of reading?”

“Indeed I never read him at all,”replied Pococurante.“What is it to me whether he pleads for Rabirius or Cluentius?I try causes enough myself. I had once some liking for his philosophical works;but when I found he doubted everything, I thought I knew as much as himself, and had no need of a guide to learn ignorance.”

“Ha!”cried Martin,“here are fourscore volumes of the memoirs of the Academy of Sciences;perhaps there may be something curious and valuable in this collection.”

“Yes,”answered Pococurante,“so there might if any one of these compilers of this rubbish had only invented the art of pin-making;but all these volumes are flled with mere chimerical systems, without one single article conductive to real utility.”

“I see a prodigious number of plays,”said Candide,“in Italian, Spanish, and French.”

“Yes,”replied the Venetian,“there are I think three thousand, and not three dozen of them good for anything. As to those huge volumes of divinity, and those enormous collections of sermons, they are not all together worth one single page in Seneca;and I fancy you will readily believe that neither myself, nor anyone else, ever looks into them.”

Martin, perceiving some shelves filled with English books, said to the senator,“I fancy that a republican must be highly delighted with those books, which are most of them written with a noble spirit of freedom.”

“It is noble to write as we think,”said Pococurante;“it is the privilege of humanity. Throughout Italy we write only what we do not think;and the present inhabitants of the country of the Caesars and Antonines dare not acquire a single idea without the permission of a Dominican father.I should be enamored of the spirit of the English nation, did it not utterly frustrate the good effects it would produce by passion and the spirit of party.”

Candide, seeing a Milton, asked the senator if he did not think that author a great man.

“Who?”said Pococurante sharply;“that barbarian who writes a tedious commentary in ten books of rumbling verse, on the frst chapter of Genesis?That slovenly imitator of the Greeks, who disfgures the creation, by making the Messiah take a pair of compasses from Heaven's armory to plan the world;whereas Moses represented the Diety as producing the whole universe by his fat?Can I think you have any esteem for a writer who has spoiled Tasso's Hell and the Devil;who transforms Lucifer sometimes into a toad, and at others into a pygmy;who makes him say the same thing over again a hundred times;who metamorphoses him into a school-divine;and who, by an absurdly serious imitation of Ariosto's comic invention of frearms, represents the devils and angels cannonading each other in Heaven?Neither I nor any other Italian can possibly take pleasure in such melancholy reveries;but the marriage of Sin and Death, and snakes issuing from the womb of the former, are enough to make any person sick that is not lost to all sense of delicacy. This obscene, whimsical, and disagreeable poem met with the neglect it deserved at its frst publication;and I only treat the author now as he was treated in his own country by his contemporaries.”

Candide was sensibly grieved at this speech, as he had a great respect for Homer, and was fond of Milton.

“Alas!”said he softly to Martin,“I am afraid this man holds our German poets in great contempt.”

“There would be no such great harm in that,”said Martin.

“O what a surprising man!”said Candide, still to himself;“what a prodigious genius is this Pococurante!Nothing can please him.”

After fnishing their survey of the library, they went down into the garden, when Candide commended the several beauties that offered themselves to his view.

“I know nothing upon earth laid out in such bad taste,”said Pococurante;“everything about it is childish and trifing;but I shall have another laid out tomorrow upon a nobler plan.”

As soon as our two travelers had taken leave of His Excellency, Candide said to Martin,“Well, I hope you will own that this man is the happiest of all mortals, for he is above everything he possesses.”

“But do not you see,”answered Martin,“that he likewise dislikes everything he possesses?It was an observation of Plato, long since, that those are not the best stomachs that reject, without distinction, all sorts of aliments.”

“True,”said Candide,“but still there must certainly be a pleasure in criticising everything, and in perceiving faults where others think they see beauties.”

“That is,”replied Martin,“there is a pleasure in having no pleasure.”

“Well, well,”said Candide,“I fnd that I shall be the only happy man at last, when I am blessed with the sight of my dear Cunegund.”

“It is good to hope,”said Martin.

In the meanwhile, days and weeks passed away, and no news of Cacambo. Candide was so overwhelmed with grief, that he did not refect on the behavior of Pacquette and Friar Giroflee, who never stayed to return him thanks for the presents he had so generously made them.

