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雙語·邦斯舅舅 十五、一心想在遺囑上有個名字

所屬教程:譯林版·邦斯舅舅

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2022年06月01日

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XV

Since these two gentlemen came here, we have put two thousand francs in the savings bank. Two thousand francs in eight years! What luck! Would it be better to make no profit out of M. Pons' dinner and keep him here at home? Ma'am Fontaine's hen will tell me that.

Three years ago Mme. Cibot had begun to cherish a hope that her name might be mentioned in "her gentlemen's" wills; she had redoubled her zeal since that covetous thought tardily sprouted up in the midst of that so honest moustache. Pons hitherto had dined abroad, eluding her desire to have both of "her gentlemen" entirely under her management; his "troubadour" collector's life had scared away certain vague ideas which hovered in La Cibot's brain; but now her shadowy projects assumed the formidable shape of a definite plan, dating from that memorable dinner. Fifteen minutes later she reappeared in the dining-room with two cups of excellent coffee, flanked by a couple of tiny glasses of kirschwasser.

Long lif Montame Zipod! cried Schmucke; "she haf guessed right!"

The diner-out bemoaned himself a little, while Schmucke met his lamentations with coaxing fondness, like a home pigeon welcoming back a wandering bird. Then the pair set out for the theatre. Schmucke could not leave his friend in the condition to which he had been brought by the Camusots—mistresses and servants. He knew Pons so well; he feared lest some cruel, sad thought should seize on him at his conductor's desk, and undo all the good done by his welcome home to the nest. And Schmucke brought his friend back on his arm through the streets at midnight. A lover could not be more careful of his lady. He pointed out the edges of the curbstones, he was on the lookout whenever they stepped on or off the pavement, ready with a warning if there was a gutter to cross. Schmucke could have wished that the streets were paved with cotton-down; he would have had a blue sky overhead, and Pons should hear the music which all the angels in heaven were making for him. He had won the lost province in his friend's heart!

For nearly three months Pons and Schmucke dined together every day. Pons was obliged to retrench at once; for dinner at forty-five francs a month and wine at thirty-five meant precisely eighty francs less to spend on bric-a-brac. And very soon, in spite of all that Schmucke could do, in spite of his little German jokes, Pons fell to regretting the delicate dishes, the liqueurs, the good coffee, the table talk, the insincere politeness, the guests, and the gossip, and the houses where he used to dine. On the wrong side of sixty a man cannot break himself of a habit of thirty-six years' growth. Wine at a hundred and thirty francs per hogshead is scarcely a generous liquid in a gourmet's glass; every time that Pons raised it to his lips he thought, with infinite regret, of the exquisite wines in his entertainers' cellars. In short, at the end of three months, the cruel pangs which had gone near to break Pons' sensitive heart had died away; he forgot everything but the charms of society; and languished for them like some elderly slave of a petticoat compelled to leave the mistress who too repeatedly deceives him. In vain he tried to hide his profound and consuming melancholy; it was too plain that he was suffering from one of the mysterious complaints which the mind brings upon the body.

A single symptom will throw light upon this case of nostalgia (as it were) produced by breaking away from an old habit; in itself it is trifling, one of the myriad nothings which are as rings in a coat of chain-mail enveloping the soul in a network of iron. One of the keenest pleasures of Pons' old life, one of the joys of the dinner-table parasite at all times, was the "surprise," the thrill produced by the extra dainty dish added triumphantly to the bill of fare by the mistress of a bourgeois house, to give a festal air to the dinner. Pons' stomach hankered after that gastronomical satisfaction. Mme. Cibot, in the pride of her heart, enumerated every dish beforehand; a salt and savor once periodically recurrent, had vanished utterly from daily life. Dinner proceeded without le plat couvert, as our grandsires called it. This lay beyond the bounds of Schmucke's powers of comprehension. Pons had too much delicacy to grumble; but if the case of unappreciated genius is hard, it goes harder still with the stomach whose claims are ignored. Slighted affection, a subject of which too much has been made, is founded upon an illusory longing; for if the creature fails, love can turn to the Creator who has treasures to bestow. But the stomach!... Nothing can be compared to its sufferings; for, in the first place, one must live. Pons thought wistfully of certain creams—surely the poetry of cookery!—of certain white sauces, masterpieces of the art; of truffled chickens, fit to melt your heart; and above these, and more than all these, of the famous Rhine carp, only known at Paris, served with what condiments! There were days when Pons, thinking upon Count Popinot's cook, would sigh aloud, "Ah, Sophie!" Any passer-by hearing the exclamation might have thought that the old man referred to a lost mistress; but his fancy dwelt upon something rarer, on a fat Rhine carp with a sauce, thin in the sauce-boat, creamy upon the palate, a sauce that deserved the Montyon prize! The conductor of the orchestra, living on memories of past dinners, grew visibly leaner; he was pining away, a victim to gastric nostalgia.

