LESSON 40

THE PHILOSOPHER

哲学家

John P. Kennedy, 1795-1870. This gentleman, eminent in American politics and literature, was born in Baltimore, graduated at the College of Baltimore, and died in the same city. He served several years in the Legislature of his native state, and three terms in the United States House of Representatives. He was Secretary of the Navy during a part of President Fillmore’s administration, and was active in sending out the famous Japan expedition, and Dr. Kane’s expedition in search of Sir John Franklin. Mr. Kennedy wrote several novels, as well as political and other papers. His writings are marked by ease and freshness. The following extract is from “Swallow Barn,” a series of sketches of early Virginia.

From the house at Swallow Barn there is to be seen, at no great distance, a clump of trees, and in the midst of these a humble building is discernible, that seems to court the shade in which it is modestly embowered. It is an old structure built of logs. Its figure is a cube, with a roof rising from all sides to a point, and surmounted by a wooden weathercock, which somewhat resembles a fish and somewhat a fowl.

This little edifice is a rustic shrine devoted to Cadmus, and is under the dominion of parson Chub. He is a plump, rosy old gentleman, rather short and thickset, with the blood vessels meandering over his face like rivulets, —a pair of prominent blue eyes, and a head of silky hair not unlike the covering of a white spaniel. He may be said to be a man of jolly dimensions, with an evident taste for good living, sometimes sloven in his attire, for his coat—which is not of the newest—is decorated with sundry spots that are scattered over it in constellations. Besides this, he wears an immense cravat, which, as it is wreathed around his short neck, forms a bowl beneath his chin, and—as Ned says—gives the parson’s head the appearance of that of John the Baptist upon a charger, as it is sometimes represented in the children’s picture books. His beard is grizzled with silver stubble, which the parson reaps about twice a week—if the weather be fair.

Mr. Chub is a philosopher after the order of Socrates. He was an emigrant from the Emerald Isle, where he suffered much tribulation in the disturbances, as they are mildly called, of his much-enduring country. But the old gentleman has weathered the storm without losing a jot of that broad, healthy benevolence with which Nature has enveloped his heart, and whose ensign she has hoisted in his face. The early part of his life had been easy and prosperous, until the rebellion of 1798 stimulated his republicanism into a fever, and drove the full-blooded hero headlong into a quarrel, and put him, in spite of his peaceful profession, to standing by his pike in behalf of his principles. By this unhappy boiling over of the caldron of his valor, he fell under the ban of the ministers, and tested his share of government mercy. His house was burnt over his head, his horses and hounds (for, by all accounts, he was a perfect Actaeon) were “confiscate to the state,” and he was forced to fly. This brought him to America in no very compromising mood with royalty.

Here his fortunes appear to have been various, and he was tossed to and fro by the battledoor of fate, until he found a snug harbor at Swallow Barn; where, some years ago, he sat down in that quiet repose which a worried and badgered patriot is best fitted to enjoy.

He is a good scholar, and, having confined his readings entirely to the learning of the ancients, his republicanism is somewhat after the Grecian mold. He has never read any politics of later date than the time of the Emperor Constantine, not even a newspaper,—so that he may be said to have been contemporary with AEschines rather than Lord Castlereagh—until that eventful epoch of his life when his blazing rooftree awakened him from his anachronistical dream. This notable interruption, however, gave him but a feeble insight into the moderns, and he soon relapsed to Thucydides and Livy, with some such glimmerings of the American Revolution upon his remembrance as most readers have of the exploits of the first Brutus.

The old gentleman had a learned passion for folios. He had been a long time urging Meriwether to make some additions to his collections of literature, and descanted upon the value of some of the ancient authors as foundations, both moral and physical, to the library. Frank gave way to the argument, partly to gratify the parson, and partly from the proposition itself having a smack that touched his fancy. The matter was therefore committed entirely to Mr. Chub, who forthwith set out on a voyage of exploration to the north. I believe he got as far as Boston. He certainly contrived to execute his commission with a curious felicity. Some famous Elzevirs were picked up, and many other antiques that nobody but Mr. Chub would ever think of opening.

