Firmament - Thế Hữu Văn Đàn

Transcription

Firmament
Volume 8, No. 2, July 2015
The
Firmament
Literary Journal
Th‰ H»u Væn ñàn
July 2015
1
Firmament
2
Contents
To The Reader
Bính Hữu Phạm. Fifteen Years in Search of the Meaning of The West in Lord Byron's Don Juan
Sóng Việt Đàm Giang. Họa Sĩ Édouard Manet (1832-1883)
Phạm Trọng Lệ. What Is This Life, if Full of Care/Đời Còn Nghĩa Gì Nếu Đầy Lo Âu: Thơ
William Henry Davies
Đàm Trung Pháp. Con Mèo Trong Mưa: Nguyên Tác Của Ernest Hemingway
Ernest Hemingway. Cat in the Rain
Phạm Doanh. Đại Cương Về Các Thể Thơ Thường Gặp (bài 3)/Thơ Lục Bát
Phạm Doanh. Đại Cương Về Các Thể Thơ Thường Gặp (bài 4)/Song Thất Lục Bát
David Lý Lãng Nhân. Chuyện Phiểm Ngày Xưa
TMCS. Poetry in Translation.
TMCS. Độc Trường Can Hành
TMCS. Trường Can Hành (in Chinese)
TMCS. (tr.). Cảm Xúc Khi Đọc Trường Can Hành
TMCS. (tr.). Inspiration from Trường Can Hành Love Story
Quế Hằng. Đợi Nắng
TMCS. (tr.). Attendre le soleil
TMCS. (tr.). Đãi Thử
TMCS. (tr.). Đãi Thử (in Chinese)
TMCS. (tr.). Đợi Nắng
TMCS. (tr.). Waiting for the Sun
TMCS. Đợi Nắng
TMCS. Đêm Đông-Thơ Và Trà
TMCS. (tr.). Winter Night-Poetry and Tea
TMCS. Đông Tiêu-Thi Dữ Trà
TMCS. (tr.). Đông Tiêu-Thi Dữ Trà (in Chinese)
Thanh Trà Tiên Tử. Chén Trà Đêm Thu (Nhất Thiết Duy Tâm Tạo)
Thanh Trà Tiên Tử. Chuyện Tình Tô Châu
David Lý Lãng Nhân. Nắng Mai Hồng (Lyrics)
David Lý Lãng Nhân. Nắng Mai Hồng (Sheet Music)
Poetry Corner
Hoàng Tâm. Waves of Joy by the Seashore
David Lý Lãng Nhân. Nói Dóc
Dã Thảo. Chia Tay
Dã Thảo. Trách Nhẹ
David Lý Lãng Nhân. Chữ “Hiền”
Haiku Poetry
Kim Châu. Cầu Treo
Kim Châu. Lều Tranh
Kim Châu. Liễu Rủ
Kim Châu. Tia Chớp
Kim Châu. Lữ Hành
Kim Châu. Trăng Khuyết
Kim Châu. Đèn Dầu
Kim Châu. Đom Đóm
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Firmament
Ernest Hemingway. A Clean, Well-Lighted Place
Thomas D. Le. Analysis of “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place”
Thomas D. Le. Night Cafés in Paintings by Edward Hopper and Van Gogh
Voltaire. Candide, Chapitres I-X
Voltaire. Candide, Chapters I-X
Æsop. Fables :
The Sick Lion
The Horse and the Groom
The Ass and the Lapdog
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Firmament
Art Nouveau-The Roaring Twenties
http://blog.paperblanks.com/2011/05/art-nouveau-defined
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Firmament
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To The Reader
Dear Friend and Reader,
Art Nouveau, the Roaring Twenties, les années folles. Ah! The bygone days. None of us were
there; but somehow I feel nostalgic just from reading history and seeing the pictures and videos, but
above all from reading Ernest Hemingway, who was part of the “Lost Generation” depicted in Woody
Allen's 2011 film Midnight in Paris. Ðàm Trung Pháp in his polished style brings you one of
Hemingway's short stories in a concise, insightful essay while Thomas Le goes a bit further in another.
Have you come up with an answer to Bính Hữu Phạm's question on a phrase in Byron's Don
Juan which he posed in the April 2015 issue? Well, here it is. I can't second-guess your response or
reaction, but remember that your ideas count.
As always Phạm Trọng Lệ never fails to delight you with his translations of poetry. Read what
he has to say about this tramp, this poet whose voice is so human, so close to the common man you
have to say, “I've got it!”
Walk home late from work in moonlight, meet the Moon Fairy, and join Thanh Trà Tiên Tử to
where she and her companion in beauty lead you. Close your eyes and fly away with her. Shh! Quiet,
and let the magic flow through you in this her twenty-first-century fairy tale.
If travel is in her lust, art is in her blood. This summer Sóng Việt Đàm Giang enchants you with
a creditable account of this artist who straddled Realism and Impressionism and who created paintings
that the academic Salon de Paris rejected. Result: His paintings were displayed at the Salon des
Refusés, mandated by Emperor Napoleon III, and the grip of classical art was broken forever.
Dã-Thảo, Kim Châu, TMCS, Hoàng-Tâm, Thanh Trà Tiên Tử, and David Lý Lãng Nhân prove
that poetry not only never wanes but is part of the culture of the cultivated public. Sit back with your
tea or coffee, and let their poetry fill your soul along with the aroma of your beverage of joy.
David Lý Lãng Nhân always has the knack of unearthing Southern lore about anything under
the sun. This episode is one you probably never heard of. Did you know he is a songwriter? Here is
another of his songs to rouse you from your summer torpor. Get up and do a few pirouettes.
Twenty-three editions of this work appeared during his lifetime in spite of censure. Candide ou
l'optimisme by Dr. Ralph was presumably translated from German into French. Dr. Ralph was one of
the many pseudonyms of the philosophe François-Marie Arouet, better known as Voltaire. A sarcastic
critique of society and his stormy relationship with the German Emperor Frederick II, Candide is a
major conte philosophique, which ridicules Leibnizian optimism. Voltaire is deadly serious when he
laughs.
If you are like him, you will find the night café an intriguing venue where life is played out 24
hours a day, but more intensely at night when the mystique of the place and the magic of night unleash
their charm offensive on you, the innocent part of humanity that still has humanity left inside your soul.
Step with Thomas Le, the dreamer, when he is not busy existing, into two of these places, then come
back out alive, charmed and changed. What else is there in life to long for?
Thomas D. Le
July 2015
To join Thế Hữu Vǎn Ðàn, please link to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thehuuvandan/join
Thế Hữu Vǎn Ðàn/Firmament web site: http://thehuuvandan.org/firmament.html.
Send comments and submissions to: [email protected]
Firmament
6
Fifteen Years In Search of The Meaning of “The West” in Lord Byron's Don Juan
(continued)
By Bính H»u Phåm
PART TWO:
THE ANSWER
I cannot tell exactly how long it took me to find the meaning of the couplet
"In the great world - which being interpreted"
"Meaneth the West or worst end of a city"
(Canto XI, Stanza 45)
as I was not paying attention to the day, date, and time when I became aware that I had found the
answer. But as I looked back, it must have been close to fifteen years.
My brain had worked quietly all that time on the problem without my being conscious of it.
When my brain figured out the solution, it alerted my consciousness and I "found it". If you asked me
how I had come upon it, I would not be able to answer.
Anyway, what I found is simple enough:
Byron wrote; "In the great world - which being interpreted meaneth the West.."
Then he decided to play with the word West by making a word out of each of its letter:
W
:
Worst
E
:
End
ST
:
CITY
Here it should be noted that the letter C in City is a soft C; it sounds like an /S/ and not like
a /K/ as in /Cake/
So if you pronounce ST slowly, it becomes audibly /SSSSSSSSTI/ or CITY
Therefore,
The WEST or Worst End of a /SSSSTI/ CiTi. (ST)
I am one hundred percent sure that that is the case. I strongly believe so. My belief is further supported
by the following:
Byron writes WORST END and not THE WORST END
Byron writes A city (any city) and not THE city (London).
Again, I invite you, esteemed readers, to ponder about my discovery; and compare it to others
you have come across about these two verses. You are also invited to discuss it with people in your
circle, particularly those who are Lord Byron's readers. I am sure The Firmament will welcome your
reactions to this article. ■
Bính H»
H»u Phå
Phåm
Firmament
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H†a sï Édouard Manet (1832-1883)
Sóng ViŒt ñàm Giang biên soån
Tự vẽ chân dung Édouard Manet
Trong một bài viết trước đây, người viết có thu thập tài liệu trên lưới viết tóm lược về một số nghệ sĩ
sống tại Montmartre và đề cập đến một vài tác phẩm tiêu biểu cho cá nhân của từng nghệ sĩ này. Trong
bài viết ngắn này, một chút chi tiết về một số tác phẩm của Édouard Manet được mang lên.
ÉDOUARD MANET (1832-1883), một trong những họa sĩ đầu tiên vẽ các tác phẩm liên quan
tới các chủ đề về cuộc sống hiện đại, ông được coi là một trong những họa sĩ then chốt trong sự
chuyển giao từ Trường phái hiện thực sang Trường phái ấn tượng. Những tác phẩm đầu của ông như
“Le déjeuner sur l’herbe”, “và “Olympia” đã tạo nên một cuộc tranh cãi lớn, và được coi là những
nền tảng cho sự ra đời của trường phái ấn tượng sau này và dấu ấn của nghệ thuật hiện đại. Ông
thường lui tới Montmartre. Những tác phẩm khỏa thân của ông, đặc biệt là tác phẩm Olympia đã gây
phẫn nộ trong công chúng của thế giới nghệ thuật đương thời. Tuy nhiên tác phẩm này có một ảnh
hưởng lớn lên các nghệ sĩ thời đó.
Nói đến Édouard Manet và nơi lưu trữ nhiều bức họa nhất của ông thì phải là Bảo tàng Orsay.
Và hầu hết tranh của Manet trong Bảo tàng Orsay không được mang đi trưng bày qua chương trình trao
đổi nghệ thuật ở nơi nào hết trừ một ngoại lệ sẽ nói đến sau.
Firmament
Bảo tàng Orsay
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Luncheon on grass (1863) Édouard Manet. Photo SVDG
1-Bức họa tranh sơn dầu lớn (208cm x 265.5 cm) Bữa trưa trên cỏ (Le déjeuner sur l’herbe) đã được
Manet vẽ vào khoảng năm 1862-1863, và được ông đặt tên là Bathe (Tắm). Ông muốn bức họa được
trưng tại hội chợ của Học viện Mỹ Thuật Pháp nhưng bị từ chối và bị châm biếm chỉ trích cùng được
gọi diễu là Bữa trưa trên cỏ. Manet đã không màng đến những công kích hay phẫn nộ về tác phẩm này
và đã mang bức họa này cùng hai bức khác nữa cho trưng trong Phòng triển lãm Tranh bị loại (Salon
des Refusés), cùng dùng tên gọi đó để đặt tên cho tác phẩm của mình. Và từ đó tác phẩm hội hoạ mang
tên Bữa trưa trên cỏ đã là đầu đề cho rất nhiều bàn luận trên phương diện nghệ thuật và đạo đức.
Manet cho chúng ta biết những nhân vật người mẫu trong bức hoạ : người đàn ông ngồi chính
giữa bức tranh là Eugene (anh trai của Manet), người đàn ông đội mũ là Ferdinand Leenhoff (anh vợ
tương lai của ông) , và người đàn bà khỏa thân , nhân vật chính gây chú ý đến tất cả người xem tranh,
là một sự kết hợp giữa khuôn mặt của Victorine Meurent ( một người mẫu và cũng là một họa sĩ sau đó
vào những năm 1870s) và thân hình của Suzanne Leenhoff, người vợ tương lai của Manet. Victorine
Meurent là người mẫu lý tưởng của Manet từ trong khoảng thời gian 1862-1873, và là khuôn mặt trong
nhiều bức họa nổi tiếng khác như The Street Singer, Olympia, The Fifer, chân dung Victorine Meurent,
v.v…
Cái ánh mắt nhìn thẳng vào người xem tranh của người mẫu khỏa thân Victorine rất bình thản,
coi như chuyện không mặc quần áo là chuyện bình thường, và ngồi bàn luận với hai người đàn ông
mặc đầy đủ quần áo chẳng có chi lạ. Và kể cả người đàn bà phía sau mặc y phục bình thường cũng bình
thường như một bữa trưa bình yên trong công viên! Phải chăng cái thông điệp mang về nhà (take home
message) qua bức họa này của Manet là khỏa thân không phải chỉ dành riêng cho nữ thần trong huyền
thoại, khỏa thân chỉ là hình ảnh đàn bà đẹp, không nhục cảm, không trơ trẽn, xấu hổ? Manet có muốn
mang lại chút bình đẳng cho phụ nữ qua bức tranh không? Đàn bà cũng có thể có kiến thức và có thể
bàn luận đủ chuyện nếu không có cái nhìn soi mói xuyên qua quần áo để chỉ thấy một người đàn bà
khỏa thân trong ý nghĩ? Nếu hình dung cho người đàn bà này mặc quần áo thì bức tranh trở nên bình
thường, không có chi thắc mắc?
Cần cũng lưu ý là Manet thường vào thăm viếng xem tranh tại Bảo tàng Louvre và đã cho biết
ông vẽ bức họa Le déjeuner sur l’herbe này vào năm 1863 sau khi xem bức họa The Pastoral Concert
(c.1509), của Titian (hay Giorgione) vẽ thời kỳ Phục hưng, và treo trong Bảo tàng Louvre ở Paris.
Firmament
9
The Pastoral Concert. Titian.
Trong Pastoral Concert (Fête champêtre hay Le Concert champêtre) là hai người đàn ông mặc
đầy đủ quần áo đang bàn luận/chơi nhạc, ngồi bên cạnh là một người đàn bà khỏa thân tay cầm ống
sáo, và bên trái bức họa là một người đàn bà khỏa thân khác đang rót nước vào một bồn sứ hình chữ
nhật, trong hậu cảnh bao la bát ngát là nhà, cây cối và người chăn cừu. Đặt mình vào tư tưởng thời đó,
có lẽ chủ đề ở đây là biểu tượng của âm nhạc và văn thơ: hai người đàn bà chỉ là một tưởng tượng
phóng túng biểu tượng cái đẹp lý tưởng trong ý nghĩ của hai người đàn ông với môi trường đầy đủ yếu
tố nước, không khí, đất, và cây cối.
Chúng ta cũng biết Manet không thích trường phái hội họa Phục sinh cổ xưa với sự cứng nhắc
trong khuôn khổ đã được đặt ra. Bằng cách vẽ bức họa theo ý nghĩ cấp tiến của ông, ông đã tạo một
luồng sóng mới mẻ tuy không kém phần sóng gió, và thời gian là thực chứng không chối cãi được.
Olympia (1863) Manet. Orsay Museum.
2- Trong tác phẩm Olympia, một người đàn bà nằm trong tư thế của thần Vệ nữ bắt chước theo tác
phẩm Venus of Urbino của Titian. Cũng như bức vẽ Bữa ăn trên cỏ sáng tạo trước đó một thời gian,
Manet đã vẽ tấm họa Olympia với người mẫu Victorine Meurent. Trong tấm này nàng đang thản nhiên
nhìn đăm đăm hướng về người đang nhìn tác phẩm.
Bức Olympia đã được Manet vẽ năm 1863 dựa theo bức họa thời Phục sinh Venus of Urbino của
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danh họa người Ý Titian. Titian cũng không phải là người sáng tạo ra thế nằm của người mẫu mà vẽ
theo bức họa của một danh họa khác là bức Sleeping Venus của Giorgione. Nhưng trong khi Giorgione
vẽ người đàn bà khỏa thân nằm ngủ (nhắm mắt) giữa cảnh trời đất thiên nhiên bao la bát ngát của đồi
núi, một sự hài hòa giữa thiên nhiên, sắc đẹp của một nữ thần; thì Titian đã vẽ /mang người đàn bà này
vào trong khuê phòng. Thần Vệ nữ này không ngủ mang cái đẹp nhẹ nhàng nhưng nằm rất thoải mái,
đưa mắt như có chút tò mò nhìn thẳng vào người xem tranh. Nàng nằm đó trên tấm trải giường trắng,
gối trắng tương phản với một nửa hậu cảnh mầu đậm, và hình ảnh một người hầu và một hình dáng
phía lưng một người nữ khác đang lục lọi tìm tòi vật chi đó trong ngăn kéo (một cô gái trẻ hay một
người hầu khác?). Tấm lưng mềm, chân dài, bàn chân hơi nhỏ, và gần chân nàng là một chú chó nhỏ
đang nằm cuộn tròn ngủ. Hình ảnh ấm cúng, giống như một cảnh gia đình có bà mẹ nằm tóc xõa mang
cái nhìn mông lung, có chú chó trung thành với chủ, có cô bé gái và người hầu đằng sau.
Venus of Urbino (1538). Titian
Sleeping Venus (c.1510). Giorgione
Tranh họa Thần vệ nữ năm nghiêng đã gợi hứng cho rất nhiều họa sĩ vẽ lại. Trong nghệ thuật
Tây Âu trong thời gian 1520-1900 được biết nhiều nhất có lẽ là bức vẽ chưa hoàn tất Sleeping Venus
của Giorgione (1510) sau đó đã được Titian hoàn tất; bức Venus of Urbino của Titian (1538); The nude
Maja của Francisco Goya (1792); và Olympia của Manet (1863).
Bức Olympia lần đầu tiên đuợc trưng bày tại phòng triển lãm tranh Paris năm 1863, nhưng bị
công kích dữ dội nên sau đó đã được đem cất dấu.
Firmament
11
Olympia và Venus of Urbino
Cũng như bức Bữa ăn trưa trên cỏ, màu sắc và kỹ thuật vẽ của Manet đã hoàn toàn khác hẳn (có chủ ý)
so với những bức họa thời phục hưng. Về nội dung, chúng ta có thể so sánh bức họa Venus of Urbino
của Titian với Olympia của Manet với những điểm chính như sau.
1. Thời Titian (1500s) đàn bà khỏa thân dành cho sắc đẹp lý tưởng của các Nữ thần. Vẽ Nữ thần
khỏa thân là lối duy nhất cho các họa sỉ muốn vẽ bộ ngực hay thân hình đàn bà. Manet trái lại đã vẽ
người đàn bà khỏa thân với ám chỉ họ có nghề nghiệp là nghề bán tình dục, cái tên Olympia đã cho
chúng ta biết như thế, cái thế nằm, cái nhìn vô hồn trơ trẽn không ngượng ngùng mắc cở cho chúng ta
biết như thế, những trang sức trên thân Olympia như hoa lan cài trên tóc, tóc không bới, một băng lục
đen quấn quanh cổ, tay đeo vòng, cho chúng ta biết như thế. Sự bằng phẳng không có chiều sâu của
Manet so với những bức họa thời Phục sinh đã làm nhân vật trong hình gần với người thường hơn là
hình ảnh nhân vật thần thoại như nữ thần.
2. Trong khi Venus có chú chó nhỏ nằm cuộn tròn ngủ dưới chân, một tượng trưng cho trung
thành, thì Olympia có một chú mèo đen ở gần (đuợc hiểu ngầm thời đó có liên hệ đến gái bán tình dục)
rất tỉnh táo, mắt sáng, đuôi dựng đứng.
3. Người hầu của Venus đứng xa đang nhìn cô bé lục lọc ngăn kéo tủ cho thấy Venus là một
người đàn bà có địa vị cao, giàu có, trong khi đó kẻ hầu của Olympia, một người đàn bà da mầu đứng
ngay bên cạnh Olympia, cầm một bó hoa có lẽ là quà của một khách hàng nào đó.
4. Ánh sáng trong bức họa cho thấy Venus có lẽ còn nằm trên giường vào buổi sáng khi mặt trời
đang lên. Trái lại Olympia đang ở trong phòng kín giờ giấc không thể xác định.
5. Bức Venus of Urbino được vẽ theo đơn đặt hàng của Quận công Urbino, Guidobaldo II della
Rovere, có lẽ để mừng đám cưới vào năm 1534 của ông với Giulia Vanarno, một cô gái rất trẻ. Người
mẫu Angela del Moro là một cô điếm hạng sang ở Venice và thường đi ăn cùng Titian. Bức họa dù rất
gợi cảm nhưng chủ ý cho nhân vật là một người đàn bà giàu sang, có địa vị. Trái lại, bức Olympia
Manet vẽ vì muốn vẽ mà không bị một ràng buộc nào về tài chính. Gia đình ông quyền thế giàu có nên
ông không phải vẽ để mưu sinh. Người mẫu Victorine Meurent trong Olympia được biết là một người
thiếu nữ quen biết trong môi trường hội họa, và sau này trở nên một họa sĩ. Và người đàn bà khỏa thân
trong bức họa ám chỉ đây là một người trong giới bán tình dục. (Tóm lại, có thể nói trong cả hai bức
họa Bữa trưa trên cỏ và Olympia, Manet đã vẽ người đàn bà khỏa thân có một nghề nghiệp không đẹp
trong xã hội thời đó.)
So sánh như trên, vậy thì Manet đã vẽ hai bức họa này coi như một đột phá đi ngược lại với
trường phái hội họa cổ điển, hay Manet đã vẽ nhại theo hai bức họa của Titian vì lòng yêu chuộng nghệ
thuật nói chung và ngưỡng mộ cùng quý trọng Titian nói riêng? Mặc dù phản ứng không mấy thiện
cảm cho tranh Manet lên rất cao trong thời đó nhưng Manet đã có sự ủng hộ của nhà văn Emile Zola,
cùng một số họa sĩ như Gustave Courbet, Paul Cézanne, Claude Monet và sau đó là Paul Gauguin.
“Gặp” nhau một lần!
Hai bức hoạ Venus of Urbino và Olympia sau gần 150 năm cách biệt: một ở Venice Ý, và một ở Bảo
tàng Orsay đã có dịp được triển lãm một lần duy nhất tại Dinh Doge ở Venice, Ý từ April 24 đến
August 11, 2012.
