LESSON 83

SCENE FROM “THE POOR GENTLEMAN”

穷绅士

George Colman, 1762-1836, was the son of George Colman, a writer of dramas, who in 1777 purchased the “Haymarket Theater,” in London. Owing to the illness of the father, Colman the younger assumed the management of the theater in 1785, which post he held for a long time. He was highly distinguished as a dramatic author and wit. “The Poor Gentleman,” from which the following selection is adapted, is perhaps the best known of his works.

SIR ROBERT BRAMBLE and HUMPHREY DOBBINS.

Sir R. I’ll tell you what, Humphrey Dobbins, there is not a syllable of sense in all you have been saying. But I suppose you will maintain there is.

Hum. Yes.

Sir R. Yes! Is that the way you talk to me, you old boor? What’s my name?

Hum. Robert Bramble.

Sir R. An’t I a baronet? Sir Robert Bramble, of Blackberry Hall, in the county of Kent? ’T is time you should know it, for you have been my clumsy, two-fisted valet these thirty years: can you deny that?

Hum. Hem!

Sir R. Hem? What do you mean by hem? Open that rusty door of your mouth, and make your ugly voice walk out of it. Why don’t you answer my question?

Hum. Because, if I contradict you, I shall tell you a lie, and whenever I agree with you, you are sure to fall out.

Sir R. Humphrey Dobbins. I have been so long endeavoring to beat a few brains into your pate that all your hair has tumbled off before my point is carried.

Hum. What then? Our parson says my head is an emblem of both our honors.

Sir R. Ay; because honors, like your head, are apt to be empty.

Hum. No; but if a servant has grown bald under his master’s nose, it looks as if there was honesty on one side, and regard for it on the other.

Sir R. Why, to be sure, old Humphrey, you are as honest as a—pshaw! the parson means to palaver us; but, to return to my position, I tell you I do n’t like your flat contradiction.

Hum. Yes, you do.

Sir R. I tell you I don’t. I only love to hear men’s arguments. I hate their flummery.

Hum. What do you call flummery?

Sir R. Flattery, blockhead! a dish too often served up by paltry poor men to paltry rich ones.

Hum. I never serve it up to you.

Sir R. No, you give me a dish of a different description.

Hum. Hem! what is it?

Sir R. Sauerkraut, you old crab.

Hum. I have held you a stout tug at argument this many a year.

Sir R. And yet I could never teach you a syllogism. Now mind, when a poor man assents to what a rich man says, I suspect he means to flatter him: now I am rich, and hate flattery. Ergo—when a poor man subscribes to my opinion, I hate him.

Hum. That’s wrong.

Sir R. Very well; negatur; now prove it.

Hum. Put the case then, I am a poor man.

Sir R. You an’t, you scoundrel. You know you shall never want while I have a shilling.

Hum. Bless you!

Sir R. Pshaw! Proceed.

Hum. Well, then, I am a poor—I must be a poor man now, or I never shall get on.

Sir R. Well, get on, be a poor man.

Hum. I am a poor man, and I argue with you, and convince you, you are wrong; then you call yourself a blockhead, and I am of your opinion: now, that’s no flattery.

Sir R. Why, no; but when a man’s of the same opinion with me, he puts an end to the argument, and that puts an end to the conversation, and so I hate him for that. But where’s my nephew Frederic?

Hum. Been out these two hours.

Sir R. An undutiful cub! Only arrived from Russia last night, and though I told him to stay at home till I rose, he’s scampering over the fields like a Calmuck Tartar.

Hum. He’s a fine fellow.

Sir R. He has a touch of our family. Don’t you think he is a little like me, Humphrey?

Hum. No, not a bit; you are as ugly an old man as ever I clapped my eyes on.

Sir R. Now that’s plaguy impudent, but there’s no flattery in it, and it keeps up the independence of argument. His father, my brother Job, is of as tame a spirit—Humphrey, you remember my brother Job?

Hum. Yes, you drove him to Russia five and twenty years ago.

Sir R. I did not drive him.

Hum. Yes, you did. You would never let him be at peace in the way of argument.

Sir R. At peace! Zounds, he would never go to war.

Hum. He had the merit to be calm.

Sir R. So has a duck pond. He was a bit of still life; a chip; weak water gruel; a tame rabbit, boiled to rags, without sauce or salt. He received my arguments with his mouth open, like a poorbox gaping for half-pence, and, good or bad, he swallowed them all without any resistance. We could n’t disagree, and so we parted.

