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双语·邦斯舅舅 四、好事有时候是白做的

所属教程:译林版·邦斯舅舅

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2022年05月12日

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IV

In those days, all the handsome men in France were away at the wars exchanging sabre-cuts with the handsome men of the Coalition. Pons was said to be, not ugly, but "peculiar-looking," after the grand rule laid down by Moliere in Eliante's famous couplets; but if he sometimes heard himself described as a "charming man" (after he had done some fair lady a service), his good fortune went no further than words.

It was between the years 1810 and 1816 that Pons contracted the unlucky habit of dining out; he grew accustomed to see his hosts taking pains over the dinner, procuring the first and best of everything, bringing out their choicest vintages, seeing carefully to the dessert, the coffee, the liqueurs, giving him of their best, in short; the best, moreover, of those times of the Empire when Paris was glutted with kings and queens and princes, and many a private house emulated royal splendours. People used to play at Royalty then as they play nowadays at parliament, creating a whole host of societies with presidents, vice-presidents, secretaries and what not—agricultural societies, industrial societies, societies for the promotion of sericulture, viticulture, the growth of flax, and so forth. Some have even gone so far as to look about them for social evils in order to start a society to cure them.

But to return to Pons. A stomach thus educated is sure to react upon the owner's moral fibre; the demoralization of the man varies directly with his progress in culinary sapience. Voluptuousness, lurking in every secret recess of the heart, lays down the law therein. Honor and resolution are battered in breach. The tyranny of the palate has never been described; as a necessity of life it escapes the criticism of literature; yet no one imagines how many have been ruined by the table. The luxury of the table is indeed, in this sense, the courtesan's one competitor in Paris, besides representing in a manner the credit side in another account, where she figures as the expenditure. With Pons' decline and fall as an artist came his simultaneous transformation from invited guest to parasite and hanger-on; he could not bring himself to quit dinners so excellently served for the Spartan broth of a two-franc ordinary. Alas! alas! a shudder ran through him at the mere thought of the great sacrifices which independence required him to make. He felt that he was capable of sinking to even lower depths for the sake of good living, if there were no other way of enjoying the first and best of everything, of guzzling (vulgar but expressive word) nice little dishes carefully prepared. Pons lived like a bird, pilfering his meal, flying away when he had taken his fill, singing a few notes by way of return; he took a certain pleasure in the thought that he lived at the expense of society, which asked of him—what but the trifling toll of grimaces? Like all confirmed bachelors, who hold their lodgings in horror, and live as much as possible in other people's houses, Pons was accustomed to the formulas and facial contortions which do duty for feeling in the world; he used compliments as small change; and as far as others were concerned, he was satisfied with the labels they bore, and never plunged a too-curious hand into the sack.

This not intolerable phase lasted for another ten years. Such years! Pons' life was closing with a rainy autumn. All through those years he contrived to dine without expense by making himself necessary in the houses which he frequented. He took the first step in the downward path by undertaking a host of small commissions; many and many a time Pons ran on errands instead of the porter or the servant; many a purchase he made for his entertainers. He became a kind of harmless, well-meaning spy, sent by one family into another; but he gained no credit with those for whom he trudged about, and so often sacrificed self-respect.

Pons is a bachelor, said they; "he is at a loss to know what to do with his time; he is only too glad to trot about for us.—What else would he do?"

Very soon the cold which old age spreads about itself began to set in; the communicable cold which sensibly lowers the social temperature, especially if the old man is ugly and poor. Old and ugly and poor—is not this to be thrice old? Pons' winter had begun, the winter which brings the reddened nose, and frost-nipped cheeks, and the numbed fingers, numb in how many ways!

From 1836 to 1843, invitations very seldom came for Pons. So far from seeking the society of the parasite, every family accepted him much as they accepted the taxes; they valued nothing that Pons could do for them; real services from Pons counted for nought. The family circles in which the worthy artist revolved had no respect for art or letters; they went down on their knees to practical results; they valued nothing but the fortune or social position acquired since the year 1830. The bourgeoisie is afraid of intellect and genius, but Pons' spirit and manner were not haughty enough to overawe his relations, and naturally he had come at last to be accounted less than nothing with them, though he was not altogether despised. He had suffered acutely among them, but, like all timid creatures, he kept silence as to his pain; and so by degrees schooled himself to hide his feelings, and learned to take sanctuary in his inmost self. Many superficial persons interpret this conduct by the short word "selfishness;" and, indeed, the resemblance between the egoist and the solitary human creature is strong enough to seem to justify the harsher verdict; and this is especially true in Paris, where nobody observes others closely, where all things pass swift as waves, and last as little as a Ministry.