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Hình từ www.fmvmag.com
Lần đầu tiên bức Olympia (1863) của Manet đã rời Pháp kể từ ngày chính thức trưng bày vào
năm 1890 đề được đứng cạnh bức họa Venus of Urbino của Titian trong cuộc triển lãm tranh độc nhất
Manet: trở về Venice này. Bức Olympia đã được họa sĩ Claude Monet mua lại sau khi Manet qua đời và
Monet đã tặng cho quốc gia Pháp vào năm 1890. Sau đó bức Olympia được chuyển từ Bảo tàng
Luxembourg (1890-1907), rồi sang Bảo tàng Louvre (1907-1986) và từ năm 1986 đến hiện tại ở Bảo
tàng Orsay, Paris. Còn bức Venus of Urbino nằm trong bộ sưu tập thường trực của Galleria degli Uffizi
tại Florence và luật pháp Ý không cho phép bức họa rời ra khỏi nước Ý.
Một số bức họa khác nổi tiếng của Manet trưng bày trong Musée d’Orsay là The Fifer (1866),
bức chân dung Emile Zola (1868), The Balcony (1868), On the Beach (1873), Woman in a Tub (1879),
The Escape of Rochefort (1881).
Chân dung Emile-Zola
The Fifer
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Bức họa A Bar at the Folies-Bergère.
Một bức họa khác của Manet mang tên A Bar at the Folies-Bergère trưng bày trong nhà nghệ thuật
Courtauld Gallery tại London đã được bàn luận rất nhiều. Manet vẽ và trưng bày tấm này tại Paris
Salon vào năm 1882. Đây đuợc xem như là tác phẩm chính cuối cùng của Manet.
A Bar at the Folies-Bergère
Bản vẽ nháp bằng dầu tại Folies-Bergère
Tác phẩm A Bar at the Folies-Bergère được vẽ vào năm 1882, và trưng tại Salon Paris cùng
năm. Bức tranh miêu tả sinh hoạt một buổi chiều tại Folies-Bergère, một rạp hát lớn chứa được cả năm
bẩy trăm người (?). Bức này thuộc sở hữu của nhà soạn nhạc Emmanuel Chabrier, một người bạn thân
của Manet cho đến khi Chabrier qua đời năm 1896.
Nhà hát Folies-Bergère (cabaret music hall) là nhà hát lớn đầu tiên của Paris khánh thành vào
năm 1869. Nơi này thời Manet nổi tiếng không đẹp là nơi cho đàn ông chọn mua dâm với gái gọi, tác
giả Maupassant có viết những cô bán rượu là những kẻ bán rượu và bán tình. Manet đã vẽ sơ bức họa
tại rạp Folies-Bergère nhưng đã hoàn tất trong phòng vẽ riêng của ông với nhiều thay đổi nhất là vị trí
trong gương của người đàn bà. Bức tranh là một điển hình cho thấy sự hướng về hiện thực tối đa của
Manet trong một cảnh cận đại của cuối thế kỷ thứ 19.
Bức họa cung cấp cho người nhìn rất nhiều chi tiết liên quan đến giai cấp và môi trường.Nhìn
vào bức họa ta thấy một người đàn bà trẻ ánh mắt không nhìn thẳng vào người xem tranh mà như mơ
hồ nhìn đâu đâu với khuôn mặt mang vẻ mệt mỏi buồn bã. Người đàn bà làm mẫu trong bức họa tên là
Suzon, làm việc tại Folies-Bergère trong những năm 1880s. Trước mặt cô ta, Manet vẽ một đĩa cam,
điều này theo nhà phân tích lịch sử nghệ thuật Larry L. Ligo hay T.J. Clark thì Manet vẽ trái cam để ám
chỉ gái điếm trong tranh vẽ của ông. Ở đây cô gái bán rượu vừa bán hàng và cũng có thể mua đuợc với
rượu. Những chai bia trên quầy có nhãn hiệu hình tam giác đỏ mang tên Bass Pale Ale, một thương
hiệu của Anh thay vì bia Đức có lẽ mang thông điệp bài Đức ở Pháp sau trận chiến Franco-Prussia.
Ở góc trái của bức họa có đôi chân đong đưa của một nghệ sĩ nhào lộn. Trong số khán giả ngồi
tại Folies-Bergère , sử gia nghệ thuật cũng đã nhận ra hai người bạn của Manet (người đàn ông mang
râu và người đàn bà áo trắng bên trái tấm họa.
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Nay nói về vị trí của những nhân vật trong bức họa. Nhìn vào bức họa ta thấy một người đàn bà
trẻ dường như đứng trước một tấm gương lớn, vì ta thấy cái lưng trong phản chiếu, nhưng sự phản
chiếu này lại hoàn toàn không phản ảnh đúng góc độ bình thường mà chúng ta nghĩ, và cái tấm lưng
này lại đang đối diện với một người đàn ông đứng trước cô ta.
Người xem dường như đứng đối diện ngay mặt với cô bán rượu ở bên ngoài quầy, nhìn những
gì phản chiếu qua một tấm gương vĩ đại. Nhưng nhìn kỹ lại ta có thể tự hỏi người xem tranh đứng ở vị
trí nào? Có phải là vị trí của người đàn ông bên góc trên bên phải của bức họa ở phía ngoài quầy và
trước tấm gương không? Đúng thế. Và người đàn ông trong bức họa là ai? Đó chính là họa sĩ Édouard
Manet. ■
Sóng ViŒ
ViŒt ñàm Giang
Firmament
Volume 8, No. 2, July2015
15
What is this life, if full of care/ñ©i còn nghïa gì n‰u ÇÀy lo âu
ThÖ William Henry Davies (1871-1940)
Phåm Tr†ng LŒ ch†n và dÎch
Vài Dòng Tiểu Sử William Henry Davies
Theo Merriam-Webster Encyclopedia of Literature (1995) thì thi sĩ người Anh W. H. Davies (Fig. 1)
sinh ngày 3 tháng 7 năm 1871 nhưng theo nhà phê bình Louis Untermeyer thì ông sinh ngày 20 tháng
4, 1870, ở xứ Wales bên Anh. Ông bỏ học sớm ở Anh, sống và làm trại, chăn bò, hái trái cây, và theo
bài tựa tập tự truyện của ông, ông còn làm nghề bán hàng rong, hát dạo và ăn xin. Sau ông sang Mỹ, ở
đó 6 năm, nhiều lần trốn vé đi lậu trên xe lửa chở bò, có lần bị xe lửa cán gẫy chân phải, bị cưa tới trên
đầu gối khi ông đang trên đường đi đến vùng Klondike tìm vàng ở Canada.
Sau nhiều năm sống nay đây mai đó ông in tập thơ đầu
tay The Soul’s Destroyer and Other Poems (Huỷ Hoại Tâm
Hồn và Những Bài Thơ Khác) ở London năm (1905). Tiếp
theo, năm 1907 ông viết cuốn The Autobiography of a SuperTramp (Tự Thuật Của Một Tay Lang Bạt Kỳ Hồ), một cuốn
nổi tiếng nhất đưọc George Bernard Shaw đề tựa. Thơ ông
giản dị, viết về chủ đề thiên nhiên và cảnh nghèo. Lời thơ tả
những cảnh bình thường, nhưng trong đó ông thấy một thế
giới hồn nhiên đáng yêu. Cuốn thơ Collected Poems do Osbert
Sitwell nhuận sắc in năm 1952. Trước đó ông có cuốn Nature
Poems and Others (Thơ Thiên Nhiên và Những Bài Thơ Khác)
và The Loneliest Mountain (Ngọn Núi Cô Ðơn Nhất) (1939).
George Bernard Shaw viết lời tựa khen thơ ông thật hồn nhiên
(genuine innocent). Ông chịu ảnh hưởng của William Blake,
nhà thơ Anh đầu thời kỳ lãng mạn, nhưng thơ ông không mơ
mộng và dùng nhiều điển cố trong Kinh Thánh như Blake.
Fig. 1. W. H. Davies*
Trong vòng hơn 30 năm, ông viết 6 cuốn tự truyện, 18 cuốn thơ gồm trên 600 bài thơ. Trong
một bài ông viết:
Sing out, my Soul, thy songs of joy
Such as a happy bird will sing
Beneath a rainbow’s lovely arch
In early spring.
[Hãy ca lên, Hồn ta, những bài ca hân hoan của ngươi
Như lời chim vui hót
Dưới vòm cầu vồng diễm lệ
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16
Buổi đầu Xuân.]
Bài thơ The Example:
Here’s an example from
A Butterfly;
That on a rough, hard rock
Happy can lie;
Friendless and all alone
On this unsweetened stone.
Now let my bed be hard,
No care take I;
I’ll make my joy like this
Small Butterfly,
Who happy heart has power
To make a stone a flower.
Gương mẫu
Ðây là một tấm gương
Của con Bướm
Trên tảng đá xù xì, khô cứng
Nó đậu hồn nhiên
Không có bạn, một mình cô đơn
Trên tảng đá khô cằn này.
Bây giờ giường ta nằm có cứng
Ta cũng chẳng cần
Ta sẽ tạo niềm vui
Như cánh bướm nhỏ này
Mà trái tim vui sướng của nó có sức mạnh
Biến tảng đá thành bông hoa.
Bài thơ sau đây « Leisure » khá nổi tiếng. Bài thơ có bẩy cặp câu, viết theo nhịp thơ iambic tetrameter
mỗi câu có bốn metrical feet, 8 âm tiết, âm đầu mạnh âm sau nhẹ, nhấn vào nhịp hai. Ðiểm ngạc nhiên
nằm trong hai câu cuối. Theo Davies, trong lời thơ, ông không quảng bá sự lười nhác, vì chính ông viết
tới sáu tập thơ. Ý ông chỉ muốn nói, cuộc đời thật đáng tiếc nếu ta không có thì giờ hưởng những cảnh
đẹp sẵn có trong thiên nhiên. Lời thơ giản dị (stand and stare), linh động (squirrels hide their nuts in
grass), (streams full of stars, like skies at night). Chữ Beauty viết hoa, nhân cách hoá như người đẹp
lung linh sống động (her mouth can enrich that smile her eyes began).
Ðây là những vẻ đẹp hồn nhiên của một thế giới đáng yêu.
Firmament
Leisure
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows.
No time to see when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylights.
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began,
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
W. H. Davies
Cảnh Nhàn
Ðời còn nghĩa gì nếu, tràn lo âu,
Không có thì giờ, ngắm cảnh muôn mầu.
Không có thì giờ dưới lùm cây râm mát,
Ngắm đàn cừu, bò trên đồng xa bát ngát.
Không có thì giờ xem khu rừng đi qua,
Nơi mấy chú sóc dấu hạt dẻ trong cỏ.
Không có thì giờ giữa ban ngày sáng tỏ,
Ngắm suối lấp lánh như trời đêm sao sa.
Không có thì giờ đón khóe mắt Nàng liếc,
Ngắm đôi gót son theo điệu nhẩy diễm tuyệt.
Không có thì giờ chờ môi xinh hé nở,
Thắm thêm nụ cười trên hàng mi rực rỡ.
Ðời vậy tầm thường nếu, lòng đầy muộn phiền,
Mà không thì giờ ngắm cảnh đẹp thiên nhiên.
17
Firmament
(Phạm Trọng Lệ phỏng dịch) ■
Phå
Phåm Tr†
Tr†ng LŒ
LŒ
Virginia, 5/15/2015
Photo Credits
Fig. 1. W. H. Davies. Retrieved from
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._H._Davies#/media/File:William_Henry_Davies.jpg
18
Firmament
19
Con Mèo Trong MÜa
Nguyên tác cûa Ernest Hemingway
ñàm Trung Pháp gi§i
gi i thiŒu
thi u và dÎch
d ch thuÆ
thuÆt
Giới thiệu Ernest Hemingway
Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) lãnh giải Nobel văn chương năm 1954 và được biết đến nhiều nhất qua
các tác phẩm The Sun Also Rises (1926), A Farewell to Arms (1929), For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940),
và The Old Man and the Sea (1952).
Văn phong độc đáo của Hemingway là giản dị tối đa (tránh những câu văn dài lòng thòng chứa đựng
nhiều mệnh đề phức tạp), trực tiếp (như nói thẳng với người đọc), không trang điểm (ít dùng tĩnh từ và
trạng từ để làm huê dạng câu văn). Lối viết ngắn gọn đi thẳng vào vấn đề của Hemingway có thể là do
ảnh hưởng của những năm ông hành nghề ký giả ngay sau khi tốt nghiệp trung học. Văn phong này
phát sinh từ lý thuyết băng sơn của ông, mà phần nổi ở trên mặt nước (đỉnh băng sơn) là nơi chứa
đựng những dòng chữ viết và phần chìm (đáy băng sơn) là nơi ẩn náu của các hàm ý nảy sinh từ các
biểu tượng trong phần nổi. Theo Hemingway thì người viết có thể lờ đi bất cứ điều gì khi họ biết là họ
cố tình không viết nó ra với chủ ý phần bỏ qua sẽ làm câu chuyện mạnh mẽ hơn và cho độc giả cảm
thấy đã lãnh hội thêm một điều gì đó có ý nghĩa sâu xa hơn những điều biểu hiện trong truyện.
Lý thuyết băng sơn đề cập trên đây chính là lý do tại sao truyện ngắn rất tiêu biểu Hemingway tựa đề
Cat in the rain thoạt thấy thì có vẻ nông cạn (lối viết bỏ lửng, cốt truyện đơn giản, dàn nhân vật sơ sài),
nhưng thực ra tuyệt tác này đầy ắp những hàm ý sâu xa khi ta đọc kỹ nó. Tác giả truyện ngắn này dùng
nhiều biểu tượng đắc địa, như được giải thích dưới đây.
Ngay tựa đề câu chuyện đã là một biểu tượng sắc nét: Ở đâu đi nữa thì một con mèo ướt nhoẹt nước
mưa nằm co ro một xó đều vẽ lên một hoàn cảnh “tội nghiệp quá” rồi. Trong đoạn mở đầu Hemingway
dùng thời tiết xấu với trời mưa không ngớt làm biểu tượng cho một mối liên hệ vợ chồng đang tan rã
khó lòng hàn gắn. Sự thiếu trưởng thành của người vợ được ám chỉ qua sự kiện nàng không có tên gọi
mà chỉ được nhắc đến là “người vợ Mỹ” và nàng hành động như một đứa con nít (muốn đích thân đi
bắt con mèo ướt nước mưa, muốn được ngồi ăn với thìa nĩa bằng bạc và bạch lạp). Con mèo đóng vai
biểu tượng kiệt xuất cho một đứa con mà người vợ ước ao được ôm ấp trong lòng. Cuối cùng, con mèo
ấy được cô làm công mang đến cho nàng như một món quà đặc biệt từ ông chủ khách sạn, người mà
nàng mới quen mà đã dành cho nhiều thiện cảm. Món quà ấy chuyên chở cái hàm ý quan trọng nhất
trong truyện để làm kết luận: Nếu bao giờ nàng ta có một trẻ thơ để ôm ấp trong lòng thì hạnh phúc ấy
chỉ có thể xảy ra với một người đàn ông khác.
Kính mời quý độc giả thưởng lãm truyện ngắn Con mèo trong mưa của văn hào Ernest Hemingway do
Đàm Trung Pháp chuyển sang tiếng Việt dưới đây.
Con mèo trong mưa
Chỉ có mỗi hai người Mỹ ở lại khách sạn. Họ chẳng quen một ai trong số những người họ gặp
trên cầu thang trên đường ra vô phòng họ. Phòng họ trên lầu hai, ngó ra biển. Cũng ngó ra công viên và
đài kỷ niệm chiến tranh. Có những cây cọ lớn và những ghế dài trong công viên. Khi thời tiết tốt bao
giờ cũng có một hoạ sĩ với chiếc giá vẽ. Các hoạ sĩ thích hình dáng những cây cọ và những màu sắc
Firmament
20
tươi sáng của những khách sạn hướng ra các công viên và biển cả. Nhiều người dân Ý từ phương xa
ghé đến để xem đài kỷ niệm chiến tranh được làm bằng đồng sáng loáng trong mưa. Trời đang mưa,
nước mưa tí tách rớt xuống từ các lá cọ và đọng thành từng vũng trên các đường lát sỏi. Sóng biển nhấp
nhô trong làn mưa rơi, rạt vào trong bãi rồi lại kéo ra khơi. Những xe hơi đã rời khỏi công viên. Bên
kia công viên, trước quán cà phê có một người hầu bàn ngó ra hướng công viên vắng lặng.
Người vợ Mỹ ngó qua cửa sổ. Bên ngoài, ngay dưới cửa sổ, một con mèo đang nằm co quắp dưới
một chiếc bàn, cố gắng thu mình thật nhỏ để không bị ướt nước mưa.
‘Em đi xuống bắt con mèo nhe,’ người vợ nói.
‘Để anh làm cho,’ người chồng đang nằm trong giường trả lời vợ.
‘Không, em làm lấy. Tội nghiệp con mèo đang tránh mưa dưới chiếc bàn.’
Người chồng tiếp tục đọc sách, nằm nghển cổ trên hai chiếc gối trên giường.
‘Coi chừng bị ướt đấy,’ anh ta nói với vợ.
Người vợ đi xuống cầu thang và người chủ khách sạn vội đứng dậy cúi đàu chào nàng khi nàng đi
qua văn phòng. Bàn giấy của ông ta nằm ở phía bên kia của văn phòng. Ông ta đã già và rất cao.
‘Trời đang mưa,’ nàng nói bằng tiếng Ý. Nàng thích ông ta.
‘Dạ, dạ, thưa bà, thời tiết xấu lắm.’
Người chủ khách sạn đứng đằng sau bàn giấy trong văn phòng. Người vợ Mỹ thích ông ta, cũng như
thái độ nghiêm trang khi ông ta nghe những lời than phiền của khách trọ. Nàng thích phẩm cách ông ta.
Nàng thích phong thái ông ta muốn phục vụ nàng. Nàng thích bộ mặt già nua, nặng nề và hai bàn tay
lớn ông ta.
Vì thích ông ta, nàng mở cửa để ngó ra ngoài. Trời mưa nặng hạt hơn. Một người đàn ông choàng áo
mưa đang đi từ phía công viên trống vắng về phía quán cà phê. Con mèo chắc đang nằm ở phía bên
phải. Có lẽ nàng nên đi dọc bờ tường để còn được mái nhà che khỏi ướt, nàng tự nhủ. Và ngay lúc đó
một cô làm công tại khách sạn đã mở dù che mưa cho nàng.
‘Bà không nên bị ướt,’ cô làm công vừa tươi cười vừa nói. Dĩ nhiên chính ông chủ khách sạn đã sai
cô ta ra giúp nàng.
Được cô làm công che dù, người vợ Mỹ đi dọc con đường lát sỏi cho đến khi tới chỗ dưới khung
cửa sổ. Chiếc bàn vẫn còn đó, nhưng con mèo chẳng thấy đâu. Nàng chợt lộ vẻ thất vọng. Cô làm công
ngó nàng và hỏi:
‘Bà mất vật gì chăng?’
‘Lúc nãy có con mèo ở đây,’ thiếu phụ Mỹ trả lời.
‘Một con mèo à?’
‘Phải, một con mèo nhỏ.’
‘Một con mèo,’ cô làm công vang tiếng cười. ‘Một con mèo trong mưa ?’
‘Phải, nàng đáp, ‘con mèo dưới chiếc bàn.’ Nàng nói tiếp: ‘Trời đất ơi, tôi muốn có nó quá. Tôi thèm
có một con mèo con!’
‘Thôi xin bà đi vô, kẻo ướt.’
‘Đành vậy chứ sao bây giờ,’ nàng trả lời cô làm công.
Họ đi ngược lại con đường lát sỏi và nàng mở cửa trở vào khách sạn. Cô làm công còn đứng bên
ngoài để đóng chiếc dù lại. Khi người thiếu phụ Mỹ đi qua văn phòng, ông chủ khách sạn lại cúi đàu
chào nàng. Nàng thấy ray rứt trong lòng. Ông chủ khách sạn làm cho nàng cảm thấy mình vừa nhỏ bé
vừa quan trọng sao đó. Bỗng chốc nàng cảm thấy nàng quan trọng tuyệt vời. Nàng leo cầu thang, mở
cửa phòng. George vẫn nằm trên giường đọc sách.
‘Có bắt được con mèo ấy không?’ người chồng hỏi, đặt cuốn sách xuống.
‘Nó đi đâu mất tiêu rồi!’
‘Không biết nó đi đâu nhỉ.’
Nàng ngồi xuống giường, nói:
Firmament
21
‘Thèm nó quá. Không biết tại sao thèm nó thế. Em thực muốn có con mèo con tội nghiệp đó. Một
con mèo con trong mưa thì có gì vui thú ?’
George lại tiếp tục đọc sách.
Nàng đi về phía bàn trang sức, ngồi trước tấm gương, tay cầm chiếc gương nhỏ. Nàng ngắm nghía
profile của mình từ hai phía. Rồi nàng quan sát phía sau đàu và gáy.
‘Anh có nghĩ là em nên để tóc mọc dài ra không,’ nàng hỏi, trong khi quan sát profile mình một lần
nữa.
George ngước lên nhìn phía sau gáy vợ, tóc cắt ngắn như con trai.
‘Anh thích kiểu tóc em đang để.’
‘Em chán kiểu này rồi,’ nàng đáp. ‘Chán trông giống con trai lắm rồi!’
George đổi vị trí nằm trong giường. Từ khi vợ bắt đàu nói, chàng nhìn vợ chăm chú.
‘Em trông xinh thấy mồ ấy mà,’ chàng nói.
Nàng đặt chiếc gương xuống bàn trang sức, đi ra phía cửa sổ ngó ra ngoài đường. Màn đêm đang
kéo xuống.
‘Em muốn kéo hết tóc ra phía sau và cột thành một túm lớn để có thể sờ thấy,’ nàng nói. ‘Ước chi có
con mèo ngồi trong lòng để mà vuốt ve, để mà nghe nó rù rì nhỉ!’