Hum. And the poor, meek gentleman went to Russia for a quiet life.

Sir R. A quiet life! Why, he married the moment he got there, tacked himself to the shrew relict of a Russian merchant, and continued a speculation with her in furs, flax, potashes, tallow, linen, and leather; what’s the consequence? Thirteen months ago he broke.

Hum. Poor soul, his wife should have followed the business for him.

Sir R. I fancy she did follow it, for she died just as he broke, and now this madcap, Frederic, is sent over to me for protection. Poor Job, now he is in distress, I must not neglect his son.

Hum. Here comes his son; that’s Mr. Frederic.

Enter FREDERIC.

Fred. Oh, my dear uncle, good morning! Your park is nothing but beauty.

Sir R. Who bid you caper over my beauty? I told you to stay in doors till I got up.

Fred. So you did, but I entirely forgot it.

Sir R. And pray, what made you forget it?

Fred. The sun.

Sir R. The sun! he’s mad; you mean the moon, 1 believe.

Fred. Oh, my dear uncle, you don’t know the effect of a fine spring morning upon a fellow just arrived from Russia. The day looked bright, trees budding, birds singing, the park was so gay that I took a leap out of your old balcony, made your deer fly before me like the wind, and chased them all around the park to get an appetite for breakfast, while you were snoring in bed, uncle.

Sir R. Oh, oh! So the effect of English sunshine upon a Russian, is to make him jump out of a balcony, and worry my deer.

Fred. I confess it had that influence upon me.

Sir R. You had better be influenced by a rich old uncle, unless you think the sun likely to leave you a fat legacy.

Fred. I hate legacies.

Sir R. Sir, that’s mighty singular. They are pretty solid tokens, at least.

Fred. Very melancholy tokens, uncle; they are the posthumous dispatches Affection sends to Gratitude, to inform us we have lost a gracious friend.

Sir R. How charmingly the dog argues!

Fred. But I own my spirits ran away with me this morning. I will obey you better in future; for they tell me you are a very worthy, good sort of old gentleman.

Sir R. Now who had the familiar impudence to tell you that?

Fred. Old rusty, there.

Sir R. Why Humphrey, you didn’t?

Hum. Yes, but I did though.

Fred. Yes, he did, and on that score I shall be anxious to show you obedience, for ’t is as meritorious to attempt sharing a good man’s heart, as it is paltry to have designs upon a rich man’s money. A noble nature aims its attentions full breast high, uncle; a mean mind levels its dirty assiduities at the pocket.

Sir R. (Shaking him by the hand.) Jump out of every window I have in my house; hunt my deer into high fevers, my fine fellow! Ay, that’s right. This is spunk, and plain speaking. Give me a man who is always flinging his dissent to my doctrines smack in my teeth.

Fred. I disagree with you there, uncle.

Hum. And so do I.

Fred. You! you forward puppy! If you were not so old, I’d knock you down.

Sir R. I’ll knock you down, if you do. I won’t have my servants thumped into dumb flattery.

Hum. Come, you are ruffled. Let us go to the business of the morning.

Sir R. I hate the business of the morning. Don’t you see we are engaged in discussion. I tell you, I hate the business of the morning.

Hum. No you don’t.

Sir R. Don’t I? Why not?

Hum. Because ’t is charity.

Sir R. Pshaw! Well, we must not neglect the business, if there be any distress in the parish. Read the list, Humphrey.

Hum. (Taking out a paper and reading.) “Jonathan Huggins, of Muck Mead, is put in prison for debt.”

Sir R. Why, it was only last week that Gripe, the attorney, recovered two cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds.

Hum. Yes, and charged a hundred for his trouble; so seized the cottages for part of his bill, and threw Jonathan into jail for the remainder.

Sir R. A harpy! I must relieve the poor fellow’s distress.

Fred. And I must kick his attorney.

Hum. (Reading.) “The curate’s horse is dead.”

Sir B. Pshaw! There’s no distress in that.

Hum. Yes, there is, to a man that must go twenty miles every Sunday to preach three sermons, for thirty pounds a year.

Sit, R. Why won’t the vicar give him another nag?

Hum. Because ’t is cheaper to get another curate ready mounted.

Sir R. Well, send him the black pad which I purchased last Tuesday, and tell him to work him as long as he lives. What else have we upon the list?

Hum. Something out of the common; there’s one Lieutenant Worthington, a disabled officer and a widower, come to lodge at Farmer Harrowby’s, in the village; he is, it seems, very poor, and more proud than poor, and more honest than proud.