第二十五章 佛尼市貴族波谷居朗泰訪問記

老實人和瑪丁坐著游艇,駛進勃朗泰河,到了元老波谷居朗泰的府上?;▓@布置得很雅,擺著美麗的白石雕像。王府建筑極其宏麗。主人年紀六十左右,家財巨萬;接見兩位好奇的來客頗有禮貌,可并不熱烈;老實人不免有點兒局促,瑪丁倒還覺得滿意。

兩個相貌漂亮、衣著大方的姑娘,先端上泡沫很多的巧克力敬客。老實人少不得把她們的姿色、風韻和才干稱贊一番。

元老說道:“這兩個姑娘還不錯,有時我讓她們睡在我床上;因為我對城里的太太們,對她們的風情、脾氣、妒忌、爭吵、狹窄、驕傲、愚蠢,還有非給她們寫不可的或者非教人寫不可的十四行詩,都厭倦透頂;可是這兩個姑娘也教我起膩了?!?/p>

吃過早點,老實人在畫廊中散步,看著美不勝收的畫驚嘆不已。他問那開頭的兩幅是誰的作品。

主人說:“那是拉斐爾的。幾年前,為了虛榮我花大價錢買了來;據(jù)說是全意大利最美的東西,我卻一點兒不喜歡,顏色已經(jīng)暗黃了,人體不夠豐滿,表現(xiàn)得不夠有力;衣褶完全不像布帛??偠灾?,不管別人怎么說,我覺得這兩幅畫不夠逼真。一定要像看到實物一樣的畫,我才喜歡;但這種作品簡直沒有。我藏著不少畫,早就不看了。”

飯前,波谷居朗泰教人來一支合奏曲。老實人覺得音樂美極了。

波谷居朗泰道:“這種聲音可以讓你消遣半個鐘點,再多,大家就聽厭了,雖然沒有一個人敢說出來?,F(xiàn)在的音樂,不過是以難取勝的藝術(shù);僅僅是難奏的作品,多聽幾遍就沒人喜歡。

“我也許更愛歌劇,要不是人家異想天開,把它弄成怪模怪樣的教我生氣。那些譜成音樂的要不得的悲劇,一幕一幕只是沒來由地插進幾支可笑的歌,讓女戲子賣弄嗓子:這種東西,讓愛看的人去看吧。一個被閹割的男人哼哼唧唧,扮演愷撒或加東,在臺上愣頭傻腦地踱方步:誰要愿意,誰要能夠,對這種東西低徊嘆賞,盡管去低徊嘆賞;至于我,我久已不愿領(lǐng)教了;這些淺薄無聊的玩意兒,如今卻成為意大利的光榮,各國的君主還不惜重金羅致呢。”

老實人很婉轉(zhuǎn)地略微辯了幾句?,敹s完全贊成元老的意見。

他們吃了一餐精美的飯,走進書房。老實人瞥見一部裝訂極講究的《荷馬全集》,便恭維主人趣味高雅。

他說:“這一部是使偉大的邦葛羅斯,德國最杰出的哲學家,為之陶醉的作品?!?/p>

波谷居朗泰冷冷地答道:“我并不為之陶醉。從前人家硬要我相信這作品很有趣味;可是那些翻來覆去講個不休的大同小異的戰(zhàn)爭;那些忙忙碌碌而一事無成的神道;那戰(zhàn)爭的禍根,而還夠不上做一個女戲子的海倫;那老是圍困而老是攻不下的特洛伊城,都教我厭煩得要死。有時候我問幾位學者,是不是看了這書跟我一樣發(fā)悶。凡是真誠的都承認看不下去,但書房中非有一部不可,好比一座古代的紀念碑,也好比生銹而市面上沒人要的古徽章?!?/p>

老實人問:“大人對維琪爾的見解不是這樣吧?”

波谷居朗泰答道:“我承認他的《埃奈伊特》[54]第二、第四、第六各卷都很精彩;但是那虔誠的埃奈伊、勇武的格勞昂德、好友阿夏德、小阿斯加尼于斯、昏君拉底奴斯、庸俗的阿瑪太、無聊的拉維尼亞,卻是意趣索然,令人生厭。我倒更喜歡塔索和阿利渥斯托筆下那些荒誕不經(jīng)的故事[55]?!?/p>

老實人道:“恕我冒昧,先生讀荷拉斯是不是極感興趣呢?”

波谷居朗泰回答:“不錯,他寫了些格言,對上流人物還能有點兒益處;而且是用精悍的詩句寫的,比較容易記。可是他描寫勃蘭特的旅行,吃得挺不舒服的飯,兩個粗人的口角,說什么一個人好比滿口膿血,另外一個好比一嘴酸醋等等,我都懶得理會。他攻擊老婆子和女巫的詩,粗俗不堪,我只覺得惡心。他對他的朋友曼塞納說,如果自己能算得一個抒情詩人,一定高傲得昂然舉首,上觸星辰:這等話我也看不出有什么價值[56]。愚夫愚婦對于一個大名家的東西,無有不佩服的??墒俏易x書只為我自己,只有合我脾胃的才喜歡。”

老實人所受的教育,使他從來不會用自己的眼光判斷,聽了主人的話不由得大為驚奇;瑪丁卻覺得波谷居朗泰的思想方式倒還合理。

老實人忽然叫道:“噢!這兒是一部西塞羅[57];這個大人物的作品,閣下想必百讀不厭吧?”