So Cousin Pons was accused of selfishness (behind his back); and if the world accuses any one, it usually finds him guilty and condemns him into the bargain. Pons bowed to the decision. Do any of us know how such a timid creature is cast down by an unjust judgment? Who will ever paint all that the timid suffer? This state of things, now growing daily worse, explains the sad expression on the poor old musician's face; he lived by capitulations of which he was ashamed. Every time we sin against self-respect at the bidding of the ruling passion, we rivet its hold upon us; the more that passion requires of us, the stronger it grows, every sacrifice increasing, as it were, the value of a satisfaction for which so much has been given up, till the negative sum-total of renouncements looms very large in a man's imagination. Pons, for instance, after enduring the insolently patronizing looks of some bourgeois, incased in buckram of stupidity, sipped his glass of port or finished his quail with breadcrumbs, and relished something of the savor of revenge, besides. "It is not too dear at the price!" he said to himself.

After all, in the eyes of the moralist, there were extenuating circumstances in Pons' case. Man only lives, in fact, by some personal satisfaction. The passionless, perfectly righteous man is not human; he is a monster, an angel wanting wings. The angel of Christian mythology has nothing but a head. On earth, the righteous person is the sufficiently tiresome Grandison, for whom the very Venus of the Crosswords is sexless. Setting aside one or two commonplace adventures in Italy, in which probably the climate accounted for his success, no woman had ever smiled upon Pons. Plenty of men are doomed to this fate. Pons was an abnormal birth; the child of parents well stricken in years, he bore the stigma of his untimely genesis; his cadaverous complexion might have been contracted in the flask of spirit-of-wine in which science preserves some extraordinary foetus. Artist though he was, with his tender, dreamy, sensitive soul, he was forced to accept the character which belonged to his face; it was hopeless to think of love, and he remained a bachelor, not so much of choice as of necessity. Then Gluttony, the sin of the continent monk, beckoned to Pons; he rushed upon temptation, as he had thrown his whole soul into the adoration of art and the cult of music. Good cheer and bric-a-brac gave him the small change for the love which could spend itself in no other way. As for music, it was his profession, and where will you find the man who is in love with his means of earning a livelihood? For it is with a profession as with marriage: in the long length you are sensible of nothing but the drawbacks.

Brillat-Savarin has deliberately set himself to justify the gastronome, but perhaps even he has not dwelt sufficiently on the reality of the pleasures of the table. The demands of digestion upon the human economy produce an internal wrestling-bout of human forces which rivals the highest degree of amorous pleasure. The gastronome is conscious of an expenditure of vital power, an expenditure so vast that the brain is atrophied (as it were), that a second brain, located in the diaphragm, may come into play, and the suspension of all the faculties is in itself a kind of intoxication. A boa constrictor gorged with an ox is so stupid with excess that the creature is easily killed. What man, on the wrong side of forty, is rash enough to work after dinner? And remark in the same connection, that all great men have been moderate eaters. The exhilarating effect of the wing of a chicken upon invalids recovering from serious illness, and long confined to a stinted and carefully chosen diet, has been frequently remarked. The sober Pons, whose whole enjoyment was concentrated in the exercise of his digestive organs, was in the position of chronic convalescence; he looked to his dinner to give him the utmost degree of pleasurable sensation, and hitherto he had procured such sensations daily. Who dares to bid farewell to old habit? Many a man on the brink of suicide has been plucked back on the threshold of death by the thought of the cafe where he plays his nightly game of dominoes.