‘Thiệt hả ?’ George lên tiếng, vẫn nằm trên giường.
‘Em cũng muốn được ngồi ăn với thìa nĩa bằng bạc riêng của mình, với bạch lạp. Và em muốn bây
giờ là mùa xuân, muốn chải tóc bồng bềnh, muốn có con mèo, muốn quần áo mới.’
‘Thôi, ngậm miệng lại đi, và kiếm cái gì mà đọc,’ George trả lời. Chàng tiếp tục đọc.
Cô vợ vẫn ngó qua cửa sổ. Trời đã tối mịt và mưa vẫn còn rơi trên các lá cọ.
‘Ít nhất phải có con mèo. Em muốn có con mèo ngay bây giờ. Nếu không được để tóc dài, không có
gì vui, phải có con mèo!’
George chẳng còn nghe lời than của vợ nữa. Chàng còn mải đọc sách. Cô vợ vẫn ngó qua cửa sổ và
thấy ánh đèn rọi sáng công viên.
Có tiếng gõ cửa.
‘Mời vào,’ George lên tiếng, mắt rời khỏi cuốn sách.
Cô làm công xuất hiện trước cửa phòng. Cô ta ôm chặt một con mèo trong lòng.
‘Xin lỗi ông bà,’ cô giải thích, ‘ông chủ tôi sai tôi mang con mèo này cho bà nhà.’ ■
Bibliography
veronikabellova. (2012, October 6). Cat in the Rain. [Video file]. Retrieved April 14, 2015 from
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LESrczAQD_k
Firmament
22
Cat in the Rain
Ernest Hemingway
There were only two Americans stopping at the hotel. They did not know any of the people they passed
on the stairs on their way to and from their room. Their room was on the second floor facing the sea. It
also faced the public garden and the war monument. There were big palms and green benches in the
public garden.
In the good weather there was always an artist with his easel. Artists liked the way the palms
grew and the bright colors of the hotels facing the gardens and the sea.
Italians came from a long way off to look up at the war monument. It was made of bronze and
glistened in the rain. It was raining. The rain dripped from the palm trees. Water stood in pools on the
gravel paths. The sea broke in a long line in the rain and slipped back down the beach to come up and
break again in a long line in the rain. The motor cars were gone from the square by the war monument.
Across the square in the doorway of the café a waiter stood looking out at the empty square.
The American wife stood at the window looking out. Outside right under their window a cat
was crouched under one of the dripping green tables. The cat was trying to make herself so compact
that she would not be dripped on.
‘I’m going down and get that kitty,’ the American wife said.
‘I’ll do it,’ her husband offered from the bed.
‘No, I’ll get it. The poor kitty out trying to keep dry under a table.’
The husband went on reading, lying propped up with the two pillows at the foot of the bed.
‘Don’t get wet,’ he said.
The wife went downstairs and the hotel owner stood up and bowed to her as she passed the
office. His desk
was at the far end of the office. He was an old man and very tall.
‘Il piove,1 ’the wife said. She liked the hotel-keeper.
‘Si, Si, Signora, brutto tempo2. It is very bad weather.’
He stood behind his desk in the far end of the dim room. The wife liked him. She liked the
deadly serious way he received any complaints. She liked his dignity. She liked the way he wanted to
serve her. She liked the way he felt about being a hotel-keeper. She liked his old, heavy face and big
hands.
Liking him she opened the door and looked out. It was raining harder. A man in a rubber cape
was crossing the empty square to the café. The cat would be around to the right. Perhaps she could go
along under the eaves. As she stood in the doorway an umbrella opened behind her. It was the maid
who looked after their room.
‘You must not get wet,’ she smiled, speaking Italian. Of course, the hotel-keeper had sent her.
With the maid holding the umbrella over her, she walked along the gravel path until she was
under their window. The table was there, washed bright green in the rain, but the cat was gone. She was
suddenly disappointed. The maid looked up at her.
‘Ha perduto qualque cosa, Signora?’3
‘There was a cat,’ said the American girl.
‘A cat?’
‘Si, il gatto.’
‘A cat?’ the maid laughed. ‘A cat in the rain?’
‘Yes, –’ she said, ‘under the table.’ Then, ‘Oh, I wanted it so much. I wanted a kitty.’
When she talked English the maid’s face tightened.
Firmament
23
‘Come, Signora,’ she said. ‘We must get back inside. You will be wet.’
‘I suppose so,’ said the American girl.
They went back along the gravel path and passed in the door. The maid stayed outside to close
the umbrella. As the American girl passed the office, the padrone bowed from his desk. Something felt
very small and tight inside the girl. The padrone made her feel very small and at the same time really
important. She had a momentary feeling of being of supreme importance. She went on up the stairs.
She opened the door of the room.
George was on the bed, reading.
‘Did you get the cat?’ he asked, putting the book down.
‘It was gone.’
‘Wonder where it went to,’ he said, resting his eyes from reading.
She sat down on the bed.
‘I wanted it so much,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I wanted it so much. I wanted that poor kitty.
It isn’t any fun to be a poor kitty out in the rain.’
George was reading again.
She went over and sat in front of the mirror of the dressing table looking at herself with the
hand glass. She studied her profile, first one side and then the other. Then she studied the back of her
head and her neck.
‘Don’t you think it would be a good idea if I let my hair grow out?’ she asked, looking at her
profile again.
George looked up and saw the back of her neck, clipped close like a boy’s.
‘I like it the way it is.’
‘I get so tired of it,’ she said. ‘I get so tired of looking like a boy.’
George shifted his position in the bed. He hadn’t looked away from her since she started to
speak.
‘You look pretty darn nice,’ he said.
She laid the mirror down on the dresser and went over to the window and looked out. It was
getting dark.
‘I want to pull my hair back tight and smooth and make a big knot at the back that I can feel,’
she said. ‘I want to have a kitty to sit on my lap and purr when I stroke her.’
‘Yeah?’ George said from the bed.
‘And I want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. And I want it to be spring
and I want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and I want a kitty and I want some new clothes.’
‘Oh, shut up and get something to read,’ George said. He was reading again.
His wife was looking out of the window. It was quite dark now and still raining in the palm
trees.
‘Anyway, I want a cat,’ she said, ‘I want a cat. I want a cat now. If I can’t have long hair or any
fun, I can have a cat.’
George was not listening. He was reading his book. His wife looked out of the window where
the light had come on in the square.
Someone knocked at the door.
‘Avanti,’ George said. He looked up from his book.
In the doorway stood the maid. She held a big tortoiseshell cat pressed tight against her and
swung down
against her body.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘the padrone asked me to bring this for the Signora.’ ■
Firmament
Notes
1 ‘It’s raining.’
2 ‘Yes, yes Madam. Awful weather.’
3 ‘Have you lost something, Madam?’
Bibliography
Hemingway, E. (n.d.). Cat in the Rain. [PDF document]. Retrieved from
www.english.heacademy.ac.uk/.../activities/handouts/Hemingway.pdf
24
Firmament
25
ñåi CÜÖng VŠ Các Th‹ ThÖ ThÜ©ng G¥p (bài 3) / ThÖ Løc Bát
(còn ti‰p)
Phåm Doanh
Lục Bát là 1 trong 2 thể loại thơ chính tông của Việt Nam. Thơ Lục Bát khác hơn Ngũ Ngôn hoặc Thất
Ngôn của Hán văn ở chỗ Ngũ Ngôn và Thất Ngôn chỉ có CƯỚC VẬN (vần ở cuối câu), còn Lục Bát
có cả CƯỚC VẬN & YÊU VẬN (Vần Yêu còn gọi là vần LƯNG).
Thơ Lục Bát ñã thấm nhuần vào tâm hồn người Việt chúng ta vì ñó là thể thơ trong ca dao, ñồng dao và
các bài ru con. Thơ LB rất giản dị về quy luật, dễ làm nhưng hay hay không thì hoàn toàn tùy thuộc vào
người viết, dùng lời hay ñễ diễn dạt ý ñẹp trong cung ñiệu êm ñềm.
Thơ LB theo như tên gọi gồm các cặp hai câu có sáu chữ và tám chữ, số câu trong bài không giới hạn.
Thông thường thì bắt ñầu bằng câu sáu chữ và chấm dứt ở câu tám. Nhưng cũng có khi kết thúc bằng
câu sáu ñể ñạt tính cách lơ lửng, hiểu ngầm, hay hầu ñạt tính cách ñột ngột.
1. LỤC BÁT THÔNG THƯỜNG
x B x T x B(v)
x B x T x B(v) x B(v)
B= bằng, T = trắc, x = sao cũng ñược
Luật bằng trắc
a. Chữ cuối của câu nào cũng là vần Bằng.
b. Chữ thứ 6 của câu 6 vần với chữ thứ 6 của câu 8 tiếp theo
c. Chữ thứ 8 của câu 8 vần với chữ thứ 6 của câu 6 tiếp theo
d. Chữ thứ 6 và thứ 8 của câu tám nên thay ñổi, hễ chữ này không dấu thì chữ kia có dấu hyền hay
ngược lạị
(Thí dụ của Nhất Lang)
ĐÚNG:
Đêm nay trăng tỏ sao MỜ,
Đò ngang vĩ tuyến còn CHỜ em QUA
hay
Đò ngang vĩ tuyến còn MƠ em VỀ.
SAI:
Đêm nay trăng tỏ sao MỜ,
Đò ngang vĩ tuyến còn CHỜ em VỀ.
hay
Đò ngang vĩ tuyến còn MƠ em QUA
Luật “Nhất Tam Ngũ bất luận, Nhị Tứ Lục phân minh ” cũng áp dụng với thơ này, tức là các chữ lẻ
bằng hay trắc gì cũng ñược trong khi chữ chẵn phải ñúng luật.
Firmament
26
Thơ Thí dụ
Khi buồn tôi nghĩ chuyện vui
khi vui tôi nghĩ vừa thôi kẻo buồn
ñợi người ấy biết yêu ñương
ñời tôi cũng ñã nửa ñường ñắng caỵ
TVB
VIỄN KHÁCH
nửa khuya chợt thức trăng về
nhìn ra sông núi bốn bề quạnh hiu
dòng ñời mỏi bước cô liêu
gối ñêm trung thổ, ñợi chiều thảo nguyên
nghẹn ngào giọt lệ ñỗ quyên
nỗi ñau cố xứ nặng triền sóng xô
sương gieo ngàn sợi mơ hồ
thời gian rụng cánh lá khô lạnh lùng.
Mạc Phương Đình
3-03-03
Ngoại lệ: Nhiều khi chữ thứ hai có vần trắc thay vì vần bằng nếu câu sáu có nhịp 3,3 hay câu tám có
nhịp 4,4 (ngoại lệ này thường thấy trong ca dao, thành ngữ)
“Mai CỐT cách, tuyết tinh thần
Mỗi người một vẻ, mười phân vẹn mười
……
Đau ĐỚN thay phận ñàn bà
(KVK - Nguyễn Du)
“Cá không ăn muối cá ươn
Con CÃI cha mẹ, trăm ñường con hư” (Ca dao)
“Công Cha như núi Thái Sơn
Nghĩa MẸ như nước trong nguồn chảy ra” (Ca dao)
2. LỤC BÁT BIẾN THỂ
x B x T x B(v)
x x x B(v) x T x B(v)
Chú ý: Chữ thứ 6 của câu 6 vần với chữ thứ 4 của câu 8 tiếp theo .
Thường thì thể này chỉ có cho ca dao ngắn 2 hoặc 4 câu là nhiều vì không trôi chảỵ
“Cưới vợ thì cưới liền TAY
Chớ ñể lâu NGÀY, lắm kẻ dèm pha”
Firmament
27
“Con thơ tay ẳm tay BỒNG
Tay dắt mẹ CHỒNG, ñầu ñội thúng bông”
(Ca dao)
3. LỤC BÁT ĐOẠN CÚ
Trong biến thể này các câu 6,8 ñược cắt thành từng phần tùy theo ý tưởng, hay ngắt ở các chữ lẻ (3 hay
5). Thể này tương ñối mới và chỉ thấy nhiều từ thập niên 60′s.
THÍ DỤ LỤC BÁT ĐOẠN CÚ
Ngọt ngào trên mắt môi hồng
Ngồi ñây
trong lặng lẽ này
Nhẹ nhàng một chiếc lá bay qua thềm
Tơ trùng lắng giọt sương ñêm
Hồi chuông xứ ñạo
vọng lên cung trầm
Ngân nga rồi nhỏ,
nhỏ dần
Trong ñêm tịch mịch thấy gần anh hơn
Ngẩng ñầu
ñón nhận nụ hôn
Ngọt mềm trên mắt môi hồng,
anh cho…
(Phạm Doanh)
Ru em theo tiếng dương cầm Chopin
Ngủ ñi em!
Giấc ngoan hiền
Tiếng à ơi
vọng lên miền
trung du
Xoay tròn,
từng chiếc,
lá thu
Bay theo những áng mây mù
quanh ta
Mang sầu thương ñến trời xa
Tóc thơm,
xoã gối lụa là,
là ñây
Em ơi, ngủ nhé,
ngủ say!
Có anh bên cạnh
những ngày cuối năm
Firmament
Anh nằm xuống,
mắt ngang tầm
Ru em theo tiếng
dương cầm
Chopin.
(Phạm Doanh)
Hoàng Hôn Biển Vắng
Quả cầu lửa,
Bỏng chân trời,
Bạc ñầu hoa sóng ngàn khơi vỗ bờ.
Rì rào gió mặn vu vơ,
Dã tràng se cát xây nhà uyên ương.
Biển,
Mênh mông ñến muôn trùng,
Dấu chân trên cát,
Ngập ngừng,
Lẻ loi.
Xõa tung tóc rối bờ vai,
Hải âu hòa giọng u hoài,
Cô liêu.
Hồn chơi vơi với thủy triều,
Hóa thân bọt biển dập dìu,
Lênh ñênh.
Tan vào con sóng ñầu ghềnh,
Nghe hiu quạnh,
Vút lên không,
Vỡ òa.
04/2001
NTT
ƠN EM ƠN TRỜI
Đường xa
Đôi bánh lăn lăn
Chiếc sên thẳng cứng
Dùng dằng nghiến răng
Mưa reo
Nước chảy
Phăng phăng
Anh gò lưng ñạp
Em ñằng sau ôm
Che chung
Một tấm nhựa còm
Tình chung
28
Firmament
29
Hai quả
Tim… nhom nhóm lò
Ơn trời
Gió lớn sấm to
Ơn em
Chịu khó ngồi cho anh ñèo
Chu Hà
Các ñiều nên tránh trong thơ nói chung và Lục Bát nói riêng
- Tránh ñiệp ngữ: 1 chữ làm vần (khởi vận= vần mở và tùng vận=vần theo) tuyệt ñối không ñược dùng
hai lần trong 1 ñoạn 4 câu và nên tránh dùng lại ít nhất trong vòng 10 câu, nếu cứ dùng vần cũ tiếp theo
kế hoặc vài câu kế ñó thì nhạc ñiệu của bài thơ sẽ bị nhàm chán.
Thí dụ bài thơ không ñạt:
“Hôm nay tôi thấy tôi buồn
Tại tôi hay tại cảnh buồn với tôi
Từ em chối bỏ tình tôi
Chỉ còn tôi với mình tôi nỗi buồn”
Bốn câu này dù ñúng quy luật bằng trắc và có âm ñiệu êm tai nhưng dùng chữ “tôi” và “buồn” mỗi chữ
3 lần làm vần nên không phải là thơ hay ñược, ñó là chưa nói ñến tổng cộng 7 chữ “tôi”. Dĩ nhiên
không bắt buộc phải tránh ñiệp ngữ 1 cách tuyệt ñối, có khi ñiệp ngữ ñược dùng cố ý ñể tạo sắc thái
của ñoạn thơ nhưng càng bớt ñược càng tốt.
- Tránh trùng vận: 1 vần nên tránh dùng lại (khởi vận) dù khác chữ ít nhất trong vòng 4 câu (trong vòng
10 thì tốt hơn), thí dụ dở (vần “an” và “ay” bị dùng lại):
thí dụ dở:
“Nước non trùng ñiệp mây ngàn
Người ôm một nỗi ñiêu tàn trong tay
Mênh mông kỷ niệm về ñây
Ngày xưa hoa bướm ngày nay muộn màng
Người về quên chuyện thế gian
Còn chăng là giấc mơ vàng ñắm say
etc.”
hay là
thí dụ dở:
“Nước non trùng ñiệp mây ngàn
Người ôm một nỗi ñiêu tàn trong tay
Mênh mông kỷ niệm về ñây
Chỉ mơ ước ñược ngày nay xum vầy
Dù tình xa tít chân mây
Hỏi người có hiểu tình này gió bay
etc.”
Firmament
30
Vần “ay” (“ây”) dùng liên tiếp 3 lần: “tay”, “vầy” và “bay”, các chữ “ñây”, “nay” “mây” và “nay” thì
không phạm luật vì phải ñi theo (tùng vận) các chữ mở vần (khởi vận”)
Tóm lại ñể tránh một vần ñược hay bị dùng lại thì chữ thứ 8 không ñược cùng vần với chữ thứ 6 của
cùng câu
“Dừng chân trong nỗi hoang mang
Xuống con thuyền nhỏ về ngang thôn LÀNG”
Trong câu sau, chữ LÀNG hỏng vì bắt hai câu tiếp theo lại cùng vần “ANG” ñã có.
Trong khi luật tránh trùng ngữ có tính cách tổng quát, luật tránh trùng vận, ñiệp vận dĩ nhiên không áp
dụng cho các thể thơ chỉ có cước vận (vần ở cuối câu) như ngũ ngôn, thất ngôn etc. ■
Phå
Phåm Doanh
Firmament
31
ñåi CÜÖng VŠ Các Th‹ ThÖ ThÜ©ng G¥p (bài 4 ti‰p theo và h‰t)
Song ThÃt Løc Bát/Haiku/Tám ch»/ThÃt ngôn Ç¶c thanh
Phåm Doanh
1. Song Thất Lục Bát
Cùng với Lục Bát là của riêng Việt Nam ta. Những luật thơ này không có mượn gì của người Trung
Hoa như thơ Đường Luật.
Cấu trúc của SONG THẤT LỤC BÁT
Mỗi ñoạn trong bài STLB gồm 4 câu 7,7,6,8. Số ñoạn trong bài không hạn chế.
x x x x B x T(v)
x x B x T(v) x B(v)
x B x T x B(v)
x B x T x B(v) T B(v)
(v) = vần
B = bằng, T = trắc
x = là chữ không tính, bằng hay trắc gì cũng ñược
Như ta thấy luật bằng trắc của thơ Lục Bát hoàn toàn ñược áp dụng cho 2 câu 6,8.
Vần của mỗi ñoạn 4 câu là
7/1(T) ===> 5/2(T),
7/2(B) ===> 6/3(B)===> 6/4(B)
nghĩa là
chữ thứ 7 (trắc) câu 1 vần với chữ thứ 5 câu 2,
chữ thứ 7 (bằng) câu 2 vần với chữ thứ 6 câu 3,
chữ thứ 6 (bằng) câu 3 vần vơí chữ thứ 6 câu 4.
Để nối 2 ñoạn với nhau thì có thêm luật
8/4(B) ===> 5/1 (B) (thông thường)
hoặc
8/4(B) ===> 3/1 (B) (ngoại lệ)
nghĩa là chữ cuối câu 4 phải vần với chữ thứ 5 (hay 3) của câu ñầu ñoạn mới, thiếu ñiều này các ñoạn
thơ trong bài sẽ bị rời rạc không thành một chuỗi. Trong thơ thí dụ là những chữ có (*).
Điều ñáng ngạc nhiên là Thơ Song Thất Lục Bát tuy rất ñặc sắc nhưng lại ít người làm và ít thơ haỵ Có
lẽ ñây là thể loại khó làm hay vì có âm ñiệu cổ, khúc mắc như leo núi của hai câu song thất lại hòa với
âm ñiệu mây ngàn, du dương như nằm võng của hai câu lục bát. Kiệt tác về STLB vẫn là “Chinh Phụ
Ngâm Khúc”, ñến nay vẫn không có thi phẩm nào sánh ñược.
Firmament
Mong các bạn vượt qua ñược những ngần ngại lúc ñầu mà làm quen với thể thơ ñộc ñáo nàỵ
THƠ THÍ DỤ CỦA SONG THẤT LỤC BÁT
( Các chữ viết HOA là VẦN với nhau, chữ có (*) là vần nối hai ñoạn)
Thuở trời ñất nổi cơn gió BỤI
Khách má hồng nhiều NỖI truân CHUYÊN
Xanh kia thăm thẳm từng TRÊN
Nào ai gây dựng cho NÊN nỗi NÀY(*)
Trống Trường Thành lung LAY(*) bóng NGUYỆT
Khói Cam Tuyền mờ MỊT khúc MÂY
Chín tầng gươm báu trao TAY
Nửa ñêm truyền hịch ñợi NGÀY xuất CHINH (*)
Nước thanh BÌNH(*) ba trăm năm CŨ
Áo nhung trao quan VŨ từ ĐÂY
Sứ trời sớm giục ñường MÂY
Phép công là trọng, niềm TÂY xá gì
…
(Trích Chinh Phụ Ngâm Khúc )
Bình khô ñập chén cả cười với nhau
Hôm nay ánh trăng vàng lơ LỬNG
Gió nhẹ lay hờ HỮNG cành CÂY
Đắng cay lời cuối là ĐÂY
Ngày mai xa cách cho ĐẦY nhớ THƯƠNG(*)
Ta cùng em quỳnh TƯƠNG(*) chén CẠN
Nhớ bao ngày bầu BẠN bên NHAU
Cung ñàn gieo tiếng oán SẦU
Yêu chi cho lắm mà ĐAU thế NÀY(*)
Thôi em nhé! chia TAY(*) nhau NHÉ!