Sir R. And so he sends to me for assistance?

Hum. He’d see you hanged first! No, he’d sooner die than ask you or any man for a shilling! There’s his daughter, and his wife’s aunt, and an old corporal that served in the wars with him, he keeps them all upon his half pay.

Sir R. Starves them all, I’m afraid, Humphrey.

Fred. (Going.) Good morning, uncle.

Sir R. You rogue, where are you running now?

Fred. To talk with Lieutenant Worthington.

Sir R. And what may you be going to say to him?

Fred. I can’t tell till I encounter him; and then, uncle, when I have an old gentleman by the hand, who has been disabled in his country’s service, and is struggling to support his motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant, in honorable indigence, impulse will supply me with words to express my sentiments.

Sir R. Stop, you rogue; I must be before you in this business.

Fred. That depends on who can run the fastest; so, start fair, uncle, and here goes.—(Runs out.)

Sir R. Stop, stop; why, Frederic—a jackanapes—to take my department out of my hands! I’ll disinherit the dog for his assurance.

Hum. No, you won’t.

Sir R. Won’t I? Hang me if I—but we’ll argue that point as we go. So, come along Humphrey.

【中文阅读】

罗伯特•勃兰堡爵士和亨弗莱•道宾斯

罗伯特爵士 亨弗莱•道宾斯，我会跟你说明白一切的，你说的话毫无意义。不过，我猜想你会坚持你的说法。

亨弗莱 那是当然。

罗伯特爵士 那好！你这么和我说话，你这个老东西？我没名字吗？

亨弗莱 罗伯特•勃兰堡。

罗伯特爵士 难道我不是个准男爵吗？我不是肯特郡布莱克贝里宫的罗伯特•勃兰堡爵士吗？这次你应该弄清楚，因为这三十年来你一直是我笨拙和有使不完劲的男仆。你能否认这一点吗？

亨弗莱 哼！

罗伯特爵士 哼？你哼什么？你那张嘴又开始没把门的了，瞧你那动静。你为什么不回答我的问题？

亨弗莱 因为，如果我反驳您，我就会撒谎的。不管什么时候我要是附和您，您肯定会与我争吵。

罗伯特爵士 亨弗莱•道宾斯。一直以来在我的看法说出来前，我就想敲你的秃头，省得你老抓头发。

亨弗莱 那又会怎样呢？我们的教区牧师说了，我的脑袋象征我们两人的荣誉。

罗伯特爵士 哎，像你那脑袋似的，就是因为追求荣誉才秃顶的。

亨弗莱 您说的不对。如果一位仆人在他主人的颐指气使下变成秃顶了，是因为诚实是一回事，看重诚实又是另一回事。

罗伯特爵士 这话是怎么说的，老亨弗莱，你还诚实，哼！教区牧师的话是恭维我们呢，别忘了你的身份，明确告诉你我不喜欢你的言不由衷。

亨弗莱 哦，您其实喜欢的。

罗伯特爵士 告诉你吧，我不喜欢。我只是乐意听别人争论。我讨厌他们的甜言蜜语。

亨弗莱 您指的甜言蜜语是？

罗伯特爵士 奉承啊，榆木脑袋！总给微不足道的穷人吃的饭，是不能端给富人的。

亨弗莱 我可从没有把不好吃的饭端给您啊。

罗伯特爵士 不，你端给我的可是完全不同的饭菜。

亨弗莱 哼！那是什么？

罗伯特爵士 泡菜啊，你这个老东西。

亨弗莱 多年来我一直在辩论中让着您的。

罗伯特爵士 我从未教过你三段论。你记住，当穷人赞同富人说的话时，我怀疑他的用意是向他献媚；现在，我是富人，因此我讨厌奉承。所以当一个穷人同意我的看法时，我就讨厌他。