The cargo arrived at Swallow Burn in the dead of winter. During the interval between the parson’s return from his expedition and the coming of the books, the reverend little schoolmaster was in a remarkably unquiet state of body, which almost prevented him from sleeping: and it is said that the sight of the long-expected treasures had the happiest effect upon him. There was ample accommodation for this new acquisition of ancient wisdom provided before its arrival, and Mr. Chub now spent a whole week in arranging the volumes on their proper shelves, having, as report affirms, altered the arrangement at least seven times during that period. Everybody wondered what the old gentleman was at, all this time; but it was discovered afterwards, that he was endeavoring to effect a distribution of the works according to a minute division of human science, which entirely failed, owing to the unlucky accident of several of his departments being without any volumes.

After this matter was settled, he regularly spent his evenings in the library. Frank Meriwether was hardly behind the parson in this fancy, and took, for a short time, to abstruse reading. They both consequently deserted the little family circle every evening after tea, and might have continued to do so all the winter but for a discovery made by Hazard.

Ned had seldom joined the two votaries of science in their philosophical retirement, and it was whispered in the family that the parson was giving Frank a quiet course of lectures in the ancient philosophy, for Meriwether was known to talk a great deal, about that time, of the old and new Academicians. But it happened upon one dreary winter night, during a tremendous snowstorm, which was banging the shutters and doors of the house so as to keep up a continual uproar, that Ned, having waited in the parlor for the philosophers until midnight, set out to invade their retreat—not doubting that he should find them deep in study. When he entered the library, both candles were burning in their sockets, with long, untrimmed wicks; the fire was reduced to its last embers, and, in an armchair on one side of the table, the parson was discovered in a sound sleep over Jeremy Taylor’s “Ductor Dubitantium,” whilst Frank, in another chair on the opposite side, was snoring over a folio edition of Montaigne. And upon the table stood a small stone pitcher, containing a residuum of whisky punch, now grown cold. Frank started up in great consternation upon hearing Ned’s footstep beside him, and, from that time, almost entirely deserted the library. Mr. Chub, however, was not so easily drawn away from the career of his humor, and still shows his hankering after his leather-coated friends.

【中文阅读】

从坐落在雨燕谷仓的那幢房子看，相距不远处，有一个树丛，在这些茂密的大树中间那座简陋的建筑清晰可辨，似乎在向小心地隐藏在树林中的树荫大献殷勤。这是一幢用木头建成的老式建筑，看上去就像个立方体，屋顶突起成尖顶状，周围是木制的风标，乍看有点像一条鱼，又有点像一只鸟。

这幢不小的建筑其实是向希腊神话中的卡德摩斯献祭的做工粗糙的神龛，归教区长查伯管辖。这位教区长是一位大块头，肤色红润的老绅士，身材矮小四肢粗短，脸上的毛细血管像小溪一样蜿蜒交错——一双突出的蓝眼睛，一头光滑的头发，恰似一条头发斑白的老獚狗。可以说他是一个非常快活的人，对有品位的生活有明显的兴趣，尽管有时穿着邋遢，那件不算太新的大衣上面密布着各种各样的斑点。除此之外，他还围了一条很大的围巾，缠在那短脖子上，在他颌下堆成一个碗状——就像奈德说的那样——使得这位教区执事的头呈现圣徒约翰所诟病的那个模样，有时能在儿童图画书中一睹其神采。他胡须灰白，像银色茬子似的，教区长每周都要修剪两次——如果天气允许的话。

查伯先生是一位奉苏格拉底为圭臬的哲学家。他是一位来自信使岛的移民，在那儿他曾遇到许多麻烦事，人们委婉地称那里是他长期不堪忍受的故乡。不过，这位老绅士已经平安度过那段困难时期，没有丧失一点宽阔的胸襟，自然女神已经赋予他的心灵健康的仁善，在他脸上烙下了印记。他早年生活相当惬意和富足，在1798年爆发的武装叛乱的刺激下，他的思想由共和主义转向狂热，使得这位热血沸腾的英雄成为一位好争吵的人，尽管他从事的是平和的职业，但他却拿起能代表他的信条的武器随时准备战斗。由于象征他好战和英勇的大锅被烧沸了，遂被驱逐出教会，多亏了政府的宽容才没有出现更坏的结果。他脑袋一热点燃了自家的房子，马匹和猎狗^[1]“也被罚没充公了”。他被迫远走他乡。于是，在没有遭到特别的损失情况下他来到美国。