Một người ñi làm KẺ phiêu BỒNG
Một người áo cưới theo CHỒNG
Còn ñây chén ngọc rượu NỒNG cho NHAU(*)
Trăng mười tám bắt ñầu khuyên khuyết
Thương cuộc tình, nuối tiếc ngày xanh
Từ nay chiếc lá xa cành
Anh về miền gió cát ñành quên thôi
Thôi cứ ñể chôn vùi kỷ niệm
32
Firmament
Nhắc làm chi những chuyện u hoài
Coi như tích Nhị Độ Mai
Giấc mơ thoáng nhẹ, dâú hài cỏ hoang
Bâù rượu cạn xoay ngang cười ngất
Em hỏi ta dám bất chấp ñời?
Thôi, mai ñám cưới em rồi
Trả em nguyên vẹn về người lạ xa
Đêm nay ánh trăng tà lạnh lắm
Sưởi cho nhau canh vắng thế thôi
Em về bên phía kia ñôì
Còn ta diện bích, mộng ñời u minh
Ta chẳng tiếc cuộc tình dang dỡ
Chỉ nghe tim ñã vỡ tan rôì
Coi như duyên nợ lứa ñôi
Cầm bằng sông nước cuốn trôi mịt mùng
Cùng một nỗi niềm, chung tâm sự
Uống cho ñầy tư lự ñêm nay
Lâu rồi chẳng có dịp say
Rôì ñây như khói mây bay cuối trời
Ừ thôi nhé ta rời phố vắng
Đếm tháng ngày cho trắng bàn tay
Mơ hồ nửa tỉnh nửa say
Tên người ta gọi vơi ñầy hồn hoang
Còn ñâu ñó hương thoang thoáng nhẹ
Tiếng kinh hòa tiếng kệ ñiêu tàn
Trách trời cắt ñứt tơ vàng
Tình vừa chớm mộng ñoạn tràng lên ngôi
Uống ñi em, ñể quên người
Bình khô ñập chén cả cười với nhaụ
Phạm Doanh
Sầu ñời
Mộng chẳng thật vì ñời là thế
Kiếp con người như thể phù vân
Cớ sao ta phải ngại ngần
Con cờ lỡ bước chẳng cần thối lui
Cuộc trần thế có bùi ngùi thương cảm
33
Firmament
34
Số phận mình ai cản ñược ñâỷ
Thôi ñành nhắm mắt xuôi tay
Sông kia sẽ cạn ñời này cũng qua
Đừng toan tính chạy xa trần thế
Phải ñọa ñày không kể riêng ai
Trường giang nước chảy miệt mài
Chỉ là số kiếp sao ai bận lòng
Có cay ñắng trong vòng tục lụy
Sao cố tình suy nghĩ vẩn vơ
Dòng ñời phiêu bạt hững hờ
Bâng khuâng ta dệt vần thơ quên ñời
Hãy quên hết cho vơi sầu thảm
Tạm xa rời lãnh ñạm tình xưa
Thời gian một thoáng ñong ñưa
Trăm năm một cõi như vừa thoáng qua
Hoàng Dung
3/3/03
2. Haiku
Haiku là một thể thơ của Nhật, ñược truyền sang Trung Hoa rồi vào Vietnam. Hiện nay thể thơ này
cũng ñã du truyền sang các nước Tây Phương như Mỹ Pháp.
Hàng năm có những cuộc thi Haiku ở Nhật, số bài tham dự ñến cả mấy chục ngàn, có khi cả trăm ngàn
bàị
Về hình thức thì Haiku gồm 3 câu và 17 âm, không phải 17 chữ, chia làm 5,7,5.
Tiếng Nhật và hầu hết ngôn ngữ gốc latin-roman của Tây Phương ña âm nên nhiều khi 1 câu chỉ có 1
chữ hay hai. Thí dụ như “Sayonara” tính là 4 âm, “unforgettable” ñã có thể là 1 câu rồi.
Riêng tiếng ñơn âm như Hán, Việt hay Triều Tiên thì có thể dùng 17 chữ trong 3 câu, vì vậy diễn dạt
ñược nhiều hơn. Nhưng tinh túy của Haiku không phải là ñể nói nhiều, mà ñể diễn dạt một thoáng suy
tư, một khung cảnh cô ñọng, một chút thiền.
Haiku không phải là một phim bộ dài dòng mà là một tấm ảnh chụp lấy một khoảng khắc, một trừu
tượng, một tư duy, nên nhiều khi vài chữ cũng ñủ. Cái hay và khó hay của Haiku là ở chỗ ñó. Đọc một
bài thơ Haiku hay như nghe một tiếng khánh cô ñọng thật ngắn gọn nhưng ngân nga, ñể lại ấn tượng
lâu trong tâm hồn người.
Haiku không có luật về âm ñiệu và vần. Kết hợp vào thơ Vietnam ta có thể cho câu cuối vần với 1 trong
hai câu trên, nhưng không bắt buộc.
Về nội dung, Haiku chính tông ñòi hỏi trong bài phải nói về một trong bốn mùa Xuân, Hạ, Thu, Đông.
Firmament
35
Không có nghĩa là phải nêu tên một mùa ra mà dùng biểu tượng cũng ñược, như tuyết, hoa ñào, nắng
ấm v.v.
Dù vậy quy luật này cũng không cần theo vì gò bó vào một khía cạnh quá. Trong văn học sử Nhật có
thiền sư Basho là người ñể lại nhiều bài Haiku bát ngát hương Thiền.
Haiku về Thiền như một viên ñá ném (hay không ném) xuống mặt hồ phẳng lặng. Ném là Thiền mà
không ném cũng là Thiền, miễn là (không) thấy ñược vòng ñồng tâm.
Hành ñộng cầm dùi ñánh vào chuông cũng có cùng ý nghĩa với việc không dùi không ñánh vào chân
không.
Haiku
Người chiết tự trong ñêm
Chữ bình tâm loay hoay xếp mãi
Quên ngày mới vừa lên
Ngư ông không dụng mồi
Con Koi bạc chưa hề sứt mép
Chiều nay về cơm chay
Fisher without bait
The silver Koí’s lips unhurt
Vege dish tonight.
Xếp chân mong thiền tọa
Ruồi ñậu bàn tay, vỗ bàn tay
Tâm tịnh mất khi nàỵ
Giá áo và túi phân
Vùng kinh ñiển ñốt hoài chẳng hết
Về ñi, tập ñánh vần!
3. Thơ Tám Chữ
Thơ tám chữ phát sinh từ thập niên 30-40 trong phong trào thơ mới tiền chiến. Tiêu biểu là các bài thơ
của Hồ Dzếnh và Xuân Diệu.
Cách làm thơ tám chữ
Có ngươì hỏi cách làm thơ tám chữ
Xin trả lời dễ lắm chứ ai ơi
Nghĩ làm sao thì cứ viết nên lời
Vì vần ñiệu không bó như thơ khác
Cốt là nghe êm êm theo tiếng nhạc
Mỗi một vần chỉ phải một lần thôi
Firmament
36
Hết hai câu lại ñược ñổi âm rôì
Bằng bằng hết lại ñến phiên trắc trắc
Cần âm ñiệu nghe sao ñừng khúc mắc
Đừng cho 5,6 chữ một âm ñều
Nên ñổi thay bằng trắc thật là kêu
Không nhất thiết câu ñâù tiên phải trắc
Vần thứ nhất câu 2 & 3 bắt cặp
Rôì 4 & 5, 6 & 7 tiếp tục ñi
Câu cuôí cùng cũng chẳng bó buộc gì
Vì chấm dứt mà không cần vần tiếp
Thơ có hay còn nhờ ngôn ngữ ñẹp
Như bài này con cóc phải cười thôi
Viết lông bông ñùa một chút cho vui
Để cho biết ñó là thơ tám chữ
À quên chứ, vần bằng còn hai thứ
Hoặc dâú huyền hay không dâú ñó nghe
Trong hai câu liên tiếp phải ñổi bè
Huyền câu trước thì câu sau không dấu
Phạm Doanh
Về vần luật thì thơ tám chữ thường làm theo lối liên vận hoặc cách vận.
Liên vận dễ làm hơn vì cứ hai câu lại ñổi một vần. Câu ñầu bình thường không bắt vần, chỉ ñể dẫn vào
bài, từ câu hai trở ñi mới cặp vần, cứ hai câu bà(ng rồi ñến hai câu trắc. Cách chia thành từng ñoạn 4
câu trong thể liên vận chỉ là hình thức vì câu ñầu ñoạn sau vẫn cần vần với câu cuối ñoạn trước
Thơ tám chữ liên vận (bài của Hoài Nhân có 4 câu lục bát mở ñầu)
hình như
hình như có một nỗi buồn
cứ theo ta mãi, vương vương bên trời
bây giờ ngồi ngắm mưa rơi
người ơi, xin hãy giữ ñời cho nhau
***
tình thư cũ giữ làm gì em nhỉ
biết tìm ñâu những kỷ niệm hôm nào
ñôi tay gầy níu kéo những vì sao
tuy vẫn biết không thể nào bắt ñược
tà áo trắng, tà áo dài tha thướt
không bao giờ anh quên ñược ñâu em
ở bên nay khi vũ trụ lên ñèn
Firmament
37
anh ñếm bước giữa ñêm buồn phố thị
chiếc áo trắng ñâu mất rồi em nhỉ
ñứng ñợi hoài mà chỉ thấy lá rơi
mây lang lang cũng dừng bước, mỉm cười
- chờ ai ñó.. về thôi… người khách lạ
chiếc áo trắng bây chừ xa, xa qúa
em có còn nhặt lá những chiều thu
ñi lang thang trong buổi sáng sương mù
trời Dalat vẫn buồn như thuở ñó?
ở bên ấy có khi nào em nhớ
những ngày vui, hai ñứa bước bên nhau
anh bây giờ… có còn lại gì ñâu
chiều xứ lạ, bước mau trên lối vắng…
Hoài Nhân
Bóng nhạn cuối chân ñèo
Ôi giấc ngủ hoang vu làm mệt quá
Vời vợi em, bóng nhạn cuối chân ñèo
Ta bám trên từng mỏm ñá cheo leo
Ta với hụt, bàn tay ñầy mộng mị
Rơi hun hút trong khoảng không kinh dị
Ta cong người ôm lấy vạn vì sao
Em ở ñâu? chẳng thấy một câu nào
Có tìm mãi, có gọi hoài cũng thế
Người yêu hỡi, tên em lời kinh kệ
Ê a hòa trong ñiệp khúc ru hời
Ta bật cười, ta cắn chảy máu môi
Ta mở mắt, vẫn chỉ là ñêm tối
Con thuyền vỡ lênh ñênh ngàn bão nổi
Một kiếp người nào háo mãi luân lưu
Dù lang thang linh hồn vẫn lao tù
Trong khắc khoải, trong cơn mê ñày ñọa
Ôi giấc ngủ hoang vu làm mệt quá
Vời vợi em, bóng nhạn cuối chân ñèo
…..
Phạm Doanh
Thơ cách vận tám chữ ñòi hỏi câu lẻ vần với câu lẻ và câu chẳn vần với câu chẳn. Như vậy một ñoạn 4
câu cần hai vần, nhưng ngược lại các ñoạn không cần nối vần với nhau.
Firmament
38
sáng hôm nay, tiếng chuông nào báo thức
ta giật mình, bật dậy, chực ra ñi
lòng cứ tưởng sương, nắng nào thúc giục
thì ra mưa ñang gõ, rất thầm thì
ñã lâu lắm, ta không ra khỏi nhà
kể từ lúc em ñi, vắng, vườn hoa
con mèo nhỏ còn ưu tư nhớ bạn
huống hồ chi, trống rỗng, trải trong ta
ñêm hôm qua, trằn trọc cơn baõ cũ
sáng hôm nay, thấy mưa trước sân nhà
mưa này sao trông giống con nước lũ
xô ñẩy hồn người vào cuộc phong ba
sáng hôm nay, cơn mưa nào cào xướt
dậy, ra sân, ngồi, nhớ hết mưa xưa
ký ức nào, ôm nỗi buồn khóc mướt
ôi, giọt mưa, sao cứ mãi cợt ñùa
vào ra một mình, thở dài thườn thượt
chiếc ghế em ngồi, ñong ñưa nỗi sầu
ngày và tháng, dường, trôi mau phía trước
ta dường như, trôi ngược lại về sau
cây chanh kiểng, mang về, bỏ nằm góc
( bảo rằng, ngó chừng ta, kẻ vô tình )
em ñâu biết, chanh cũng nghìn giọt lệ
cũng như người, khô lệ, chết, lặng thinh
ta ñứng ñó, buổi sáng nhìn mỉm cười
chờ em ñến, như ngày ñợi lâu, ñêm
ngày với ñêm, vô tình chơi cut’ bắt
em nỡ lòng, quanh quẩn, giỡn, trong tim
em không ñến, làm sao ta biết ñược
ñời sống này, hạnh phúc có hay không?
mưa ñã ñến, cọng cỏ xanh mọng nước
riêng trời ta, mây xám vẫn mênh mông
Nnguong
Một biến dạng của thơ tám chữ cách vận là trong 1 ñoạn 4 câu chỉ cần câu 4 vần với câu 2; còn hai câu
lẻ mang vần trắc là ñủ.
Về âm ñiệu thì phổ thông nhất là nhịp 3,2,3 hay 3,3,2. Vì thế có khi trong thơ tám chữ, một câu ñược
ngắt thành hai như
Firmament
Cảm ơn anh
Cảm ơn anh
Đã làm em xúc ñộng
Cánh thiệp xinh
Với dòng chữ ân tình
Tháng ngày qua
Tình ngỡ chẳng hồi sinh
Nay bất chợt
Mi em tràn nước mắt….
Cảm ơn anh
Chữ vợ ngoan anh tặng
Chữ mẹ hiền
Anh âu yếm trao ban
Đã từ lâu
Em luôn thấy bẽ bàng
Không ñón nhận
Lời yêu thương ai cả
Để hôm nay
Ngày lễ ca tụng mẹ
Cánh thiệp mừng
Anh ưu ái trao em
Dẫu trước anh
Người ta tặng lời khen
Đầy hoa mỹ
Với bó hồng trong trắng
Nhưng cũng vẫn
Không bằng lời anh tặng
Chữ vợ hiền
Em ao ước bao ngày
Mong từ ñây
Bao sóng gió qua ñi
Đời sẽ sáng
Khi gia ñình êm ấm…..
Uyenvy
4. Thơ thất ngôn ñộc thanh
Thơ thất ngôn ñộc thanh
Đây là một ñặc dạng của thơ thất ngôn tứ tuyệt, ñặc biệt chỉ dùng thanh bằng, tạo nên âm ñiệu lạ.
Ngày Xưa Dư Âm…
Ta nhìn mùa thu qua bao năm
Thăng trầm ñời ta nơi xa xăm
Chưa lần về quê ta mong thăm
Tâm tình ngày xưa bao dư âm
39
Firmament
Xa rồi tha hương ta lang thang
Vì ñời sinh nhai ôi gian nan
Đêm ngày ưu tư hay miên man
Bao trùm sầu ñâng trong không gian
Hơn mươi năm qua như mây trôi
Xa nhà xa quê tim ñơn côi
Mơ về dòng sông xưa xa xôi
Con ñò ngày nao ñưa em tôi
Ôi người tôi yêu nay phương nao
Mơ hoài hình em trong thanh tao
Yêu người tình tôi trong hư hao
Bao ngày tương tư tôi xanh xao
Nào ngờ tình yêu bay xa mau
Em ñành sang sông, tôi lao ñao
Bên chồng em vui, tôi buồn ñau
Lời thề năm xưa em quên sao???
Thôi thì tình ta chia hai phương
Chung tình mà chi thêm thê lương
Ôm tình mình tôi mang sầu vương
Chôn tình vào tim quên ñau thương
Bây giờ còn chăng riêng mình ta
Đêm về buồn tênh cơn mưa sa
Ta nhìn mùa thu trôi nhanh qua
Đâu ngờ ñời ôi… bao phong ba
(SaMạc) ■
Phå
Phåm Doanh biên khảo (hiệu ñính Jan 2015)
.
40
Firmament
Poetry in Translation
By TMCS
ĐỘC TRƯỜNG CAN HÀNH HỮU CẢM
(TMCS)
Cổ nhân diễm sử tình như hoa,
Phu phụ ấu thời gia cận gia
Do thử thành duyên phi hãn sự
Thi trung phàm sự hóa tinh hoa. ■
Chú: Trường Can Hành là tên một bài thơ của thi hào Lý Bạch
讀長干行有感
(相梅居士
相梅居士)
相梅居士
古人豔史情如花
夫婦幼時家近家
由此成緣非罕事
詩中凡事化精華 ■
Dịch nghĩa:
CẢM XÚC KHI ĐỌC TRƯỜNG CAN HÀNH
(TMCS)
Trong truyện đẹp của người xưa Tình yêu như là hoa
Vợ chồng lúc nhỏ nhà ở gần nhau
Từ đó mà nên duyên đâu phải là việc hiếm.
Trong Thơ chuyện bình thường cũng trở thành tinh hoa. ■
Dịch ra Anh ngữ:
INSPIRATION FROM TRƯỜNG CAN HÀNH LOVE STORY
(TMCS)
Love of ancient time is as pretty as flower.
There were not rarely
The married couples in their childhood being neighbours.
Sometimes the very common events
Became exquisite in the poetry. ■
42
Firmament
ĐỢI NẮNG
(Quế Hằng)
Nắng đi đi mãi không về
Chăn mong chiếu đợi tái tê căn phòng
Hỏi rắng mai nắng về không
Để em mang cả tấm lòng ra phơi. ■
ATTENDRE LE SOLEIL
(Traduction de Trịnh Phúc Nguyên)
Le soleil est parti pour toujours sans retour,
Dans la chambre,
Draps et couvertures l’attendent tristement;
Ô soleil!vas-tu demain ici retourner?
Pour que je puisse tout mon coeur sous toi sécher? ■
ĐÃI THỬ
(Quế Hằng thi. TMCS dịch)
Dương quang nhất khứ bất quy phản
Hậu tại lãnh phòng tịch dữ khâm
Dục vấn minh thiên hữu thử phủ?
Dương quang chi hạ bộc băng tâm. ■
待暑
(桂姮詩
桂姮詩–相梅居士譯
桂姮詩相梅居士譯)
相梅居士譯
陽光一去不歸返
候在冷房席與衾
欲問明天有暑否
陽光之下曝冰心 ■
Dịch nghĩa:
ĐỢI NẮNG
(Thơ Quế Hằng- TMCS dịch)
Ánh nắng một đi ko trở lại
Trong phòng lạnh lẽo, chiếu và chăn chờ đợi.
Muốn hỏi ngày mai có nắng không ?
Tấm lòng giá băng( trong trắng) sẽ phơi dưới ánh dương. ■
43
Firmament
WAITING FOR THE SUN
(Poem by Quế Hằng – Translation by TMCS)
Since that day the sun has gone away.
In this cold bedroom till today
The sleeping mat and blanket are waiting for the sun to return
I would like to ask:
Tomorrow, will it be a sunny day?
So that my heart would be shone by the sun rays. ■
Nghĩa:
ĐỢI NẮNG
Từ hôm đó nắng đi mãi.
Đến hôm nay trong căn phòng lạnh lẽo
Chiếu và chăn đang chờ nắng trở về.
Em xin hỏi:
Mai có phải là một ngày nắng ?
Để tấm lòng em được những tia nắng rọi chiếu. ■
ĐÊM ĐÔNG - THƠ VÀ TRÀ
(TMCS)
Ta với Đêm Đông cùng thưởng trà
Ngâm câu thơ dịch thú khề khà,
Đêm Đông quên cả làm mưa rét
Ấm tận tâm can, ấm cả nhà. ■
WINTER NIGHT - POETRY AND TEA
(TMCS)
This Winter Night and I
We take together some tea.
Then slowly and tipsily
I read my translated poems.
Listening to me attentively,
Winter Night seems to forget its duty:
It’s become not cold, nor rainy,
I’m warm in my mind
And it’s warm even around me. ■
44
Firmament
ĐÔNG TIÊU - THI DỮ TRÀ
(TMCS)
Ngã dữ đông tiêu cộng thưởng trà
Trầm trầm lãng độc dịch thi ca
Đông tiêu vong giáng kì hàn vũ
Ôn thấu tâm can, noãn ngã gia. ■
冬宵- 詩與茶
(相梅居士
相梅居士)
相梅居士
我與冬宵共賞茶
沉沉朗讀譯詩歌
冬宵忘降其寒雨
溫透心肝暖我家 ■
45
Firmament
46
Chén Trà ñêm Thu
(NhÃt thi‰t duy tâm tåo)
Thanh Trà Tiên Tº
Hình như cánh rừng phong ấy bắt đầu từ một con lạch chảy ngang qua khu làm việc của Thục Vân.
Ngày ngày mỗi khi đi qua lạch, nàng vẫn tò mò tự hỏi: con lạch sẽ dẫn ta đi đâu nhỉ?
~~~
Thế rồi chiều thu ấy, Thục Vân tan sở muộn. Trong lúc đi qua con lạch, nàng thích thú ngắm những
chiếc lá phong ngả màu theo gió bay bay. Chiếc thì đáp xuống dòng nước, chiếc thì đậu trên lối đá bên
bờ lạch. Thục Vân hứng thú nhìn theo, rồi thả gót theo bờ lạch ngắm những chiếc lá phong ngũ sắc.
Một làn gió từ đâu bay tới đẩy những chiếc lá trên mặt nước trôi xa, và thổi tung những chiếc lá trên lối
đá, gom chúng thành một cuộn tròn trên không, rồi lại đem thả xuống xa hơn. Cứ thế, chẳng biết là gió
hay lá cứ vô tình dẫn bước chân Thục Vân đi xa tiếp.