那佛尼市元老說:“我從來不看的。他替拉皮里于斯辯護也罷,替格魯昂丟斯辯護也罷,反正跟我不相干。我自己經(jīng)手的案子已經(jīng)多得很了。我比較愜意的還是他的哲學著作;但看到他事事懷疑,我覺得自己的知識跟他相差不多,也用不著別人再來把我教得愚昧無知了?!?/p>

“啊!”瑪丁叫道,“這兒還有科學院出版的二十四冊叢刊,也許其中有些好東西吧?”

波谷居朗泰說道:“哼,只要那些作家中間有一個,能發(fā)明做別針的方法,就算是好材料了;可是這些書里只有空洞的學說,連一種實用的學識都找不到?!?/p>

老實人道:“這里又是多少劇本?。∮幸獯罄牡?,有西班牙文的,有法文的?!?/p>

元老回答:“是的,一共有三千種,精彩的還不滿三打。至于這些說教的演講,全部合起來還抵不上一頁賽納克[58],還有那批卷帙浩繁的神學書;你們想必知道我是從來不翻的,不但我,而且誰也不翻的?!?/p>

瑪丁看到書架上有好幾格都插著英文書,便道:“這些書多半寫得毫無顧忌,閣下既是共和城邦的人,想必喜歡的吧?”

波谷居朗泰回答說:“不錯,能把自己的思想寫出來是件美事,也是人類獨有的權(quán)利;我們?nèi)獯罄娜?,筆下寫的卻不是心里想的;愷撒與安東尼的同鄉(xiāng),沒有得到多明我會修士的準許,就不敢自己轉(zhuǎn)一個念頭。啟發(fā)英國作家靈感的那種自由,倘不是被黨派的成見與意氣,把其中一切有價值的部分糟蹋了,我一定會喜愛的?!?/p>

老實人看見一部《彌爾敦詩集》,便問在他眼里,這作家是否算得大人物。

波谷居朗泰說道:“誰?他嗎?這野蠻人用生硬的詩句,為《創(chuàng)世記》第一章寫了十大章注解。這個模仿希臘作家的俗物把創(chuàng)造世界的本事弄得面目全非:摩西明明說上帝用言語造出世界的,那俗物卻教彌賽亞到天堂的柜子里,去拿一個圓規(guī)來畫出世界的輪廓[59]!我會把他當作大人物嗎?塔索筆下的魔鬼和地獄都給他糟蹋了[60],呂西番一忽兒變了癩蛤蟆,一忽兒變了小矮子,一句話講到上百次;還要辯論神學;阿利渥斯托說到火槍的發(fā)明,原是個笑話,他卻一本正經(jīng)地去模仿,教魔鬼們在天上放大炮[61]:這樣的人我會敬重嗎?不用說我,全意大利也沒有人喜歡這種沉悶乏味、無理取鬧的作品。什么罪惡與死亡的結(jié)合,什么罪惡生產(chǎn)的毒蛇[62],只要品味比較文雅一些的人都會看了作嘔,他描寫病院的長篇大論,只配筑墳墓的工人去念[63]。這部晦澀、離奇、丑惡的詩集,一出世就教人瞧不起;我現(xiàn)在對待他的態(tài)度,跟他同時代的本國人一樣。并且,我只知道說出自己的思想,決不理會別人是否跟我一般思想?!?/p>

老實人聽了這話大為懊喪;他是敬重荷馬,也有點兒喜歡彌爾敦的。他輕輕地對瑪丁道:“唉,我怕這家伙對我們的德國詩人也不勝鄙薄呢?!?/p>

瑪丁道:“那也何妨?”

老實人又喃喃說道:“噢!了不起的人物!這波谷居朗泰竟是個大天才!他對什么都不中意。”

他們把書題過目完了,下樓到花園里去。老實人把園子的美麗極口稱贊了一番。

主人道:“這花園惡俗不堪;只有些無聊東西;明兒我就叫人另起一所,布置得高雅一些?!?/p>

兩位好奇的客人向元老告辭了,老實人對瑪丁說:“喂!這一回你總得承認見到了一個最快樂的人吧?因為他一無所惑,超脫一切?!?/p>

瑪丁道:“你不看見他對自己所有的東西都厭惡嗎?柏拉圖早說過,這個不吃那個不受的胃,決不是最強健的胃?!?/p>

老實人道:“能批評一切,把別人認為美妙的東西找出缺點來,不也是一種樂趣嗎?”

瑪丁回答:“就是說把沒有樂趣當作樂趣,是不是?”

老實人叫道:“??!世界上只有我是快樂的,只要能和居內(nèi)貢小姐相會。”

“能夠有希望總是好的。”瑪丁回答。

可是幾天過去了,幾星期過去了,加剛菩始終不回來。老實人陷在痛苦之中;甚至巴該德和奚羅弗萊修士謝都沒來謝一聲,他也不以為意。

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