十五、一心想在遺囑上有個名字

“這兩位先生搬來之后,咱們在儲蓄銀行已經(jīng)有了二千法郎。不過八年工夫,總算是運(yùn)氣嘍!包了邦斯先生的飯,是不是要賺他的錢,把他留在家里呢?封丹太太一定會告訴我的?!蔽鞑诽@樣想著。

看到邦斯和許??硕紱]有繼承人,西卜太太三年來認(rèn)為兩位先生將來的遺囑上必定有她的名字。她存了這種非分之想,做事格外巴結(jié)。一向是個老實人,她的貪心直到她長了胡子才抬頭的。依著女門房的心思,兩位先生最好完全由她操縱;可是邦斯天天在外邊吃晚飯,并沒有完全落在她手里。西卜太太原有一些勾引挑逗的念頭在腦海中蠢蠢欲動,看著老收藏家的游牧生活只覺得無計可施;但從那餐值得紀(jì)念的夜飯之后,她的念頭就一變而為驚人的大計劃。過了一刻鐘,西卜太太又在飯廳里出現(xiàn)了,手里托著兩杯芳冽的咖啡和兩小杯櫻桃酒。

“好一個西卜太太!”許??私衅饋?,“她把我的心思猜著了?!?/p>

吃白食的朋友又絮絮叨叨地怨嘆了一陣,許模克又想出話來哄了他一陣,家居的鴿子要安慰出門的鴿子是不愁沒有話說的[1]。然后兩人一同出門了。在邦斯受了加繆索家主仆那場氣之后,許??擞X得非陪著朋友不可。他懂得邦斯的脾氣,知道他坐在樂隊里那張指揮椅上,又會給一些憂郁的思潮抓住,把倦鳥歸巢的效果給破壞了的。半夜里許模克攙著邦斯的胳膊回家,像一個人對待心愛的情婦似的,一路上告訴邦斯哪兒是階沿,哪兒是缺口,哪兒是陰溝;他恨不得街面是棉花做的,但愿天色清明,有群天使唱歌給邦斯聽。這顆心中他從來抓握不到的最后一角,現(xiàn)在也給他征服了!

三個月光景,邦斯每天和許??艘黄鸪酝盹?。第一,他先得把玩古董的錢克減八十法郎一月,因為在四十五法郎的飯錢之外,還得花三十五法郎買酒。第二,不論許??硕嗝大w貼,不論他搬出多少德國式的笑話,老藝術(shù)家依然想著他早先吃飯的人家那些好菜,好咖啡,飯后酒,飯桌上的廢話,虛偽的禮貌,同席的客人,東家長西家短的胡扯。一個人到了日薄西山的時候,要打破三十六年的習(xí)慣是辦不到的。一百三十法郎一桶的酒,斟在一個老饕的杯子里是淡薄得很的;所以邦斯每次舉起杯子,總得想到別人家中的美酒而千舍不得,萬舍不得。三個月末了,邦斯那顆敏感的心幾乎為之破裂的痛苦,已經(jīng)淡忘了,他只想著應(yīng)酬場中的快意事兒,正如為女人著迷的老頭兒痛惜一個幾次三番不忠實的情婦。老音樂家雖然把刻骨銘心的苦悶盡量遮掩著,可是顯而易見害著一種說不出的,從精神方面來的病。

要說明這個因破壞習(xí)慣而得來的相思病,只消把數(shù)不清的小事舉一個例子就行,因為那些小事像鐵甲衫上的鋼絲一般緊裹著一個人的心。邦斯從前最大的快感,也就是吃白食的最高的享受,有一項是新鮮的刺激。女主人們?yōu)榱艘扬埦贮c綴得像酒席一樣,往往很得意地添一盤精美的菜,教人吃得格外津津有味。邦斯就在念念不忘這種胃的享受。西卜太太有心賣弄,把飯菜預(yù)先報給他聽,使邦斯的生活完全沒有了周期的刺激。他的夜飯談不上新鮮的感覺,再沒有我們祖母時代所謂蓋著碟子端出來的菜!這就不是許模克所能了解的了。而邦斯為了面子攸關(guān),也不敢說出他的苦處。可是世界上要有什么比懷才不遇更可悲的事,那就是無人了解的肚子了。一般人夸張失戀的悲劇,其實心靈的需要愛情并非真正的需要:因為沒有人愛我們,我們可以愛上帝,他是不吝施舍的。至于口腹的苦悶,那又有什么痛苦可以相比?人不是第一要生活嗎?邦斯不勝遺憾地想念某些雞蛋乳脂,那簡直是美麗的詩歌!某些白沙司,簡直是杰作!某些鮮菌燒野味,簡直是心肝寶貝!而更了不起的是唯獨(dú)在巴黎才吃得到的有名的萊茵鯉魚,加的又是多精致的作料!有些日子,邦斯想到包比諾伯爵府上的廚娘,不由得叫一聲:“噢!莎菲!”過路人聽了以為這好人在想他的情婦,哪知他想的東西比情婦還名貴得多,原來是一盤肥美的鯉魚!沙司缸里盛著鮮明的沙司,舔在舌頭上濃釅釅的,真有資格得蒙底翁獎金!過去那些名菜的回憶,使樂隊指揮消瘦了很多,他害上了口腹的相思病。

注解:

[1] 鴿子的譬喻即引用拉·封丹的寓言。

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