Mặt nước soi bóng những áng mây đỏ tím mờ trôi. Là ánh tà dương hay là cánh rừng phong ngũ sắc đã
nhuộm bầu trời tối mùa thu ấy?! Thục Vân để mặc tính hiếu kỳ dẫn nàng lang thang men theo con
nước. Đêm rằm giữa mùa thu xứ Úc, nên không được gọi là đêm trung thu. Nàng vừa đi vừa ngắm
cảnh mây nước, nghe tiếng trùng đêm kêu, và đắm mình trong ánh trăng vàng. Cánh rừng thoáng dần,
cây lá mỗi lúc một thưa thớt. Dường như ngày đã khuất hẳn, và đêm thu đang tiến lại gần. Trăng sáng
đẹp quá, chim chóc quên không kêu, trùng đêm quên không kêu. Thục Vân vừa bước đi vừa hít thở khí
trời thanh mát và hương đêm dìu dịu. Thế rồi, dường như tiếng nước tuôn róc rách dần xa, dần xa.
Dường như chỉ còn gió khẽ rì rào bên tai, và rồi gió cũng lắng dần. Dường như dưới chân nàng… làn
mây nào xôm xốp khẽ chao… Là mây, mây ư? Thục Vân giật mình bỡ ngỡ…
-
Thanh Trà Tiên Tử đi đâu vậy?
Thục Vân ngạc nhiên quay sang nhìn. Nàng không tin vào mắt mình. Dưới ánh trăng thanh là một cô
gái, ồ không, phải gọi là một nàng tiên mới đúng chứ. Nàng vô cùng diễm lệ, gương mặt thanh tú, mắt
ngọc môi son. Nàng khoác chiếc áo choàng màu trắng bằng lụa và cổ áo có đính những hạt kim cương
lấp lánh. Bông tai và trâm ngọc cài trên mát tóc dài của nàng cũng đều lấp lánh kim cương. Thục Vân
ngỡ ngàng hỏi:
-
Thần tiên tỷ tỷ là ai? Sao lại biết ta?
Thần tiên tỷ tỷ mỉm cười rất dịu dàng:
- Ta là chủ nhân của Quảng Hàn Cung. Đêm thu trăng sáng, tiên tử tới thưởng trà với ta chứ?
Nghe vậy, Thục Vân ngạc nhiên, rồi vui vẻ hưởng ứng:
- Vậy là.. Hằng Nga tiên tử phải không?! Thục Vân vô cùng hân hạnh…
Hằng Nga mỉm cười và đưa tay rẽ mây. Một cung điện nguy nga màu trắng như tuyết hiện ra trước mắt.
Thục Vân nhanh nhẹn theo Hằng Nga tiến về phía Quảng Hàn Cung. Hai người bước tới đâu thì những
bậc thang pha lê hiện ra trước mắt, và rồi những bậc thang pha lê lại biến mất khi họ vừa rời gót.
Trước mắt Thục Vân là một hành lang lộng lẫy ánh sao và hai hàng hoa tươi dọc hai bên tường. Những
vì tinh tú lung linh soi bước hai người. Tất cả các bức tường và lối đi đều trắng như băng tuyết. Chạy
Firmament
47
dọc theo lối đi có những trụ pha lê trong suốt. Chính giữa các trụ pha lê là những bông hoa Thủy Vu và
Hồng Môn màu trắng, vàng, và hồng. Hai người bước vào một gian phòng với những chùm đèn sao lấp
lánh. Thục Vân theo thần tiên tỷ tỷ tới giữa phòng, bên bộ bàn ghế đá trong như băng và lấp lánh
những viên ngọc trai. Hằng Nga đưa tay chỉ lên bàn. Lập tức trên bàn hiện ra một khay trà bằng pha lê.
Hằng Nga quay sang: “- Thanh Trà Tiên tử, nàng dùng trà gì?”
Thục Vân vừa thoáng nghĩ đến bộ ấm chén trà bằng thủy tinh chịu nhiệt. Lập tức trên khay trà xuất
hiện một ấm trà nhỏ và hai chiếc chén thuỷ tinh trong suốt. Thục Vân tròn mắt nhìn Hằng Nga: “- Thần
tiên tỷ tỷ đọc được ý nghĩ thầm kín của muội sao?”
Hằng Nga mỉm cười: “- Muội tử tiếp tục pha trà đi. Lát nữa sẽ biết.”
Thục Vân lại tập trung tưởng tượng thêm một bông Sen xanh và những cánh lá Sen mềm mại xoè rộng.
Tức thì tại mặt ngoài mỗi chén trà và ấm trà đều xuất hiện những hoạ tiết bông Sen và lá Sen ấy. Nàng
thích chí tưởng tượng thêm một bếp lò thủy tinh chịu nhiệt, mặt ngoài cũng vẽ một bông Sen xanh và
chiếc lá cong cong, rồi quay sang nhìn Hằng Nga.
Như đọc được ý nghĩ của Thục Vân, Hằng Nga mỉm cười nhìn vào giữa bếp lò và thêm một cây nến
đang rực cháy. Trong ấm, nước đang lăn lăn rồi thoáng chốc bọt nước cuộn tròn như mây cuốn rồng
lượn. Nàng quay sang nhìn Thục Vân.
Đến ‘phiên’ Thục Vân. Nàng mỉm cười chỉ tay lên bàn. Hằng Nga nhìn theo. Bên khay trà hiện lên bộ
trà cụ bằng trúc và một chiếc lọ thuỷ tinh đựng những trái cầu nhỏ. Thục Vân vui vẻ giải thích:
Tiên Đào Cầu là một loại bạch trà. Những búp trà non được buộc túm lại với nhau tại một đầu
và khẽ úp lại với nhau tại đầu kia tạo thành một trái cầu nhỏ. Giữa trái cầu là một đoá hoa
mầu hồng.
Lúc này, Thục Vân đã thuần thục dùng ý nghĩ hạ bớt lửa trên cây nến. Ngọn nến chỉ còn lung linh ánh
hồng. Nàng say sưa nói tiếp:
Pha bạch trà chúng ta chỉ cần nước khoảng 80 độ thôi, để giữ được tinh chất của bạch trà.
Bạch trà được thu hoạch từ những búp non lá nhỏ có lớp lông tơ mịn và bạc trắng. Trà được
hấp ngay sau khi hái rồi sấy khô, không để oxy hoá. Vì thế, bạch trà là loại trà tinh khiết nhất
và chứa hàm lượng antioxidants cao.
Nàng nhấc nắp ấm lên rồi dùng cóng trà khéo léo gấp một trái tiên đào
đặt vào trong đó. Trái cầu được thả vào dải nước nóng nên chầm chậm
xoay tròn nom như vầng trăng lướt nhẹ trên áng mây. Giây lát, trái cầu
trà từ từ nở bung ra. Giữa chiếc ấm trà thủy tinh, những cánh lá trà non
mở xòe như một bông hoa lớn ôm một nụ hoa phớt hồng xinh xắn bên
trong; nom rất đẹp mắt. Thục Vân nhấc ấm lên rót trà vào chén thủy
tinh rồi hai tay cung kính dâng lên mời Hằng Nga. Hai người hoan hỷ
hưởng từng ngụm trà thơm.
Lát sau, Hằng Nga dịu dàng hỏi: “- Muội tử có nghe câu này chưa?
…Nhược nhân dục liễu tri
Tam thế nhất thiết Phật.."
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Nghe tới đó, Thục Vân liền phấn khởi đọc tiếp:
- "..Ưng quán pháp giới tánh
Nhất thiết duy tâm tạo."
Chợt nàng trở nên suy tư: “- Câu đó nghĩa là nếu ai muốn biết rõ các chư Phật ba đời, hãy quán chiếu
tất cả các hiện tượng đều do tâm tạo ra. Phải rồi, ta thường nghe nói tất cả đều do tâm tạo.”
Một ý tưởng chợt loé lên. Nàng chắp tay chào Hằng Nga rồi xoay người hớn hở rẽ mây bay đi:
Cám ơn Thần tiên tỷ tỷ. Tiểu muội hiểu rồi. Vậy là thành tiên rồi, muội đi giúp chúng sinh
đây..!
Phía sau nàng, Hằng Nga hốt hoảng gọi với theo: “- Muội tử còn chưa hiểu thấu đâu, khoan đã...”
Nhưng Thục Vân chỉ còn nghe mây gió rì rào bên tai, rồi tiếng nước róc rách, tiếng trùng đêm rỉ rả.
Dưới chân nàng đã là lớp lá xào xạc. Hương đêm thoang thoảng... Hương một thuở xa xưa...
~~~
Tây Lương Nữ Quốc là một tiểu vương quốc nằm ở phía Tây Trung Hoa. Lúc đó là thời Đường. Thục
Vân thấy mình đang ngồi giữa một khu vườn thượng uyển. Mùi thơm của Cửu Lý Hương và Ngọc Lan
theo gió lan ngào ngạt. Trước mắt nàng là một nữ vương xinh đẹp lộng lẫy, thần thái uy nghi. Quanh
nàng là các cung nữ pha trà, cắt gọt hoa trái, và múa hát. Quần thần ai cũng là nữ và đang xem múa hát.
Nhưng cả người múa hát và kẻ ngồi nghe đều mang vẻ lơ là, không để tâm vào tiếng nhạc lời ca. Hình
như có điều chi không ổn...
Tây Lương Nữ Vương đưa chén trà lên nhấp môi rồi nhìn Thục Vân, giọng nói pha chút hồ nghi:
- Như cô nương vừa giới thiệu thì nàng từ Úc quốc, triều đại Tự Do, niên hiệu Abbot? Ta chưa
từng nghe qua. Cô nương đến đây vì muốn giúp dân chúng Nữ Nhi Quốc ư?!
Thục Vân chắp tay ngang ngực đáp lễ:
- Tâu Nữ Vương, là vậy đó. Trong truyện Tây Du Ký, ta thích Nữ Nhi Quốc. Thấy tỷ muội nào
cũng nhiều tâm sự, nên ta muốn giúp họ.
Nghe vậy, tất cả quần thần cung nữ đều dừng múa hát. Biết bao cặp mắt đổ dồn về Thục Vân rồi
chuyển sang nhìn Tây Lương Nữ Vương tỏ ý mong chờ. Đây đó có tiếng thì thầm: “Nghe đồn rằng
nàng ấy là tiên tử đấy, nàng tới đây để giúp tỷ muội chúng ta”.
Tây Vương Quốc Nữ Vương không nói gì, chỉ đưa mắt nhìn về hướng Tây. Thục Vân đưa tay nhẹ tung
ra một dải lụa trắng. Dải lụa bay uyển chuyển giữa không trung và nhẹ đáp trên đôi tay nữ vương. Trên
dải lụa có vẽ hình mấy thầy trò Đường Tăng thường in trên bìa các cuốn sách Tây Du Ký và một thông
điệp:
Người đi Tây Thiên Trúc năm xưa, nay đã thành Phật quả.
Tây Lương Quốc nữ vương, xin thương giúp muôn dân.
Nữ Vương ngước mắt lên nhìn những ánh mắt mong chờ, rồi quay sang Thục Vân:
Cô nương có cao kiến gì?
Thục Vân đưa mắt nhìn các cung nữ, rồi chắp tay cung kính. Giọng nàng tự tin và pha chút phong vị
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văn chương:
Tâu Nữ Vương, thần từng đọc sách và thường nghe các tỷ muội, bạn gái tâm sự. Ai ai cũng
than thở về nỗi cô đơn gặm nhấm ngày xanh. Các cô bác lại than thở rằng khi về già thì đêm
trường làm bạn với… cô đơn.
Tới đó, nàng dừng lại. Cả quần thần lẫn cung nữ người thì thả những tiếng thở dài não ruột, kẻ lại ngậm
ngùi chấm nước mắt. Lòng ai cũng dấy lên những ngọn sóng cô đơn thầm kín. Ai ai cũng gật đầu mong
chờ... Đến đôi mắt trong như mặt nước hồ thu của Tây Vương Nữ Quốc cũng lăn tăn những gợn sóng...
Thục Vân nhiệt tình nói tiếp:
Thần thì văn võ đều hèn kém, may mắn học được chút hiểu biết của người thời sau. Đó là
công nghệ Truyền Thông Xã Hội, tức là Social Media của thế kỷ 21. Như vậy chúng ta có thể
tạo nhiều mạng kết nối xã hội xua tan bóng tối cô đơn. Nếu Nữ Vương cho phép Thục Vân
khai triển thần thông...
Tất cả cung nữ đều ồ lên sung sướng, và tỏ vẻ thích thú.
Được ánh mắt và cái gật đầu ủng hộ của Nữ Vương, Thục Vân đưa tay chắp ngực, miệng khẽ thầm thì
như đọc thần chú: “Nhất thiết duy tâm tạo, vạn pháp duy thức biến.”
Nàng vừa dứt lời, trên tay ai cũng xuất hiện một chiếc điện thoại thông minh iPhone, Samsung hoặc
máy tính bảng iPad, Galaxy Note. Trên tay nữ vương là chiếc MacBook Air được bảo vệ bởi một vỏ
nhựa trong suốt. Ai cũng trầm trồ: “Chao ôi, bảo bối thế kỷ 21!”
Sau đó, Thục Vân thao thao bất tuyệt hướng dẫn từ nữ vương tới các quan thần, rồi các cung nữ
phương pháp sử dụng các ‘bảo bối’, kéo các ứng dụng di động (mobile apps) xuống, mở tài khoản và
bắt đầu sử dụng nào Diện Thư Facebook, nào Google Plus, nào Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, Pinterest,
Viber, Skype, blogs… các kiểu. Nàng nào cũng nhanh nhẹn tạo profile thật ‘oách’, kết bạn rồi chụp
ảnh, thậm chí các kiểu ảnh selfie nữa, rồi đưa ảnh lên mạng xã hội, cập nhập trạng thái (update status),
bình luận (comment), chia sẻ (share), bấm thích (like), và ‘chit chat’ chuyện trò rôm rả thâu đêm. Nhìn
đám quần thần cung nữ vui vẻ, Nữ Vương rất hài lòng. Để thưởng công cho Thục Vân, Nữ Vương
phong nàng làm quan, chức danh Tây Lương Nữ Quốc Tân Thời Tiên Tử.
Để giúp mọi người liên lạc với các bà, các mẹ, các cô, các chị em trong toàn vương quốc, Thục Vân
hướng dẫn họ mở tài khoản trên eBay và mua bán iPhone, Samsung Galaxy… Mà lạ thay, chúng dân
Nữ Nhi Quốc cực kỳ sáng tạo, tháo vát và lanh lẹn. Thục Vân mới chỉ nói sơ sơ về ứng dụng công
nghệ, còn về mua bán, kết bạn, hò hẹn chit chat thì họ nhạy cảm và sáng dạ hơn hẳn, còn dạy lại cho
Thục Vân. Từ mua bán điện thoại di động, họ nhanh chóng mở rộng ra mua bán đủ thứ váy áo, đồ trang
sức trang điểm, vật dụng, rồi lập cả các nhóm Diện Thư (Facebook Groups) để tìm bạn theo sở thích,
cập nhập tin tức và bình luận với nhau. Các ngón tay ngà của các nàng cứ tanh tách tweet tweet, like
like, và lả lướt điêu luyện trên các bàn phím.
Đêm đó, cung điện trở nên ấm áp vô cùng, vô vàn thông điệp mang nhớ nhung yêu thương bay tràn
ngập không gian mạng xã hội. Các quan thần cung nữ hớn hở khoe nhau có bao nhiêu người Thích
(Like) các ‘posts’ và ảnh của các nàng, rằng họ có biết bao nhiêu lượt ‘tweets’, lượt ‘share’ và bao
nhiêu người theo dõi ‘followers’. Ánh mắt tiếng cười rộn rã nơi nơi tại Nữ Nhi Quốc.
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Thục Vân mỉm cười hài lòng, rồi thiếp đi từ lúc nào. Chả mất chốc mà trời đã sáng. Nàng còn lơ mơ
ngái ngủ thì người lay kẻ gọi:
Tiên Tử, Tân Thời Tiên Tử, tỉnh dậy ngay. Bắt đầu buổi triều sáng. Nghe nói có vụ kiện liên
quan đến nàng nên Nữ Vương cho triệu nàng tới.
Thục Vân bàng hoàng tỉnh hẳn. Chỉ thoáng chốc, nàng đã ngồi phía sau Nữ Vương. Trước mắt là sân
rồng điện ngọc. Hàng trăm quan thần, cung nữ đứng hai bên. Giữa sân là một dòng người, tay ai cũng
cập một tờ sớ. Xa xa có một dãy bàn dài. Tại đó có các cô nương miệt mài chép sớ cho một hàng dài
chúng dân gồm các bà, các mẹ, cô bác, chị em đủ lứa tuổi xếp hàng nhờ viết sớ. Ai cũng lao xao thì
thào danh Tây Vương Nữ Quốc Tân Thời Tiên Tử.
Thục Vân cảm thấy bồn chồn không yên. Nữ Vương đưa tay ra hiệu bắt đầu buổi triều. Tiếp đó là một
hồi trống chiêng lễ nghi mà Thục Vân chả còn bụng dạ nào để ý. Sau cùng, một bà lão bước tới, cung
kính tâu trình, hơi thở bà có pha chút phẫn khí:
Muôn tâu nữ vương, lão ở Đông Thôn. Nghe nói Tây Vương Nữ Quốc Tân Thời Tiên Tử
dùng pháp thuật tạo ra các bảo bối chi đó. Nội có một đêm mà cuộc sống đảo lộn, chả ai coi
pháp nước lệ làng ra gì cả!
Sau đó bà kể, nào chuyện ‘trong nhà chưa tỏ, ngoài ngõ đã.. tweet’. Cả hàng trăm hàng ngàn người
theo dõi, quay video đưa lên YouTube, ‘comment’ thêu dệt thêm đủ thứ chuyện. Con cháu bà ai ai cũng
dán mắt dính mũi cái vào 'bảo bối' iPhone, iPad, Samsung Galaxy… Thậm chí các nàng còn mua từ
eBay những headsets ‘bảo bối’ chi đó, họ bịt tai lại nhún nhẩy nghe ‘yêu tinh’ trong đó ca hát, không ai
ngẩng đầu thưa gửi hay nói chuyện với ai. Con gái trong thôn thì không chịu uống nước sông Tử Mẫu
để sanh con, mà lại thích hò hẹn tìm kiếm ‘hot boys’ và bạn trai trên mạng…!
Cứ thế, bà bà miên man liệt kê các hậu quả của các ‘bảo bối’. Phía sau bà, dân chúng thì thào than vãn.
Thậm chí có nhiều người còn nhao nhao hưởng ứng theo bà. Bà bà còn cảnh báo uống nước Tử Mẫu
Hà thì sanh con gái, còn hò hẹn với bạn trai sẽ sanh cả con trai con gái. Bà bà tiên đoán rằng theo đà
này trong tương lai sẽ không còn Nữ Nhi Quốc nằm giữa Trung Hoa và Tây Thiên Trúc nữa.
Nữ Vương quay sang nhìn Thục Vân, tỏ vẻ không hài lòng:
Nàng nói sao?
Thục Vân không biết nói sao. Nàng lúng túng, và thật thà đáp:
Đông Thôn bà bà, oan cho con. Con nghe nói "Nhất thuyết duy tâm tạo" nên muốn giúp tỷ
muội khỏi bệnh phiền não cô đơn. Mà hẹn hò trên mạng ảo làm sao sanh con thật được?
Bà bà nhìn nàng xót xa:
Cô nương, bà bà đi gần trọn kiếp người rồi, cô đơn là tâm bệnh, bảo bối nào, linh đan thần
dược nào chữa được cô đơn?
Đúng lúc đó, cả cung điện bỗng nhiên bừng sáng. Tất cả mọi người đều quay người hướng về nơi phát
ra ánh sáng. Đó là một vị khất sĩ ôm bình bát thong thả bước tới. Tư thái ngài tỏa sáng cả hoàng cung.
Ngài bước đến đâu, năng lượng từ bi tỏa ra tới đó, khiến ai ai cũng cảm thấy thật bình yên.
Tây Vương Nữ Quốc đứng dậy thốt lên:
Ngài có biết...
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Như nhìn thấu được tâm tư của nàng, vị tu sĩ ung dung đáp:
- Đường Tam Tạng là bậc tiền bối của ta. Ta đã từng qua Tây Thiên Trúc.
Nghe tới đó, Tây Lương Nữ Quốc, đại thần và muôn dân theo nàng hoan hỷ ngồi xuống quanh vị tu sĩ
và thỉnh ngài hoá giải phiền não cô đơn.
Ngồi chan hoà giữa đại chúng, vị tu sĩ mỉm cười và từ tốn nói chuyện. Giọng ngài vừa hoan hỷ từ bi
làm an tâm đại chúng, lại vừa uy nghi với thần lực của trí tuệ:
- “Nhất thuyết duy tâm tạo”. Thục Nhi, con mới học và còn chưa hiểu hết thậm thâm vi diệu
nghĩa của câu này. Hôm nay, ta giảng một khía cạnh nho nhỏ thôi. Nhất thiết duy tâm tạo không
phải là dùng thần thông biến hoá ra thiên hà đại địa. Tâm chúng ta luôn phân biệt diễn giải và
đánh giá những gì ta thấy nghe, từ đó mà sinh lòng ham muốn hay chối bỏ. Trước cùng một sự
vật hiện tượng, trải nghiệm địa ngục hay thiên giới, hạnh phúc hay khổ đau đều từ tâm mà ra.
Chúng sinh nơi đây dùng ‘bảo bối’ và ‘pháp thuật’ bên ngoài mong xoá được cô đơn phiền não
tự trong tâm. Ta hỏi, mọi người đã xoá được cô đơn hay chưa?
Tất cả nhìn nhau, rồi cúi đầu suy ngẫm. Lát sau, tất thảy đều lắc đầu. Tuy có những phút giây vui vẻ
giao lưu với bạn bè người thân, song nhiều người vẫn cảm thấy những bất an sâu kín trong lòng. Nào lo
bí mật riêng tư bị khám phá, nào cảm thấy chút ganh ghen với những người hạnh phúc may mắn hơn.