亨弗莱 您错了。

罗伯特爵士 非常好，现在你就给我证明相反的命题。

亨弗莱 就以这个三段论来说，我是个穷人。

罗伯特爵士 你不是，你这个坏蛋。当我只有一个先令时，你绝对不会要的。

亨弗莱 上帝保佑您！

罗伯特爵士 啐！继续说下去。

亨弗莱 嗯，我是个穷光蛋——现在我必须做个穷人，或者说我绝对不会继续说下去的。

罗伯特爵士 我说的是继续做个穷人。

亨弗莱 我是个穷人，我与您争论，企图让您相信自己错了；然后您就会管自己叫榆木脑袋了，我赞同您的看法 现在，这不是奉承。

罗伯特爵士 为什么，不。可是当有人与我看法相同时，他就会停止争论，也就是说没有必要再谈下去了，因此我讨厌他附和我。我侄子弗雷德里克在哪儿？

亨弗莱 已经出去两个钟头了。

罗伯特爵士 一个不孝的年轻人！他昨天刚从俄国回来，我明明告诉过他要等我起床后再出去的。他像卡尔马克•鞑靼人一样总喜欢到野外撒欢儿。

亨弗莱 他是个很棒的小伙子。

罗伯特爵士 他是我们家族的另类。你不觉得他有点像我吗，亨弗莱？

亨弗莱 不，一点也不像。您是我见过得最丑恶的老头儿。

罗伯特爵士 现在流行粗鲁无礼，不过你的话里倒是没有阿谀奉承，保持了争论的独立性。他父亲，也就是我哥哥约伯，性情太温顺——亨弗莱，你还记得我哥哥约伯吗？

亨弗莱 当然记得，二十五年前您就把他赶到俄国去了。

罗伯特爵士 我没有赶他。

亨弗莱 是的，您赶了。你从来不会让他在辩论中保持平静的。

罗伯特爵士 保持平静！该死的，他从来不会主动挑起争端。

亨弗莱 他的优点就是平和。

罗伯特爵士 所以，才要有个鸭塘嘛。他是有点好静，就像稀粥一样，一只温驯的兔子，没有加调味品或盐煮到稀烂的程度。他嘴巴张得老大接受我的论点，就像渴望得到半便士的穷棒子。不论好坏，他都会不加抗拒地一股脑吞下。我们意见不合，于是就分道扬镳了。

亨弗莱 这位贫穷但性情温顺的绅士去了俄国，默默无闻地了此一生。

罗伯特爵士 好一个默默无闻！他一到那儿就结婚了，将自己与一位俄国商人刁泼的遗孀绑在了一起，与她一起做毛皮、亚麻，草碱、油脂、亚麻布和皮革投机生意；结果呢？十三个月前，他破产了。

亨弗莱 可怜的人，他妻子会接手他的生意的。

罗伯特爵士 我原想她会的，可是他刚一破产，她就死了。现在，这个狂妄的弗雷德里克来找我寻求庇荫。可怜的约伯，现在他处境窘迫。我不会慢待他儿子的。

亨弗莱 他儿子来了，这就是弗雷德里克。

弗雷德里克上场

弗雷德里克 我亲爱的叔叔，早上好！你家的花园可真美啊。

罗伯特爵士 谁让你到我的花园撒欢去了？我不是告诉过你等我起床后再出门吗？

弗雷德里克 你是告诉过我，可是我忘得干干净净了。

罗伯特爵士 求求你告诉我，是什么原因导致你这么好忘事的？

弗雷德里克 是太阳。

罗伯特爵士 太阳！他简直疯了。我倒是认为，你的意思是月亮吧。

弗雷德里克 哦，我亲爱的叔叔，你不晓得对一个刚从俄国来的人来说，阳光明媚的春日清晨太难以抗拒了。春日撩人，花草吐蕾，鸟儿嘤嘤歌唱，花园里的一切太吸引我了，我翻身跳下了你家老式阳台，惹得那头鹿像一阵风似的跑开了。叔叔，你在床上正打鼾时，为了一顿美味可口的早餐，我在花园追着它们呢。

罗伯特爵士 天啊，天啊！英国的阳光竟然对俄国人产生这么大的吸引力，他竟然从阳台跳出去，吓坏了我的鹿。

弗雷德里克 我承认对我影响很大。

罗伯特爵士 除非你认为阳光可能会给你留下丰厚的遗产，你最好能多受你这位富有的老叔叔的影响。

弗雷德里克 我讨厌遗产。

罗伯特爵士 先生，你这话可太不一般了。至少，这些遗产是相当可靠的财富象征啊。

弗雷德里克 非常令人伤感的象征，叔叔。遗产是死后表达的一种爱，正式告知我们失去了一位珍贵的朋友。

罗伯特爵士 这条狗叫得多欢啊。

弗雷德里克 今天早晨我心情非常舒畅，以后我会更顺从你的，因为他们告诉我说你是一位非常值得尊敬的老派绅士。

罗伯特爵士 谁这么放肆竟然告诉你这些？

弗雷德里克 都是一些陈年旧事。

罗伯特爵士 为什么，亨弗莱，不会是你吧？

亨弗莱 不是，尽管我只说了两句。

弗雷德里克 是的，他说了，就因为这个我才急于向你表示顺从，就像企图分享一个好人的善念乃值得称赞之举一样，对一位富人的钱财动心思是可鄙的行为。叔叔，高贵的秉性在于敞开心扉，卑微的心灵之所以大献殷勤，意在别人的口袋。