四、好事有时候是白做的

那时法兰西最健美的男儿,正在跟联盟国最健美的男儿一刀一枪地厮杀[1];因此,按照埃里安德的理论,邦斯的丑陋被称为别具一格[2]。他替什么美丽的太太办了一点事,人家会叫他一声“可爱的人”,但他的安慰也不过是这句空话而已。

在这一段约莫有六年(一八一〇至一八一六)的时间内,邦斯搅上了好吃好喝的坏习惯,眼看请他吃饭的主人们那么豪爽,端出时鲜的菜,开出顶好的酒;点心,咖啡,饭后酒,无一不讲究。帝政时代就有这种好客的风气;正当多少的国王王后云集巴黎的时候,大家都模仿他们光华显赫的气派。当时的人喜欢学帝王的样,正如现在的人喜欢学国会的样,成立好多有会长、副会长、秘书等等的团体,例如苎麻研究会、葡萄改良会、蚕种研究会、农业会、工业会,形形色色,不一而足;有人还在寻访社会的烂疮,把良医国手组成团体呢!

再说邦斯吧。受过这种训练的胃,必然影响到一个人的气节;对烹调的了解越深刻,志气也就越消沉。肉欲盘踞着你整个的心,在那里发号施令,意志和荣誉都给打得粉碎;它要你不惜牺牲使它满足。口腹之欲的专横,从来没有被描写过,因为每个人都得生存,所以连文学批评都把它放过了。但为了吃喝而断送掉的人,你真想象不到有多少。在巴黎,以倾家荡产而论,饮食等于在跟娼妓竞争;并且在另一方面看,一个人的吃是收入,嫖是支出。赶到邦斯因艺术家身份的低落,从无席不与的上宾降而为吃白食的清客的时候,他已经没法离开精美的筵席,跑进四十铜子一餐的饭店去尝斯巴达式[3]的牛奶蛋花羹。可怜他一想到要独立就得作那么大的牺牲,他就发抖,他觉得什么下贱的事都能做,只要能继续好吃好喝,按时按节尝到当今的珍馐美果,吃着精致的名菜大快朵颐!他仿佛觅食的鸟,含了满嘴的食物高飞远走,只要嘁嘁喳喳唱上一支歌就算道谢。并且那么好的酒饭都吃在人家头上,吃完了扯个鬼脸就跑,邦斯也觉得相当得意。跟所有的单身汉一样,他怕待在家里,喜欢老混在别人府上;凡是应酬场中的门面话,没有真情的假殷勤,他都习惯了,他也学会了把客套随口敷衍;至于看人,他只看个表面,从来不想去摸清底细。

这个勉强过得去的阶段又拖了十年,可那是怎样的十年呵!简直是风风雨雨的秋天。邦斯尽量巴结那些走熟了的家庭,以便保住饭桌上的地位。终于他走上了末路,替人当差,跑腿,几次三番地代替用人和门房的职司。多少买卖都由这一个家庭派他到另一家庭中去探听消息,做个并无恶意的间谍;可是他跑了那么多回腿,当了那么些有失身份的差使,人家并不感激他。

“邦斯是个单身汉,”人家说,“他无聊得很,能够替我们跑跑才高兴呢……要不然他怎么办?”

不久他开始散布出老年人的那点儿凉意,像北风一般把人家的感情都吹凉了,尤其他是个又穷又丑的老人,那不是老上加老吗?这是人生到了冬季,鼻子通红,腮帮灰白,手脚麻木的冬季!

一八三六年至一八四三年之间,邦斯难得有人请吃饭了。每个家庭都不想再找他,他要上门,就耐着性子耽待他,像忍受捐税一样。大家觉得没有欠他一点儿情,甚至也不把他真正出过力的事放在心上。老人在那里混了一世的几个家庭,都不是尊重艺术的,他们只崇拜成功,只重视一八三〇年以后得来的果实:财富或地位。既然邦斯在思想上举动上都不够气魄,没有那种教布尔乔亚敬畏的聪明或才气,结果他当然变得一文不值,只是还不至于完全被人唾弃罢了。但他跟一切懦弱的人一样,受了社会的白眼不敢说出来。慢慢地他学会了把情感压在胸中,把自己的心当作一个避难所。好多浅薄的人,管这个现象叫作自私自利。孤独的人与自私的人的确很相像,使一般说长道短之辈毁谤好人的话,显得凿凿有据,尤其在巴黎,没有人肯用心观察,一切都快得像潮水,昙花一现像内阁!