Nhiều nàng làm gì cũng chăm chăm chụp ảnh, chỉnh sửa để gửi lên mạng khoe với các ‘tình yêu’ trên
đó, rồi bỏ bao nhiều thời gian theo rõi số người thích và trả lời các bình luận. Có nàng còn đau lòng khi
mới chia tay mà tình lang đã nỡ vô tâm khoe bạn mới trên Diện Thư…
Vị khất sĩ lại thong thả nói tiếp:
- “Thục Nhi có nhớ ta từng dạy con không? Với tâm tham ái, thì hoặc nói chi hay làm gì, khổ đau
cũng theo sau như là chiếc xe lê thê theo chân con bò kéo. Trong cổ ngữ Tây Thiên Trúc, đó là
“Tato naṃ dukkhamanveti, cakkaṃ’va vahato padaṃ”. Công nghệ mạng xã hội có tốc độ truyền
thông cực nhanh nên chúng ta làm gì nói gì, ảnh hưởng càng nhanh và càng lớn, khổ đau sẽ
càng lan nhanh và trải rộng. Chỉ có tâm thanh tịnh, tâm bình an, thì lời nói và hành động mới
thực sự đem lại hạnh phúc. Trong cổ ngữ Tây Thiên Trúc, thì đó là “Tato naṁ sukhamanveti,
chāyā’va anapāyini.” Đây là luật nhân quả. Nhân thiện lành tạo quả thiện lành. Nhân bất thiện
tạo quả bất thiện. Không pháp thuật nào, không bảo bối nào qua được luật nhân quả đâu.
Tâm ta cô đơn vì ta mong muốn có ai đó yêu thương mình, có ai đó bên mình. Tâm đó là tâm
của kẻ đói khát tình thương nên đi xin tình thương. Nhưng tâm ai cũng có năng lực yêu thương.
Tâm nào cũng có năng lực từ, tức là tạo niềm vui cho người khác. Tâm nào cũng năng bi, xót
thương người khốn khổ. Tâm nào cũng năng hỷ, biết mừng vui khi người khác thành công. Tâm
nào cũng năng xả, biết buông những gì do lầm lạc mà tham đắm, bám chấp. Chủ nhân sở hữu
bốn loại tâm đó rất giàu có tình thương, nên ban phát tình thương không giới hạn. Ai sống với
tâm đó, thì những người xung quanh đều quý mến, thích gần gũi, phải không? Làm sao mà cô
đơn? Ai cũng đều có khả năng là chủ nhân cái tâm như thế. Nhưng ta mê lầm, tưởng mình đói
khát tình thương, nên cứ trọn đời làm kẻ cô đơn, như cô hồn lang thang xin người ban phát tình
thương.”
Vị khất sĩ mỉm cười. Tất cả cùng cười theo. Thục Vân kính cẩn dâng lên ngài một chén trà. Ngài đón
chén trà, nhấp giọng, rồi bất ngờ cất tiếng cười làm sôi động hẳn bầu không khí:
Firmament
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52
Vậy thì, ai muốn chấm dứt cô đơn thì hãy ban phát tình thương. Chuyển cái vọng tâm của ‘cô
hồn’, tức là cái tâm hồn cô đơn, thành tứ vô lượng tâm của từ bi hỷ xả. Xin đừng ca khúc “Ai
cho tôi tình yêu của ngày thơ ngày mộng…” vì cái đó chỉ có “tình chưa độ bến, nẻo mô mà
tìm”. Xin cùng nhau ngân nga bài ca sau nhé:
“Manopubbaṅgama dhammā, manoseṭṭhā manomayā...”
Lúc đó, trên trời xuất hiện biết bao nhiêu chư thiên, tiên nữ đẹp như trong truyện cổ tích. Thế rồi cả
Tây Lương nữ vương, mọi quần thần, cung nữ và chúng dân, ai nấy đều hoan hỷ rạng rỡ. Chư thiên thì
rải hoa, chúng dân thì tung hoa. Những cánh hoa màu hồng bay khắp không gian như cơn mưa hồng rơi
rơi trên gương mặt, và đọng trên đôi má Thục Vân. Nàng thích thú ngân nga theo: “Manopubbaṅgama
dhammā, manoseṭṭhā manomayā...”
~~~
- Thê Nhi, mơ màng xong chưa, anh chỉ có chừng ấy hoa để rắc thôi..!
Thục Vân ngơ ngác tròn mắt nhìn quanh. Thì ra, phu quân đứng cạnh nàng từ lúc nào. Chàng đang rắc
rắc những cánh hoa màu hồng lên mái tóc và gương mặt nàng. Nàng vẫn ngồi bên bờ suối, xung quanh
gió thổi, lá phong bay bay.
Phu quân ngồi xuống bên cạnh và đặt vào tay nàng một chiếc bông tai quen thuộc của nàng:
Anh đến sở đón em. Nhặt được chiếc bông tai em làm rớt bên lạch nước, anh mới lần ra tới đây.
Thấy em đang say sưa ôn bài nên anh rắc hoa trêu ghẹo chút. Chúng ta cùng đọc nhé:
“Manopubbaṅgama dhammā, manoseṭṭhā manomayā...”
Trăng thu xứ Úc, là trung thu trong lòng ai. Từ trên cao, Hằng Nga hài lòng rõi xuống dương gian, toả
lung linh nụ cười. Chiếc iPhone của Thục Vân sáng lên dòng thông báo (notification) từ Viber:
Tây Lương Nữ Vương: 'Trung thu' vui vẻ nha Thục Vân...!
Tº
- Thu dạ bút cảm, 2015.
Chú thích:
“Ai cho tôi tình yêu” – một sáng tác của cố nhạc sĩ Trúc Phương.
“Manopubbaṅgama dhammā, manoseṭṭhā manomayā.” – tiếng Pali, nghĩa là Tâm dẫn đầu các hiện
tượng trong cuộc sống, tâm là chủ, tâm tạo. Với tâm ô nhiễm thì lời nói hành động đều mang lại khổ
đau; còn với tâm trong sáng thì lời nói hành động đều mang lại hạnh phúc.
Firmament
ChuyŒn Tình Tô Châu
“Liễu Động Đình thơm chuyện hảo cầu
Tóc thề che mướt gái Tô Châu”
Hồ Dzếnh
Thu trước Tô Châu một buổi chiều
Tóc thề hương gió bến Phong Kiều
Chia tay huynh nhắn: hiền sư muội
Đợi nhé, huynh về hãy chuyện yêu!
~~~
Đường say mộng đẹp huynh xa mãi
Đại Vận Hà kinh vắng bóng ai
Dương Tử nước trời sương khói trắng
Tình huynh biền biệt biết phôi phai?
Xa quê muội ngược đại Trường Giang
Bồ liễu xứ người năm lại năm
Trăng giãi đêm đêm vườn lẻ bóng
Thầm trong khắc khoải: Ý trung nhân!
Nương song cánh nhạn so thời gian
Đông tuyết hạ hoa xoay ngoại cảnh,
Chí toả vầng dương - ngày sách bút
Mộng soi bóng nguyệt – đêm cung đàn.
~~~
Thu nay mình muội lại nơi đây
Trăng sáng Phong Kiều mây thoáng bay
Hương gió tóc thề song quán khách
Cô liêu thao thức mãi niềm tây!
... Trăng sáng Phong Kiều mây thoáng bay ...■
Tº
Đêm Melbourne nhớ Tô Châu!
53
Firmament
N¡ng Mai HÒng
(Hành Khúc—Cung Ré Trưởng)
David Lš Lãng Nhân
Ngày nào xuân sang
Lâng lâng...nghe tiếng ca giục ta lên đàng
Trên cành...chim đua hót
Bình minh đến lung linh trong vạt nắng
Đi! Đi! Ta cùng nhau lên đàng...Chờ chi?
Hồn chan chứa bao tình cố lý
Hãy, hãy cùng đi...Đi khắp nơi định kỳ
Binh minh đến đây
Ngàn thông vươn cao, gió reo nguồn sống
Đường đi thênh thang, nắng mai pha hồng
Trẻ thơ hát khúc xuân tươi ngày mới
Người đi trong Tin Yêu hôm nay
Siết chặt vòng tay hiên ngang chen vai
Hứa cùng nhau xây quê hương tương lai
Sáng...ngàn mai. ■
Madison, AL, March 2015
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Firmament
55
Firmament
56
Waves of Joy by the Seashore
by Hoàng-Tâm
Summer is coming, and the sights and sounds of the seashore are calling me.
Every time I go to the beach, I feel renewed and refreshed
I feel peaceful and relaxed
Watching magnificent sunrise and glorious sunset over the horizon
Listening to the wonderful sounds of nature
Feeling the sand squishing between my toes
Swimming in the calm water in the morning
Lying on my back to float and feel the caress of the gentle waves
Surfing and jumping with high waves in the afternoon
Swimming far out and looking back at shoreline sceneries with hotels, condos, trees of different shapes,
colors and sizes
Watching children build sand castles
Appreciating the power of nature from the crashing of the waves
Watching the waves hug the rocks passionately upon meeting and leaving
Enjoying lovely walks in bare foot along the beach like getting a foot massage
Selecting and picking up interesting shells and rocks of all colors, sizes and shapes
Watching the waves lapping or crashing to the shore
Watching the birds like pelicans or seagulls flying over, gliding low, or diving down to catch fish or
interact with each other
Watching cloud formations in the blue sky
Relaxing on a chaise by the beach to read, write, listen to the waves, or watch people and nature
passing by
Following venders’ activities with their merchandises
Watching young boys and men fish or throw nets out to catch fish, crabs, and shrimps
Watching boats and ships in the distance
Watching sand crabs scurrying away to tiny holes on the seashore
Inhaling deeply the salty fresh air
Feeling the sand caress the toes while my feet kiss the earth gently with each step
Making a sand cushion to sit and meditate on the beach
Being aware of the sun warming up my skin in the cooling breeze
Being deeply in touch with nature
Imagining stories and conversations between the waves and the shore
Firmament
Thinking about the impermanence of life, the recycle and rebirth of nature
Remembering the tongue twister I used to teach my students:
She sells seashells by the seashore,
The shells she sells are seashells, I'm sure.
So if she sells seashells on the seashore,
Then I'm sure she sells seashore shells. ■
Hoà
Hoàng-Tâ
ng-Tâm
May 22, 2015
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Firmament
Giăng ra tay bắt ấn tổ
Dao rạch chẳng phủng da
Giáng ba lịnh trừ tà yêu ma ñều tán khí
Còn bịnh nào ñau quỹ
Chín ngọn phản bén tôi ngồi nghinh
Bị tổ trác thình lình ñứt gần lìa…củ cải !
Khi ấy tôi mới vô chùa làm sãi
Quyết theo thầy niệm chữ từ bi
Ai dè sanh quái sanh yêu
Thấy gái vô chùa tôi lôi tuốt nó vô liêu
Nó la làng xóm tôi bỏ chùa trốn mất…■
(Vô danh)
Tình Cûa CÕ (In låi)
Dã Thäo
Th o
Chia Tay
Sáng nay phố lạnh, ướt đẫm mưa bay
Có kẻ ra đi tiếc nuối những ngày
Có người ở lại tâm tư vương vấn
Thứ hai thật buồn, da diết mưa bay
Bao nhiêu tháng ngày ta đã quen nhau
Chẳng tình, chẳng lạ, trước cũng như sau
Thời gian chấp cánh tung bay theo gió
Ngẩn ngơ nhìn lại, lòng bỗng nao nao
Bây giờ đâu đó người có nhớ ta ?
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Firmament
Một lần gặp gỡ, cũng thế, cũng là
Ta về dệt mộng lên đời băng giá
Miệt mài suy luận, TA - NGƯỜI lại xa
Chẳng tiếc, chẳng buồn giây phút ngất ngây
Vòng ôm nới lỏng, môi hôn chưa đầy
Ta đành ướp giữ men tình cay đắng
Ngẩng mặt nhìn đời, thế sự cuồng quay
Mặn nồng ân ái, rồi cũng phải quên
Tình Bạn, Tình Yêu, thế cũng chẳng bền
Cho nhau không trọn, tình tôi xin giữ
Trả lại cho người những thoáng mông mênh. ■
Dã Thä
Thäo
/ TÌNH CỦA CỎ
(Viết cho một lần chia tay – 4/3/1985)
Trách Nhẹ
Thư như cây cỏ sống không hồn
Một lời tình tự vẫn cất chôn
Tình yêu giải đáp bằng toán số
Con tim phong kín vẫn bế môn
Người vẫn ngỡ ta dối như ngươi
Văn chương chữ nghĩa để mà chơi
Nói năng lưu loát thành thi sĩ
Tháng lụn năm cùn chỉ vui tươi
Cho thế cũng đành biết nói sao
Paris vẫn lạnh như đêm nào
Đồng sàng dị mộng hơi chưa ấm
Hương tình chưa đậm trách chi nhau
Hẹn người mai mốt trở lại đây
Si mê một phút mắt nhắm đầy
Niết bàn đâu đó nào xa lắm
Bỏ quên thế sự, sống ngất ngây. ■
Dã Thä
Thäo
/ TÌNH CỦA CỎ
(Viết cho N. để kỷ niệm một đêm trước khi từ giã Paris – 1985)
60
Firmament
61
Ch» 'HiŠn'
Phi‰m ñàm
David Lš Lãng Nhân
Ngày nay người Việt chúng ta đã quen dùng
tên thật của nhau - cái tên trong hồ sơ lý lịch căn cước để mà gọi nhau trong sự giao dịch thường nhật; một hành động hợp lý và thực tiển.
Tuy nhiên, ta cũng nên nhớ rằng cách đây không lâu, theo thông lệ cũ của một xã hội có nhiều liên hệ
với nền “văn minh nông nghiệp” người Viêt gọi nhau bằng… thứ bậc trong gia đình; thí du: Anh 3,
Chú 4, Cô 7, Cậu 8... Gọi người ta bằng tên thật – “tên cúng cơm” của nhau - là một hành động sổ
sàng, hổn láo, thuộc về tội ”phạm húy”. Tập tục địa phương đôi khi càng làm cho lối xưng hô theo thứ
bậc gia đình trở nên khá phức tạp. Thí dụ:
Trong Nam, vì tập tục, người ta không gọi con trai đầu lòng mình là “Thằng Cả”, mà gọi là “Thằng
Hai”... Do đó, khi tiếp xúc với người lạ, nếu không biết rõ thứ bậc gia đình của họ, thì thông thường
mình phải tự động goi “tâng” (tôn) người ta bằng : Anh Hai, Chi Hai, Cậu Hai,.. Cô Hai, Thầy Hai…
Người Trung Hoa cũng dùng thứ bậc gia đình để gọi nhau, Anh Cả thì goi là Đại Ca, Đại Huynh
Rườm rà và khách sáo hơn trong lãnh vực văn chương kịch nghệ, trong các vở tuồng Tàu, hể xưng hô
với người ngoài thì người ta “ hạ minh” xuống, bằng cách thêm chữ Ngu hay chữ Tiện trước danh từ
gọi. Thí dụ: Ngu Muội, Ngu Huynh, Tiện Thiếp, Tiện Nội…Theo thông lệ, hể nói về vợ của minh thi phải nhún nhuờng mà gọi y thị là : Tiện Nội, Tiện Thê. Con gái mình thi goi là: Tiện Nữ hay Tệ
Nữ. Ngược lại, đối với vợ, và con gái của người ta thì gọi tâng là: Quí Phu Nhân, Quí Nữ…
Người Việt “ hiện đại “ cũng dùng một số danh từ Hán Việt như: Đại Ca, Đại Huynh, Hiền Huynh,
Hiền Đệ....để gọi nhau cho lịch sự, văn vẽ… Trò chơi ngôn ngữ Hán Việt trong cách xưng hô trở nên
tế nhị hơn.
Hôm nọ, bàn về chữ “Hiền” trong danh từ Hán Việt “Hiền thê, Hiền nữ,..,” một anh bạn tôi có cho
thêm ý kiến sau đây :
“…Đặc biệt đối với người ruột thịt trong gia đình của mình, hay bạn bè thân thiết của mình, thì ta mới
dùng chữ “ Hiền” để gọi nhau bằng : “Hiền Huynh, Hiền Muội, Hiền Đệ, Hiền Thê, Hiền nữ …cho
nó thân mật, trong không khí gia đình. Chữ Hiền ở đây có nghĩa là “thân mến” (dear)…Do đó, người
xướng ngôn viên lịch duyệt không dùng chữ Hiền để giới thiệu vợ và con gái của người ta (của
quan khách) trong những cuộc lễ lạc tiếp tân, mà dùng chữ Quí, như trong Quí Phu Nhân hay Quí
nữ…” ■
Lšš Lãng Nhân
David L
Firmament
ThÖ Haiku Kim-Châu
(4/5-2015)
Cầu Treo
Giữa núi rừng
Cây cầu treo lắt lẻo
Vượt qua sông. ■
Lều Tranh
Mấy miếng tranh
Dựng túp lều xơ xác
Thật điêu tàn. ■
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Firmament
Liễu Rủ
Như lả lướt
Rủ bóng trên mặt hồ
Liễu lơ thơ. ■
Tia Chớp
Vừa lóe sáng
Tia chớp đã ầm ầm
Chuyển không gian. ■
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Firmament
Lữ Hành
Trời mới vừa hừng đông
Kẻ lữ hành cúi đầu lặng bước
Vùng cát trắng mênh mông. ■
Trăng Khuyết
Vầng trăng khuyết
Lẻ loi giữa bầu trời
Sương rơi rơi. ■
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Firmament
Đèn Dầu
Đèn leo lét
Chút ánh sáng lu mờ\
Cho trẻ thơ. ■
Đom Đóm
Lập lòe trong bóng đẻm
Đom đóm như chập chờn bay lượn
Soi sáng một góc vườn. ■
65
Firmament
A Clean, Well-Lighted Place*
By Ernest Hemingway
It was very late and everyone had left the café except an old man who sat in the shadow the
leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at
night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now
at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the café knew that
the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became
too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.
"Last week he tried to commit suicide," one waiter said.
"Why?"
"He was in despair."
"What about?"
"Nothing."
"How do you know it was nothing?"
"He has plenty of money."
They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the café and
looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the
shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went
by in the street. The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no
head covering and hurried beside him.
"The guard will pick him up," one waiter said.
"What does it matter if he gets what he's after?"
"He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by five minutes
ago."
The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter
went over to him.
"What do you want?"
The old man looked at him. "Another brandy," he said.
"You'll be drunk," the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away.
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Firmament
"He'll stay all night," he said to his colleague. "I'm sleepy now. I never get into bed before
three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week."
The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the café and
marched out to the old man's table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of
brandy.
"You should have killed yourself last week," he said to the deaf man. The old man
motioned with his finger. "A little more," he said. The waiter poured on into the glass so
that the brandy slopped over and ran down the stem into the top saucer of the pile. "Thank
you," the old man said. The waiter took the bottle back inside the café. He sat down at the
table with his colleague again.
"He's drunk now," he said.
"He's drunk every night."
"What did he want to kill himself for?"
"How should I know."
"How did he do it?"
"He hung himself with a rope."
"Who cut him down?"
"His niece."
"Why did they do it?"
"Fear for his soul."
"How much money has he got?" "He's got plenty."
"He must be eighty years old."
"Anyway I should say he was eighty."
"I wish he would go home. I never get to bed before three o'clock. What kind of hour is
that to go to bed?"
"He stays up because he likes it."
"He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me."
"He had a wife once too."
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Firmament
"A wife would be no good to him now."
"You can't tell. He might be better with a wife."
"His niece looks after him. You said she cut him down."
"I know." "I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing."
"Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at
him."
"I don't want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who
must work."
The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.
"Another brandy," he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry came over.
"Finished," he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when
talking to drunken people or foreigners. "No more tonight. Close now."
"Another," said the old man.
"No. Finished." The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head.
The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his
pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip. The waiter watched him go down
the street, a very old man walking unsteadily but with dignity.
"Why didn't you let him stay and drink?" the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up
the shutters. "It is not half-past two."
"I want to go home to bed."
"What is an hour?"
"More to me than to him."
"An hour is the same."
"You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drink at home."
"It's not the same."
"No, it is not," agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a
hurry.
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Firmament
"And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?"
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"No, hombre, only to make a joke."
"No," the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from pulling down the metal shutters. "I
have confidence. I am all confidence."
"You have youth, confidence, and a job," the older waiter said."You have everything."
"And what do you lack?"
"Everything but work."
"You have everything I have."
"No. I have never had confidence and I am not young."
"Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up."
"I am of those who like to stay late at the café," the older waiter said.
"With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the
night."
"I want to go home and into bed."
"We are of two different kinds," the older waiter said. He was now dressed to go home. "It
is not only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful.
Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the café."
"Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long."
"You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant café. It is well lighted. The light is
very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves."
"Good night," said the younger waiter.
"Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation
with himself. It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and
pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand
before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he
fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing
and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain
cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues
nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada
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Firmament
thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our
nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada.
Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a
shining steam pressure coffee machine.
"What's yours?" asked the barman.
"Nada."
"Otro loco mas," said the barman and turned away.
"A little cup," said the waiter.
The barman poured it for him.
"The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished," the waiter said.
The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for conversation.
"You want another copita?" the barman asked.
"No, thank you," said the waiter and went out. He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, welllighted café was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to
his room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all,
he said to himself, it's probably only insomnia. Many must have it. * Hemingway, E. (n.d.). A Clean, Well-lighted Place. Retrieved
April 30, 2015 from http://www.mrbauld.com/hemclean.html
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Analysis of Ernest Hemingway's “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place”
by Thomas D. Le
Ernest Hemingway and the Lost Generation
The historical context in which Hemingway began as a writer is the period following the First World
War, which was a time of profound social, cultural, economic, and political change throughout Europe,
North America, and the rest of the world. For the first time in history man had applied science and
technology on a large scale in the conduct of warfare, resulting in enormous material and human losses.
In Europe two autocratic regimes collapsed; one democratic republic died; and a great revolution
uprooted the last reactionary and autocratic rule to introduce a new dictatorship. In America rose an
undisputed hegemon, and in the Far East a new empire emerged as an important player on the world's
geopolitical scene.