在这里，他的财产显然呈多样化，他在命运之门来回颠簸，直到在“雨燕谷仓”找到一个温暖舒适的避风港。几年前，他安静地坐在这儿，这是最适合一位曾经备受煎熬和整天吵吵嚷嚷的爱国者的生活了。

他是一位知识渊博的学者，他读的书完全局限于了解古代哲人的思想，他的共和主义观念在某种程度上也仿照希腊人的样子。他从来不读年代晚于康斯坦丁皇帝的任何政治学著作。甚至连报纸也不看——与其说他是当代的爱斯基人，不如说是卡斯特尔里格大公——直到他的生命中那个多灾多难的时期降临，当时他那炽热的屋顶将他从不合时代的梦想中唤醒。然而，这次意义重大的变故只不过促使他将狭隘的视野稍微扩展了一些而已，很快又故态复萌，回到修西底得和李维的世界当中，通过在追忆中对美国大革命隐约的一瞥，绝大多数读者都会最先想到暗杀恺撒的布鲁图。

这位老绅士对对开的纸怀有一种源于学术的酷爱。长久以来，他一直敦请梅瑞维特为他的文学藏书增添一些类别，使他以古代作者为主的有关道德和探讨自然规律的藏书能扩展成一个图书馆。弗兰克在辩论中退让，部分原因在于想让教区长高兴，部分原因源于论题本身恰好妨碍他的想象力。因此，这件事情完全委托给查伯先生，他即刻启程赴北方进行考察旅行。我相信他最远也就是到波士顿而已。他肯定怀有一种奇妙的幸福感，极力完成他的使命。他挑选了一些著名的埃尔塞维尔版的古籍，许多其他古籍除了查伯先生外根本没有别人有翻阅的念头。

在隆冬季节，这批古籍运至“雨燕谷仓”。在教区长考察归来和这批古书运抵此地的间隔期，那位备受尊敬身材矮小的校长明显感到不安，几乎令他睡不着觉：据说那些渴望已久的宝物，对他产生了最愉快的影响。在这些古籍运抵前，为这次新获得的古代智慧结晶腾出了宽敞的存放空间，查伯先生用整整一星期时间整理书架，据目击者说在那段时间里至少七次改变了原先的安排。大家对这位老绅士一直以来究竟是个怎样的人颇为纳闷。不过后来发现，他尝试按照人文科学的详细分类，来对这些著作进行分配。

在这件事情尘埃落定后，他经常晚上在图书馆里流连忘返。弗兰克•梅瑞维特很少落在教区长的后面，有一段时间甚至痴迷于阅读深奥难懂的东西。每天晚上用罢茶后，他们两人经常从这小小的家庭圈子开小差，想必整个冬天都泡在图书馆，不过只是尝试探索。

奈德很少在他们哲学家式的循世时，打扰这两个献身科学的人，家里风传教区长给弗兰克悄悄上了一堂古代哲学课，据知梅瑞维特当时谈了许多老的和新的学者的事情。可是，碰巧在一个阴沉的冬天晚上，在暴风雪漫天飞卷期间，当时百叶窗和门被风雪刮得啪啪作响。奈德在客厅等着哲学家一直到午夜时分，打算打扰他们的静修——毫无疑问他本来注意到了他们在入迷地读书。当他闯进图书馆时，只见他们旁边的烛台插着的两根蜡烛已经燃了很久了，蜡花没有修剪；火苗已经奄奄一息，在书桌一侧的扶手椅上，教区长头埋在杰里米•泰勒的那本《半信半疑的医生》上呼呼大睡，而弗兰克坐在对面的另一把椅子上，正冲着一本对开的蒙田选集打呼噜呢。在桌上摆着一个很小的石头制成的水罐，里面盛着的威士忌已经冰凉了。弗兰克开始聚精会神地谛听身旁奈德脚步声，从那一时刻起，几乎完全忘记了自己是在图书馆里。然而，查伯先生并不会如此轻易地从他一贯的幽默摆脱出来，渴望马上找到他坐在皮椅子上的朋友。

^[1] 据大家说，他是一位完美的亚克托安，希腊神话中的神——译注。