所以,人家在背后责备邦斯自私,而邦斯也就给这个罪名压倒了,因为你一朝加了人家罪名,结果终会把它坐实的。诬蔑给一般懦弱的人多大的打击,可有人想到过?谁又会描写他们的痛苦?这个一天天恶化的局面,说明了可怜的音乐家脸上的悲苦;他的生活是以可耻的牺牲换来的。可是为了嗜好而做的丢人的事,反而加强你对嗜好的联系;越需要你卑躬屈膝的嗜好,你越觉得宝贵;你会把所有的牺牲看作消极的储蓄,仿佛有无穷的财富在内。譬如说,给有钱的浑蛋极不客气地瞪上一眼之后,邦斯津津有味地呷着波特酒,嚼着焗鹌鹑,像出了一口怨气似的,心里想:“总算还划得来!”

在伦理学家心目中,他这种生活是情有可原的。人必须在某方面有点满足才能活。一个毫无嗜好,完全合乎中庸之道的人,简直是妖魔,是没有翅膀的半吊子天使。基督旧教的神话里,天使没有别的,只有头脑。但在我们的浊世上,所谓完人便是那迂腐的格兰狄逊[4],连街头的神女对他也不成其为女性的。而邦斯,除了漫游意大利的时期,大概靠气候帮忙而有过一两次平凡的艳遇以外,从来没看见女人对他笑过。好多人都遭到这一类的厄运。邦斯是天生的丑八怪,当初他父母是晚年得子,诞生既过了时令,他自有那些过了时令的瘢痕,例如死尸一般的皮色,很像在科学家保存怪胎的酒精瓶里培养出来的。这位艺术家,生成一颗温柔的心,有幻想,有感觉,却为了一副尊容不得不过那种生活,绝无希望得到女人的爱。可见他的独身并非由于自己喜欢,而是迫不得已。赶到饕餮来勾引他,他就奋不顾身地扑上去,像当年奋不顾身地崇拜艺术品和音乐一样;好吃的罪过,不是连有道行的僧侣都难免吗[5]?为他,珍馐美食与古董代替了女人;因为音乐是他的本行,而世界上哪有人喜欢他挣饭吃的本行的?职业有如婚姻,久而久之,大家只觉得它有弊无利。

布里亚·萨瓦兰在《食欲心理学》一书中有心替老饕张目,但对于人在饮食方面真正的快乐,似乎还说得不够。消化食物,需要不少精力,那是一场内部的战斗,对那些供养口腹的人,其快感竟不下于爱情。一个人只觉得生命力在那儿尽量发挥,头脑不再活动而让位给横隔膜那边的第二头脑,同时所有的机能都麻痹,使你入于完全陶醉的境界。便是巨蟒吧,它吞了一头公牛,就会瘫倒在那里任人宰割。一过四十岁,谁还敢吃饱了饭马上工作?……因此,所有的大人物对饮食都是有节制的。大病初愈的人,精美的食物给限制得很严,他们往往觉得吃到一只鸡翅膀就能迷迷糊糊地愣个大半天。安分老实的邦斯,一切乐趣都集中在胃的活动上,所以他老像病后的人,希望凡是珍馐美食所能给他的快感都能享受到,而至此为止他的确每天享受到。可是世界上就没有一个人有断瘾的勇气。好多自杀的人临死都改变了主意,因为丢不下每天晚上去玩“接龙”的咖啡馆。

注解:

[1] 那时指一八一〇至一八一六年间,正是拿破仑战争达于高潮的时期。

[2] 埃里安德为莫里哀名剧《厌世者》中的人物。该剧第二幕第四场,有埃里安德的长篇台词,大意谓爱情与人之美丑无关。即情人眼里出西施之意。

[3] 古代斯巴达的国民以生活严肃、饮食清苦闻于世。

[4] 英国理查逊小说《格兰狄逊》中的主人翁查尔斯·格兰狄逊爵士,为一典型的正人君子。

[5] 基督旧教修院中的僧侣及一般传教士,中世纪起即以讲究饮食闻于世。

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