The Historical Context
The
guns of World War I had fallen silent on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh
month of the year 1918. About ten million soldiers and seven million civilians had died. An additional
twenty million were wounded, shell-shocked, maimed, and scarred for life in an unprecedented war
that engulfed the world. The common view of historians is that the war was the result of militarism, a
complex web of alliances, imperialism, and nationalism that gripped the major European powers and
nearly destroyed a civilization that they had built over thousands of years as disciples of the Greeks.
The war began with an enthusiastic welcome from all major European powers, who each thought it
would be quick and would end in victory for their countries. No one expected the turns of events that
killed tens of millions and destroyed villages, towns, cities across wide swaths of Northern and Eastern
Europe. Worse, few foresaw that the Great War was a prelude to worse things to come.
In France La Belle Époque epitomized the mood of optimism brought on by peace a generation
after the French defeat in the Franco-Prussian War of 1871 until 1914. A new era of technological and
scientific advances and the surge of creativity in art, literature, music emerged. Paris in 1900
introduced a newfangled mode of living made possible by science and technology: the Eiffel Tower, the
Universal Exposition, the automobile, the moving walkway among others. Exuberance and freedom
manifested in architecture, Art Nouveau, the use of iron in balconies, gates, stairs, doors of public
places such as Metro entrances and hotels, and of private domiciles evoked the curvilinear grace of
nature, not to mention the hypnotizing curves of the nude. In bohemian Montmartre, Toulouse-Lautrec
reigned in a lifestyle associated with Le Moulin Rouge, La Goulue, and Le can can. Great actresses,
among whom Sarah Bernhardt won worldwide fame, played to rave audiences. In the literary and
artistic world, absinthe was the muse par excellence. A café culture sprang up among the artists,
writers, and poets who had been attracted from all corners of the globe. Paris was decidedly a place to
be and to be seen after its metamorphosis into a clean, beautiful modern city as a result of the urban
renovation orchestrated by Georges-Eugène Haussmann under Emperor Napoleon III. The ambitious
public works project began before the Franco-Prussian War and continued until 1927.
The decade after the end of the Great War saw the reemergence of peace throughout the world,
the Roaring Twenties in America, and les années folles (the crazy years) in France, but also the postwar disillusionment and disorientation of many British and American young writers and poets who
flocked to Paris in search of meaning and a milieu for their creativity. Paris became a magnet led by an
urban band of liberated women who adopted an exuberant, freewheeling lifestyle that characterized the
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post-war spirit of joie de vivre. That spirit and celebration of life continued until the Wall Street Crash
of 1929, which closed the années folles era with the worst economic crisis in history.
The Roaring Twenties (Fig. 1) was a decade of great
progress and inventions, of pent-up emotions and demands,
and of enjoyment of the dividends of peace and prosperity in
America. The radio, the movies, the phonograph, penicillin
and new medical treatment like insulin injection, the
dishwasher, the refrigerator, the vacuum cleaner, the air
conditioner and other household appliances, traffic signals
and the millions of automobiles, sliced bread ushered in the
age of consumerism fueled by easy credit. On the cultural
scene, a new style of clothing freed the women from their
Victorian-era corsets and mores. The flappers made their
debut. The women felt emancipated, won the right to vote,
plunged headlong into the newly acquired freedom at the
workplace, and in the dance halls, smoking and drinking in
spite of Prohibition and its unintended offspring the
speakeasies. The jazz, the blues, and new musical styles led
the dance craze with the old favoring the Waltz and Foxtrot
while the young indulged in the more energetic Charleston,
Shimmy, Lindy Hop, Jazz dance, and ragtime. It was the age
of jazz and gin.
Fig. 1. Fashion of the Roaring
Twenties*
On the financial front, Wall Street speculation engaged in by corporations, banks and individual
investors initially resulted in the seemingly unstoppable rise in the stock market. As more investors
borrowed from banks, an arrangement called margin loan, to profit from the bull market, and banks
themselves used depositors' money to join in, the stock market kept rising until corporations' stock
prices had nothing to do with their true values. Finally without warning the market collapsed in waves
of mass selling toward the end of October 1929, wiping out fifty billion dollars in individuals' wealth
and in corporate capitalization. Thousands of banks began to fail as depositors flocked to withdraw
their money, which the banks did not have because they were now holding worthless shares and little
cash. A decade of the Great Depression had begun.
But before the bubble burst, everywhere an air of optimism pervaded as the memory of that
great meat grinder of a war which devastated Europe receded into history. This same war transformed
the United States into a superpower and a creditor nation of prostrated Europe. The dire post-war
economic problem facing belligerent countries of Europe manifested itself as scarcity of consumer
goods, unemployment, devaluation of the currency, and rebuilding of damaged or destroyed factories,
cities, and infrastructure, war debts, and war reparations in the case of Germany. To mitigate the
challenges of reconstruction in Europe, the United States devised a plan to loan Germany funds to pay
reparations to France and Great Britain, who in turn used the money to repay U.S. banks for loans they
had contracted during the war to purchase American-made war materiel. Thus the United States had
emerged from World War I as the most prosperous country in history.
However, that prosperity did not last long because of underlying weaknesses in the financial
system as seen above. Before the decade was out, the country descended into a deep economic
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depression that spread throughout the world. The excesses of the financial system and reckless stock
market speculation and lending, encouraged by the ideology of unfettered laissez-faire under
Republican Presidents Harding, Coolidge, and Hoover, finally came home to roost. Bank failures
ruined the people's confidence and eviscerated household savings. Inadequate Federal Reserve
economic measures exacerbated the systemic fragility of the financial system while unemployment
spread requiring soup kitchens to stave off chaos and unrest. No one was prepared for the cataclysm,
and there was no consensus as to the reasons of the collapse. Even now economists are still wrangling
about the causes of the Great Depression that followed the Stock Market Crash of 1929. Their quarrels
are not idle since they represent ideologies that tear humanity apart forever.
Hemingway and the Lost Generation
During the beginning years of the twenties a great deal
had gone on in the lives of young American who had
been directly or indirectly touched by the disruption and
destruction of the Great War. The Wilsonian ideals of
making the world safe for democracy and of resolving
international conflicts through a supranational
organization had been opposed by a polity that turned its
back on foreign relations, and was intent on enjoying
prosperity in isolation from the rest of the world.
Disillusioned by crass consumerism, political and racial
intolerance, and a lack of direction, young men joined
their brothers from other countries of America, Europe,
and Asia in an enthusiastic migration to the most
attractive and cultured city in the world, the Paris of the
twenties.
American expatriates who left the
contradictions of American society, as exemplified by
Fig. 2. Ernest Hemingway**
Prohibition, the speakeasies, the KKK, xenophobia, crime, the widening gap between rich and poor,
and loose morals flocked together in Parisian cafés and bistros, where their lifestyle almost inevitably
included alcohol. They congregated around Gertrude Stein, an American expatriate who had arrived in
Paris in 1903 and never left. A writer, poet and contemporary art collector, she called the new arrivals
“the Lost Generation,” a phrase supposedly borrowed from an auto mechanic who said, “You are all a
lost generation.” Counting among its numbers were Ernest Hemingway (Fig. 2), who popularized the
term, F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Dos Passos, Ezra Pound, T. S. Eliot, and Sinclair Lewis, who had come
of age during World War I and began to find their voices during the Roaring Twenties. The watershed
period that this war defined produced scars in the land it devastated and in the bodies and souls who
had fought and lived through it. The American expatriates, who were buoyed by the favorable
exchange rate, ensconced themselves on the Left Bank, where swarms of writers, poets, sculptors,
painters, and composers from around the world settled down lured by the history, culture, and
intellectual ferment of Paris. Here they helped solidify the reputation of Montparnasse. The denizens
of earlier generations that founded their mecca in Montmartre saw their followers drifting shortly at the
turn of the century to the hills of Montparnasse, so called after the nine Muses, in the 14 th
Arrondissement. In this district of bistros and cafés, starving artists that might sell their works for
francs to pay for food and the cheap rent of communes without running water, could years later see
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their products going for millions. Restaurant owners would accept art works as temporary payments
until the artists could redeem them with currency. Contemporary art curators would swoon with envy at
these works hanging on tavern walls. The artists, writers, and poets came in droves to rub elbows with
names such as Pablo Picasso, Marc Chagall, Amedeo Modigliani, Salvador Dali, Chaim Soutine, Jean
Cousteau, Guillaume Apollinaire, André Breton, and of course Samuel Beckett, Ernest Hemingway,
James Joyce, and other English-speaking writers. English-speaking publishers set up their shops here
to publish works by Hart Crane, John Dos Passos, Hemingway, William Faulkner, Dorothy Parker
among others. There a few blocks from the Jardin du Luxembourg, in her home at 27 rue de Fleurus,
Gertrude Stein held court for the expatriates and transformed her salon into their intellectual home.
During the war several months shy of age 18, Hemingway had volunteered in response to a Red
Cross advertisement to work as an ambulance driver in the Italian army. The explosion of an Austrian
mortar shell early in his military career almost cost him both legs. After six months in a Milan hospital,
where he fell in love with a nurse, Agnes von Kurowsky of Washington, DC, who later left him for an
Italian officer, he returned with bitterness to his native Oak Park, Illinois home. This bitter memory
made him resolve that he would leave his women before they left him. He eventually moved to
Michigan, then went to work for the Toronto Star Weekly as a freelance staff writer. Before long he
settled in Chicago, where he married as his first wife a St. Louis woman, Hadley Richardson, who had
come to visit the sister of his roommate. He had seen the horrors of the war; and now that the memory
of the carnage had begun to ebb away he found himself yearning to find a direction for his creativity.
His accepted a job of foreign correspondent for the Toronto Star Weekly, which allowed him a residence
in Paris. Here his wife became pregnant, and the couple returned to Chicago to have their first baby.
By January1924 they were back in Paris. Hemingway's career as a writer, rather than as a journalist,
had begun.
From Paris, he visited Pamplona, Spain, among other European destinations, with his “lost
generation” friends, and fell in love with the country and bullfighting, to which he returned two more
times. This trip provided him the materials for an early modernist novel. Scribner published The Sun
Also Rises (1926) to critical acclaim and commercial success. This short novel is a roman à clef, which
to him was not about a “lost,” dissolute, degenerate, disillusioned, and disheartened generation but
about a resilient one that survived the upheavals until then of the most destructive war. Other novels
that catapulted him to the first rank of American writers included A Farewell to Arms (1929), For
Whom the Bell Tolls (1940), The Old Man and the Sea (Pulitzer Prize, 1952), besides a series of poems
and short stories from which “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” is extracted. His trips to Africa and
experience as a visitor or as correspondent covering the Spanish Civil War pitting Republican forces
against the Fascists led to major fiction works. His non-fiction books include Death in the Afternoon
(1932), which is an account of the bullfighting tradition and its larger meaning, and The Green Hills of
Africa (1935), which recounts his safari experience in Tanzania with his musings about literature and
authors. A posthumous memoir, A Moveable Feast, which his fourth wife Mary entrusted to Scribner to
publish in 1964, consists of his writings from the 1920s—which were found in notebooks stored in a
trunk left in a Paris hotel basement–at a time when Paris once lived in was a moveable feast because it
never leaves you. Hemingway received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1954.
Many of his short stories and novels were adapted for the movies: For Whom the Bell Tolls
(1943), starring Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman; The Snows of Kilimanjaro (1952), starring Gregory
Peck and Susan Hayward; A Farewell to Arms (1957) starring Rock Hudson, Jennifer Jones, Vittorio
De Sica; The Sun Also Rises (1957), starring Tyrone Power and Ava Gardner; The Old Man and the
Sea (1958), starring Spenser Tracy.
His reputation was now secure in world literature, but something in his life wasn't right. Beset
by alcoholism and depression, Hemingway, who had become one of the most famous American
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novelists of modern times, shot himself in his Ketchum, Idaho home in 1961, ending an existence that
for all its struggle and courage and toughness left absurd life unconquered and enduring. For decades
his death was attributed to mental illness that had to be treated with electric shock at the Mayo Clinic in
Minnesota. However, he was aware of his surveillance by the FBI under J. Edgar Hoover, who was
suspicious of his ties to Cuba and his later anti-fascist work in the United States. He suspected that his
entire house and even his car, had been bugged. For many years his friends dismissed his attitude
toward the FBI as delusional brought on by his depression over the exhausted creative spark of his
waning years. But in the 1980s this surveillance was confirmed by an FBI document obtained by a
professor then at the University of Colorado under the Freedom of Information Act. The 122-page file
now declassified, censored and available from the FBI web site reveals that Hemingway had been an
adviser to the American Ambassador to Cuba (he spoke fluent Spanish) in the early 1940s, and did
some intelligence work for the American Embassy. But his involvement in the Spanish Civil War
during his days as a journalist earned him the FBI's intense interest and the Communists' attacks over
his masterpiece For Whom the Bell Tolls. One of Hemingway's biographers, A. E. Hotchner, regretted
not having given more credence to his complaints about the FBI and fifty years on believed that this
surveillance had contributed to Hemingway's suicide. (Beaumont, 2011).
Hemingway's Writing Style
The style for which Hemingway (1899-1961) was famous is simple and direct, yet forceful and crisp,
using few adjectives and adverbs (a modernist way learned from Ezra Pound) and simple sentence
structure. He tends to prefer compound sentences, making profuse use, like in the Bible, of the
connective and. This spare style, called hardboiled by some critics, found widespread imitation. He
called his approach the iceberg theory, or the theory of omission by which the writer, functioning like a
journalist, focuses on surface events described in scant details and with economy of language, leaving
the underlying themes and details to be unraveled by the reader. His heroes shift during the course of
the narrative or simply disappear. His dialogues are characterized by realism and power. His romans à
clef caused controversy among the expatriates, who tried to match fictional characters with real-life
personalities. With a minimalist approach, his works depict man's struggle, courage, masculinity, and
resilience bordering on heroism in the face of life's absurdity. He was passionate about masculine
activities: deep-sea fishing, big-game hunting, bullfighting, he a man who lived life to its fullest extent.
Yet the fear of death was lurking just beneath the surface. One can discern elements of existentialism
in them.
Hemingway's works resonate not because of their reflection of the two twentieth-century wars
that cast ominous shadows on contemporary life. They tell human stories in compelling terms as a
cautionary tale to those who advocate permanent war as a means to achieve permanent power. His
short stories continue to be enjoyed for their simple construction, simple language, crisp dialogues, and
profound themes to which the readers are drawn in.
These qualities make “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place,” and others of Hemingway's stories
favorite fictional works of generations.
Analysis of “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place”
Published in Scribner's Magazine in March 1933, and later made part of the collection of stories
Winner Take Nothing, which appeared in October of the same year, “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” has
had an eventful life, first through emendations to correct “typographical errors” or “imperfections” or
“ambiguities,” then through the resulting storm of controversy sweeping across the literary criticism
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landscape. The two camps reduced their arguments to (1) the emendations to remove ambiguities are
justified, and (2) ambiguities are intentional and therefore emendations are unjustified. I believe in the
original without emendations, given that ambiguities are one of the hallmarks of a modernist story.
This story has hardly any action at all and involves just three characters, all unnamed, all male,
and all still awake in the wee hours in a clean, well-lighted café on a deserted street of a Spanish town.
They are the sole customer, old and deaf, a younger waiter and an older one. One question swirling
around among earlier critics was who of the two waiters began the conversation at different points of
the story. As the story progresses it gets harder to know who said what. But it does not seem to matter
since ambiguity is only part of the trait that adds interest to the story. The ambiguities of the dialogue
reflect the ambiguities of the world. Hemingway flouted the convention of beginning a new paragraph
to signal a change of speakers. Thus the words by the same speaker may spread over two consecutive
paragraphs, and the readers have no clues until it dawns on them that the only way to make sense of the
dialogue is to assume that the speaker remains the same.
The waiters' dialogue revolves around the old customer, who is half shut off from the world
because of his deafness. He is totally uninvolved. Yet he is the only one that exemplifies the absurdity
of life from which no one can escape, not even through attempts at suicide. Someone always seems to
be there at the last minute to thwart your intention of fleeing. Regardless of circumstances, you are
condemned to live, for good or ill.
The setting is a nighttime café in a Spanish town. Why night time? We like to imagine that
night is quiet, rest, and restoration after a day's activities. But night is also mystery, for it limits vision
and fosters wild imagination. Only at night can we appreciate a lighted place, which offers a safe
haven from all the danger and mystery lurking in the dark. A well-lighted café gives protection from
the evil things that happen beyond the ken of the seeing eye. A night café is a paradox, at once mystery
and light, especially when there are only three people alone, separated from the world, doing banal
things like drinking brandy and commenting on the drinker.
During the day the street outside is dusty from the traffic. At night when the dew has settled the
dust and made the air fresher and more pleasant for diners to venture out, the Spanish town buzzes with
activity and excitement. Spaniards have the custom of eating a very late supper, and so you can
imagine the bustle of people and traffic filling the passable space with sights and sounds of all sorts.
People go to their evening meals at nine or later, as many do in New York City, a dense conglomeration
of people which never sleeps. The town seems to wake up after a lethargic afternoon and wastes little
time to crank up its nighttime engine for a few hours before bedtime. Restaurants, cafés, bars, bodegas,
and the streets teem with people drinking, eating, socializing, and having a good time. It seems the
town never sleeps.
Then gradually one by one they all leave their frantic activities for a place they call home to
catch a restful sleep during the remaining hours of darkness. Tomorrow is another day, another day of
the same routine repeated over and over. They are the lucky ones for they have their time structured to
a predictable rhythm. But to a few the night is safe but the day is dreadful. Night is the time for night
owls to emerge from their homes to go hunting for food, or if not hungry to find occupation in a
drinking bout.
The streets are now deserted. Aside from the sounds of insects, which you hear from
experience, hardly anything stirs. A soldier with his number sparkling in the street light from his collar
and his girl are strolling by unconcerned about a guard patrol that would scoop him up and whisk him
back to his barracks. The soldier and his girl friend appear briefly as the only other part of humanity
that still exists in town at night to mitigate cold reality and show that life is not just anxiety, dread,
responsibility, work, but also love. The soldier is unconcerned. As the story goes, what does the guard
or arrest matter as long as he gets what he is after? And what he is after in this fleeting moment is the
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girl, who supplies him with the full meaning of his life.
The Old Customer
On the terrace of the café, sitting in the shadow of the leaves of a tree showered in street light, the old
deaf customer, alone in a well-lighted café, is drinking one brandy after another. From the waiters'
comments he is a regular customer and a good one judging from the stack of saucers that count the
drinks. They still watch him closely to make sure he is not too drunk and does not walk away without
paying. The old man is the center of the universe, which is darkened by night but lit up by man's
ingenuity.
It is well past midnight, but the old man shows no sign of awareness of place or time. He sits
there wrapped in his own thoughts. Now he raps his glass on the pile of saucers. The young waiter
unhurriedly comes and asks, “What do you want?” in an annoyed tone of voice. He just wants the
customer to go home so he can close up and go home. “Another brandy.” The young waiter remarks
that the old man is going to be drunk, implying he does not want to serve another drink; then
reluctantly he goes into the café to fetch the brandy. On the way in he passes by his colleague, “He
should have killed himself last week.” His coworker says nothing. It is callous and cruel to say such a
thing. Soon he comes back with a bottle of brandy and a saucer. He pours the brandy into the glass
filling it. The old man is not satisfied, “A little more” and the waiter carelessly pours until it overflows
onto the saucer, adding, “You should have killed yourself last week.” It is the second time he says the
mean thing. He is so disgusted that he can't help showing the ugly side of him, knowing that the old
man can't hear him anyway. He treats his customer shoddily because he can't go home to his wife as
long as the old man still hangs around. Carelessness and insolence are his way of showing how much
respect he has for a customer who stands in the way of his going home to his wife. Yet to the old
customer, this is the time he likes to stay up and enjoy the life that he wanted to flee from, but could
not. He likes to sit in a clean, well-lighted, dignified café, which is superior to the bar or the bodega or
even his home, because it gives him a sense of getting involved in mankind in the only way he knows
how.
From the waiters' conversation we know that the old man barely escaped death by hanging last
week if it had not been for his niece, who cut him down, because she and others feared for his soul. A
Catholic believes that a person who commits suicide can never go to heaven. Though he lives with his
niece, he is lonely and friendless. A niece is not exactly a friend or a companion. And though he is a
frequent customer, he never becomes friends with the waiters or tries to. He has money, plenty of it, as
one waiter remarks. With his money he can offer his neighbors or even a total stranger a drink as a first
step to making friends if he wants to. Clearly he is not interested in using money to find friends, for he
always drinks alone. He does not seem to be interested in trying. One might think he must prefer
loneliness to companionship or friendship. But it is rather absurd for anyone to prefer loneliness! It is
not clear how circumstances force loneliness upon him – deafness being one of them-- but they must be
bad enough for him to attempt suicide; now, though, he is taking them in stride. He does not show
signs of depression or despair, but it is hard to fathom his feelings when he just sits and drinks brandy
without trying to communicate with the waiters. It is reasonable to assume that loneliness drives him to
attempt suicide last week, but no one knows what other reasons came into play. An outsider would say
he should try to escape from loneliness instead of from life. It is much easier and more reasonable to
find friends than to find death. Although his suicide attempt could be a sign of depression, of the
meaninglessness of life, of despair, or of lassitude, his attitude toward life makes him a prisoner
condemned to solitary confinement without walls.
One of the waiters says he once had a wife. If so, what happened to her? Is he divorced or
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separated; did she leave him or is she dead? Did she treat him with respect and decency? Or did she
treat him in such a way that he became misogynistic or, worse, misanthropic? Having lived to eighty
he has enough experience with people of all ages, and knows enough about them to have no illusions.
Still no one knows his thoughts, especially with respect to women. Perhaps he has not seen anything in
people that excites him to the point of leaving his cocoon. Or he has turned into such an emotional
basket case that human relations no longer hold any interest for him. As a result he is alone. He is
lonely at any time, but daytime is worse because the people going about their business remind him of
the idleness of his days and his non-involvement in human affairs. At night, he is alone and is not
bothered when most people have gone to bed. This is why he likes to stay up late to indulge himself.