罗伯特爵士 （摇着弗雷德里克的手）我家的窗户你随便挑，我花园里的鹿你随便追！当然，你说的对。这是勇敢质朴的表白。来找我的人总是将他的异议与我的信条相抵触。

弗雷德里克 我不赞同你的说法，叔叔。

亨弗莱 我也是。

弗雷德里克 你！你这个浅薄的家伙，要不是你年纪很大了的话，我会把你臭扁一顿的。

罗伯特爵士 如果你敢放肆，说不定谁扁谁呢。我可没有这么愚蠢地奉承的仆人。

亨弗莱 算了，您被惹怒了。一大早我们该做什么做什么吧。

罗伯特爵士 我讨厌早晨做的事情。你没瞧见我们在争论啊。我告诉你，我讨厌早晨做的事情。

亨弗莱 不，您言不由衷。

罗伯特爵士 我言不由衷？为什么这么说？

亨弗莱 因为这是慈善。

罗伯特爵士 啐！格里普我们不能忽视这种事情，如果教区里有人生活困苦的话。念一下这份名单，亨弗莱。

亨弗莱 （抽出一张纸，念了起来）“大粪浇草地的乔纳森•哈金斯，因为欠债而被投入监狱。”

罗伯特爵士 为什么，就在上个星期，牢骚满腹的律师依法归还了他的两间农舍，值六十镑呢。

亨弗莱 是的。由于他造成的麻烦，判罚款一百镑，他的农舍也被没收了，将乔纳森投入监狱来抵消剩余的罚款。

罗伯特爵士 真活见鬼了！我一定会拯救这可怜人的。

弗雷德里克 我一定踢那位律师的屁股。

亨弗莱 （读）“那位助理牧师的马死了。”

罗伯特爵士 呸！这有什么大惊小怪的。

亨弗莱 对一位一年六十镑收入，每个礼拜天要走二十英里做三场布道的人来说，这可不是小事。

罗伯特爵士 教区牧师为什么不抱怨他了呢？

亨弗莱 要是再找一位助理牧师的话，花的钱更多。

罗伯特爵士 嗯，那就把我上个星期二买的黑色垫子给他吧，告诉他随便用。名单上还有别的吗？

亨弗莱 有点不对劲。有一个叫沃辛顿的上尉，是一位有残疾的军官和鳏夫，来村里住在法莫•哈罗比家里，看情形他很穷，但他穷得骄傲，而且非常诚实。

罗伯特爵士 于是他来向我求助？

亨弗莱 他来先听听你的意见！不，他到死都不会向您或别人要一先令的！那儿有他的女儿和他妻子的姨妈，还有一位在打仗时服侍过他的老人，他要拿出一半抚恤金来供养他们。

罗伯特爵士 恐怕他们都得饿死，亨弗莱。

弗雷德里克 （进来）早晨好，叔叔。

罗伯特爵士 你这个调皮鬼，又要去哪儿啊？

弗雷德里克 去找沃辛顿上尉聊聊。

罗伯特爵士 去跟他聊什么？

弗雷德里克 我也说不上，见到他想起什么聊什么呗。叔叔，我认识的这位绅士，在为他的国家服役时受伤致残，一直勉力供养自己那失去母亲的孩子，一个穷亲戚，还有一位忠实的仆人，他虽然贫困，但安贫乐道，我对他始终怀有一种想表达钦佩的冲动。

罗伯特爵士 住嘴，你这个浑小子；这件事情轮不到你来做。

弗雷德里克 这要看谁最先见到他了。我们公平竞争，现在就开始。（说着，跑了出去）

罗伯特爵士 停下，停下，为什么，弗雷德里克——你这个小猴子——一眨眼就没影了！我会因为他太自信而剥夺他的继承权。

亨弗莱 不，你不会的。

罗伯特爵士 我怎么不会？如果我想的话就会——可我们争论的焦点是，谁先见到沃辛顿上尉。现在就动身，亨弗莱。