Unfortunately, as a man he tends to depend on alcohol to survive distress, depression, and loneliness.
Like the old man in the story, Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald were no strangers to alcohol
addiction. Alcohol is the downfall of so many.
The waiters wonder if a wife could be good to the old customer now. The younger waiter
doesn't think so. The old man is past that age when a wife can make a difference. He himself is young,
and has a totally different worldview; he has a wife waiting for his return from work, and sees all the
reasons for hurrying to close up and kick the old customer out. For the old man, however, the question
may be moot since taking a wife at eighty would be more of a miracle than a cakewalk. Now a wife
could immediately help dissipate his despair and estrangement from the world, and the sharing and
companionship she brings are valuable in raising his spirit. Perhaps she can even wean him from his
nightly drinking bouts, and with her conversation, her presence, and her household chores, he may no
longer need to escape to the café and stay out late anymore. But his deafness separates him from the
world of sound; and a wife could also complicate things. Perhaps she might try to stop his drinking
habit and keep nagging until he does. Since verbal communication is impossible between them, body
language must take over. Then he will miss the subtlety of the sound of language and the semantics.
Hence opportunities for misunderstanding multiply. In the end, the old man might just continue to stay
up late drinking at the café to avoid confronting her and going to bed with her. The trouble of having a
wife may not be worth it.
Now age does not cause him any health problems. Aside from his drinking, the old man does
not seem to have any age-related issues. What then should he do during his waking hours to avoid
boredom and diminishing faculties? At his age, he is no longer working. Hence his life is totally
unstructured unless he imposes some sort of discipline on it out of will power or out of necessity. With
no support group and no friends he is completely on his own. If he cannot follow a daily schedule that
fills his time with meaningful activities, it is hard to see how he can find meaning or purpose in life.
Remember that you are on your own when making a decision; yet your decision is made for everyone
else, according the Sartrean existentialist view, because you are involved in the world. At the same
time, you are alone in making your decision regardless of help you may have sought from any sources.
After that you bear the heavy responsibility of your decision, and you bear it alone. When life has no
longer any meaning, it is up to you to decide whether it is worth living. Hence, the old man must find
ways to engage in activities that his body and his mind require to stay fit and healthy. He could go to
the library to entertain himself with books on all sorts of topics. The library is a clean, well-lighted
place even during the day, a quiet place although to a deaf person all places are quiet. He could take
long walks in the park or the forest and commune with nature as Jean-Jacques Rousseau did. Though
he doesn't hear the sounds, he can still see the beauty in the trees, the flowers, the birds, and other
animals. He can write a diary or anything that comes to his mind, to himself or to an imaginary reader.
He never has to accept the wall of seclusion and isolation imposed by deafness. And he never has to
drink himself silly and teeter back to his bed half unconscious to fall asleep almost at dawn. Yet his
drinking by night has become a habitual activity he cannot get rid of. While drinking is the only way
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for him to retain a grip on reality, it is also the one activity that dooms him.
Cut off from the world by deafness and hence by loneliness, the old man is an island. While
humans are supposed to be involved in humanity, the old man is not involved in humanity or in life.
His deafness removes him from contact with the sounds that may please a human soul or bring him
closer to his fellow men. What is real to him is that a large part of his world is shut out of his
consciousness. One can be sure he was not born deaf but lost his hearing much later, perhaps during
the Great War. The loss of hearing caused by exploding shells or the loss of sight caused by poison gas
are traumatic experiences. He must have felt cheated out of the pleasure of sounds and the
understanding of speech. The songs of birds, the music of the leaves and the water, and the songs and
music made by people, the language spoken all around, he knows not at all now. A great part of what
makes life bearable is hearing the speech of others. Yet he has no way of understanding what people
say unless he learns sign language. That is sufficient reason for his despair and suicidal intention. Why
would anyone go to the trouble of keeping him alive in a world that is half dead to him? A silent world
is devoid of meaning. Without the sound of language life makes no sense. This is at some time how
the world appears to the old man; it is full of nothingness.
Age seems to be treating him more gracefully. The old man is doing just fine; he does not bend
under the burden of age. To the young waiter, the old man is too old; and he wouldn't want to live that
long, saying, "I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing." Being young the waiter has
absolutely no empathy, and no sympathy for old people. The day when he will be just as old as the
customer is far into the future; and so, the thought that some young man in the future will make the
same remarks as he is making now does not come up. The older waiter, on the other hand, feels
empathy for the old man. The customer is clean and bears himself with dignity. He doesn't spill his
drinks and walks home without help. He bothers no one and just likes to sit alone well into the night
in a clean, well-lighted café to enjoy what little pleasure life has to offer persons like him. The burden
of years does not seem to affect his health. And neither should it affect his attitude that life is still
worth living.
The old man has no illusion whatever. After the senseless carnage of war there is no faith left.
Instead of something where towns and trees and people existed, there is nothing; they are gone
destroyed by the forces of evil. To the old man all this means there is no religion, no God, and no
heaven and hell. Just nothing. The Lord's Prayer is parodied and filled with “nada,” with nothing. The
old man had experienced nothing before, when he unsuccessfully tried suicide. It was about nothing.
Now, nothing exists because nothing is everywhere, in the town, in the café, in his house, but most
vexingly, in his heart and soul. As well it is in the heart and soul of mankind, who at the brink of
extinction get a grip on reality and pull back. All the hubris and contempt that pushed men to mutual
hatred failed to solve problems. Hatred never solves problems; it exacerbates them. With all its
absurdity, however, life must be lived. The old man decided he will tough it out because life is
designed for living. And while his time has not arrived he intends to make the most of everything he
has, including nothing that resides within him.
And so, though half cut off from the world, lonely, and with alcohol as his nightly companion,
the old man carries on. Now he realizes that suicide is a foolish act of despair, and he intends to live
on his own terms. In spite of its imperfections and its absurdity, life is still the only thing that is too
precious to treat lightly. No one chooses to come into life. But once in it, one must live. Regardless of
his circumstances, the old man now sees clearly that suicide is not the solution. Henceforth nothing
can induce him to take his own life again. The world, even if half-full of nothingness, still has vibrancy
left in the other half. Every night this world opens to him with bright light and cleanliness and order at
his favorite haunt. To him now, after the misadventure of a failed suicide attempt, even this half-life is
worth cultivating with ferocious tenacity. Infirm and sickening, it offers him, an infirm and sickly soul,
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everything he values, order, hope, confidence, dignity, and serenity, albeit in small doses. With an act
of will born of despair, the old man regains his sense of being human. And he will live like a man.
The Younger Waiter
Married and young, the younger waiter expects more from life. This is why he gets upset by the old
customer for being utterly inconsiderate and insensitive to his desire to go home to his wife. He treats
the old man rudely and complains he never goes to bed before three o'clock while the old man sees no
reason to go home early. The old customer infuriates the waiter with his stubbornness, and the waiter
responds with rudeness and cruel language, knowing that the old man can't hear a word he says. He
still says the nasty things an angry young man is apt to say to an old man who drinks too much and
insists on more.
The contrast between the two men couldn't be more striking. The young man is hurried,
impatient, and frustrated. The old man is contented, even smug, and unhurried. The young man has
youth, a job, a wife, and confidence while the old man has none of those. The young man just wants to
close shop and go home to his wife since the hour is late, too late; it is past two o'clock. The old man
wants to sit in a well-lighted place until dawn if permitted, and has no wife to go back to. The young
man can look forward to the welcoming arms of a young woman, her tenderness, her kisses; the old
man has solitude, an empty bed and long hours of sleeplessness. And of course, the young man has a
whole life in front of him while the old man has almost all his life behind him. The young waiter has a
great deal to aspire to, to dream of, to look forward to. As for the old customer, his vision is quite
modest, perhaps just enough health to down one brandy at a time, every night, at the same clean, welllighted place where the young man works. Here in the presence of the waiters he feels less lonely and
more connected, like a peninsula although the connection is just a fragile feeling.
The young waiter has no patience with the kind of customer that the old man is. He is an
unsociable man who drinks too much, and lingers endlessly over his drinks with total disregard for the
waiter's yearning for a good night's sleep. All the old man wants is to dissipate his loneliness through
alcohol. Exasperated, the waiter seethes with anger, saying, “You should have killed yourself last
week.” The old man remains impassive and does not reply for he is deaf. The waiter's flow of words
drains away like water on a duck's back. His angry outbursts make him angrier while leaving the old
man unscathed. The waiter now learns that insults are like boomerangs: Hurling them, and they'll
come right back to hit you if you don't duck. The waiter loses more and more patience as the night
wears on. In the end he takes a firm stand by flatly refusing to serve any more drinks, insisting that he
is closing. The old man tries one more time, “Another brandy.” Nothing doing. The waiter is adamant,
“No more tonight. Close now.” He speaks in fragments as if the old man does not deserve a
grammatically well-formed sentence. In fact, the old man does not deserve any consideration at all.
From the young man's point of view, what kind of decent person would keep a young man from joining
his wife in the conjugal bed while he is enjoying the drinks which the young man can't afford?
The old man must sense that the situation is not worth a fight. There will still be tomorrow to
renew the battle because tomorrow will always come, just like life will always continue tomorrow, give
or take a few billion years, unless the bombs, which have been kept in storage for decades, start raining
down before sunrise. Why fret tonight when the struggle can move forward to the next page of the
account ledger? The old man can settle down tonight without giving anything up. So he rises from his
feet and counts the number of saucers. It is a respectable stack. He pays the right amount by carefully
pulling the coins from a leather purse, leaves a tip, and disappears into the dark. With everything going
against him, deafness, loneliness, human cruelty and callousness, even brandy, the old man retains
sufficient clearheadedness and composure to count the saucers and pay the check. Furthermore, he is
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considerate enough to leave a tip to the waiter who doesn't deserve it for all the nasty remarks, the
impudence, the discourtesy, and the disrespect he has been showing all night long. Youth sometimes
can be heartless and rash, but age knows to forgive and forget. Though drunk, the old man walks home
with dignity. He will come back tomorrow night without rancor.
The young waiter's relationship to his older colleague is on a solid, friendly footing. They work
together every day and every night till closing time. Both have served all sorts of customers and shared
their bittersweet experience. Work in a café is a slice of life on the outside. They have gone through
good and bad time together, and in spite of the discrepancy in age and different worldviews, they seem
to get along. They hardly quarrel. Tonight, he older waiter tries to calm his young colleague down
when the latter gets upset over the old customer. Like the customer, the older waiter is unhurried.
“What's an hour?” “More to me than to him,” retorts his colleague. It is true. A young man can
accomplish so much more in sixty minutes than an older man can in sixty hours. This is where the two
waiters part company. No one needs Einstein to say that time is not the same for everyone,
everywhere. It is flexible, elastic, but not interchangeable since each man has his own allotment and
his way of dealing with time. The young waiter is in a hurry, so time means more to him while the
unhurried old waiter shares the old customer's view that time should be enjoyed at a leisurely pace.
They know that they cannot turn back the clock; so every minute counts, but not in the same sense as
the young waiter perceives it.
The older waiter understands youth and youthful needs and desires. He treats his younger
colleague with decent respect. Though he disagrees with his colleague, he does not blame him for
wanting to close early. The young man has a wife and should not be blamed for wanting to go to bed
early. He is in a hurry because he is responsible for his wife's well-being; he feels insecure to leave her
alone at home at this late hour. The thought of her being worried sick about him being so late coming
home is unbearable. He just wants to rid himself of this feeling of helplessness that the old customer
causes by his selfish behavior. While the old waiter fully understands the customer, and chides his
younger colleague for being insensitive to the old man's needs, he totally discounts the old customer's
equal insensitivity to the young waiter's. This bias is forgivable since the young waiter and he are two
different kinds of people. After decades of living through it all, they now pull back and limit their
expectations. Young people, roaring ahead, enjoy confidence, hope, health and many desires. This is
why they are always too busy for the niceties of gracious living. If they treat elderly people callously,
they do it more out of selfishness than out of malice. The young waiter demonstrates that impatience,
that imperiousness to live, to make something of life that gives hope that for all its ugliness and
contradictions life is all we humans have got.
The Older Waiter
The older waiter is very empathetic. Each night he is reluctant to close shop because he thinks
someone lonely may need a well-lighted café to spend some time in the company of humans. He
knows what it means to be lonely; he has no family, no future, and no confidence, just a job. The job
links him to the rest of those who have no other places to go in the midst of night, when solitude hits
the hardest. When people retires into their homes for rest and sleep, the alone crowd surface to seek
what little warmth and meaning they can find in the few remaining bright spots of the town. And this is
why the old waiter wants to stay open very late. It is this feeling of empathy, of feeling for others, with
others about their needs that are inarticulate but real that motivates the old waiter to be patient with
customers who linger. He knows their needs, their loneliness, and their yearning, for he has them all.
At the same time he is tolerant of youthful impatience and insensitivity. He does not judge his
younger colleague harshly for being rude and heartless in treating the old customer with insolence. He
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understands that people go through stages of life when they learn to behave more and more wisely. A
lack of wisdom is just a reflection of youth. Youth may deride age for lack of confidence; but what is
there in age to look forward to? Nevertheless the old waiter shows insight when he knows there are
people who just want a lighted place in the middle of night in which to enjoy their waking hours.
Those precious moments cannot be had in their homes. When the young waiter points out that the old
customer could just as well buy a bottle to drink at home, the old waiter quickly counters that it's not
the same. Drinking at home will not help as the problem is not drinking but connecting with other
human beings, even if by a tenuous thread. The young waiter takes human touch and connection for
granted because he is married, but the old man does not have that luxury. He is unmarried and his niece
does not play much of a role in his life. This is why the old waiter is the wiser one. He understands
loneliness and sleeplessness. And he dreads both, in the same way as the old customer does.
After closing, the old waiter does not head straight home. He wanders in the streets thinking
about life. He comes up with the idea that life is really nothing, “nada.” He transforms the entire Lord's
Prayer to gibberish by substituting the Spanish word “nada” for every main term of the prayer. By
doing so, he treats a prayer with flippancy, and denies that religion has any connection to problems of
life. That attitude signifies life contains nothing, means nothing, offers nothing. That is how the long
string of “nada” should be understood. He says that on behalf of all the lonely men of the world, who
think the world is empty of meaning, i.e., a world filled with “nada.”
He shares the same state of mind as the old man. Both like to stay up late; they like to go to a
clean, well-lighted café to spend a few hours of solitude because the place is “pleasant,” and “light is
very good.” They don't want music, and they don't want just any bar or bodega because these are not
the same as a well-lighted café. There is something about a café that a bar or bodega lacks: the air of
quiet dignity, the ambiance, the lighting, the play of dark and light, the atmosphere and mood that is
hard to describe but is palpable and authentic. After closing the old waiter wants to savor a bit of the
magic of night by entering a bar. He orders a copita, probably of coffee. He finds fault with the bar.
Yes, the bar is clean and well-lighted, but “unpolished.” This is why he can't linger. This bar has
nothing to inspire him, nothing to offer to his craving for companionship, for warm relationships. And
though he dreads a lonely bed, he has no choice but to go home and try to sleep before dawn.
Like the old customer, the old waiter hates the loneliness of his bed. But he has no place else as
pleasant as his own to go to. He can't fall asleep, just as some old men can't. Then he concludes it is
probably insomnia, for many men have it. Old men without something to look forward to suffer
insomnia, according to this theory. Their life has lost much of its meaning, and they have lost much of
that lust for the joy that surrounds them if they only take the time to look. Then there is the
responsibility of making every decision without guidance from any source or authority. Sartrean
existentialism holds that every decision we make is made for humanity, putting the burden of judgment
and consequences on each individual's shoulders. This is where the dread, the angst come into each
person's conscience. Yet no one can escape freedom. As Sartre said, we are “condemned to be free,”
i.e., we cannot not make a choice. Making no choice is making a choice. The old waiter has to make a
choice between loneliness and the effort to ward off loneliness every night.
But why don't old people tire themselves out doing something during the day so that their
bodies crave sleep at night? If they do that, they won't get bored, and they won't get insomnia. It may
sound simple, but it is not because an old body loses stamina and an old man loses confidence and
discipline. Keeping busy is not a simple exercise of willpower, but a courageous act of taking control,
particularly so when the man suffers loneliness. It is not age that makes you lose confidence, but your
thoughts about it. Thinking about old age as the final phase is already admitting defeat, for you think
your one-way street will soon come to an end.
The old waiter leaves the bar after one copita. He finds nothing in it to satisfy his yearning, to
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assuage his loneliness. Like his old customer, he craves the human touch, the connection that makes
life so desirable and precious. He wants “order,” which a bar cannot supply, but which a café can. He
feels alienated from the barman, who is the part of humanity he is not involved in. He doesn't know
why, but he cannot overcome his own estrangement from parts of mankind. He is looking, like his old
customer, for involvement, but so far finds only alienation. And he is willing to stay up all night to find
it, outside his room, where only “nada” exists. Out there he has hope of finding something other than
“nada” that makes life blossom forth with the magic of living. Alone in his room he tosses and turns
but finds no sleep. When he falls asleep out of exhaustion it is dawn. So he blames it on insomnia. It is
so easy to blame insomnia, for it does not talk back.
He knows better. It is the loneliness, the emptiness that old people are likely to run into that
make him fear going to bed. Hence, he prolongs his waking moments to the breaking point. Loneliness
robs life of everything, leaving nothing but “nada.” Where nada reigns, there hope dies. This, he will
not allow if he wants a life worth living. He will resist nada; he will fight nada. He will not let nada
control his life, for he knows that life is made absurd by nada. He will overcome nada, and with it his
loneliness, and estrangement from humanity. And he will do all that without religion, without faith,
with just himself and perhaps with his customer. After all, a man is not island for he is connected to the
rest of humanity. Somehow.
He and his old customer are the same kind of people since they share so much in common. To
them life holds not only mystery but joy of which age and alienation are trying to rob them. They want
that joy back, and will keep fighting until they get it. They have learned that joy is everywhere if they
look for it. They will try to fill their hearts with lust, that desire for life that still kindles in their hearts.
They will try to cram all waking moments with activities that draw out the best instincts in them. They
will try to do the healthy things they enjoy doing. They keep moving forward and won't look back at
past mistakes. With determination and luck maybe they will succeed, for there is nothing written that
says they won't.
Conclusion
Ernest Hemingway's “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” is short on words but long on ideas. His direct,
unadorned, and sparing writing style, consisting of everyday language embedded in simple sentence
structure, achieves its effect by giving limitless freedom for the readers to explore its themes and
symbolism. The story's uncomplicated plot frees the readers from burdensome details but invites their
participation in the creative process. Hemingway's plot construction does not charm with ingenuity or
cleverness but shines with a childlike sense of wonderment at the myriad ways it allows the readers to
build a theory of life using the slivers of the narrative. The story hints at insights without
philosophizing, lessons without pontificating, and ideas without theorizing. It advocates no position,
and lets the readers draw their own conclusions. His characters face the challenges that the readers are
familiar with, without illusions or pretensions. And their responses resonate with the common people
just as their actions are authentic and their reactions human. The readers are drawn into the story
because they are not the spectators but the players on the same stage as the characters. That complete
identity with the characters is one of the qualities that endear Hemingway's fiction to modern
audiences.
The story brings into focus the alienation of old people from life, their loneliness, their
infirmity, and their desperate attempt to make sense of existence, whose absurdity age exacerbates.
Man faces despair and is driven to desperate acts, such as suicide, which solve nothing. Nothingness is
the dominant aspect of life, the pervasive nada that surrounds everyone, cripples everyone, and
prevents everyone from making what they want to make of themselves. The old customer is driven to
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84
suicide by loneliness; the young waiter is driven to anger by his inability to live his married life as he
should; and the old waiter is driven to wandering the streets because of his fear of “insomnia.” Yet none
of them give up. None of them yields to the notion that the game is over. All of them resolve that the
game is over only when they, the old and the young, say so. Thomas D. Le
25 June 2015
Photo Credits
* Fig. 1. Fashion of the Roaring Twenties. Retrieved from http://www.amazon.com/Fashions-RoaringTwenties-Coloring-Dover/dp/0486499502
** Fig. 2. Ernest Hemingway. Retrieved from http://www.thepursuitofsassiness.com/2012/12/11/thecase- files-ernest-hemingway
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Night Cafés in Paintings by Edward Hopper and Van Gogh
By Thomas D. Le
Why Night Cafés
Back in the days when graduate school was a way of life, not infrequently would I venture out of my
dingy bedroom where only impoverished students would ever find shelter, at night alone in the forlorn
town lighted here and there by a solitary street lamp.
The town was small and nondescript. Aside from the college and a few factories, it had little to
offer a big-city boy accustomed to the constantly changing smells, sights and sounds of large
concentrations of people routinely doing all sorts of different things. Homesickness and loneliness
were my constant companions. I found the days more bearable when the people, the classrooms, the
walk through the wooded campus brought forth a sense of life and reality. Library stacks were daily
haunts, the classroom buildings were a daily sight, and the Student Union was a favorite watering hole.
They made up nearly all my entire world while the town, neat and tiny, held as much excitement as the
endless cornfields waving in the wind all around.
Even though my rooming house was within walking distance from downtown, where a lone
cinema provided a modicum of entertainment, and a string of shops of all kinds, a bank, a steak house
and a few restaurants clustering around the courthouse square offered variety and movement, I found
few occasions to head that way, except for a short time on Saturday nights, when I bussed for a pittance
at a nice restaurant. Since I could scarcely afford a restaurant meal or a movie ticket, they became
special treats, luxury items on my lean budget. Meals were a little cheaper at the Union, where
entertainment was mostly free. But I rarely ate there or at the residence halls, preferring the exact same
fare I concocted every day, year in and year out. The movies were sometimes quite up to date. I
remember watching Three Days of the Condor shown there to a good size audience, and my horror at
seeing so much violence on the screen. That was my first taste of American thrillers and slasher films.
The Union was a huge building, containing a hotel with adequate facilities for guests of sporting or
theatrical events. For the students, the Union boasts a large dining area famous for Renaissance feasts;
a snack bar; an auditorium; a huge lounge where comfortable armchairs and sofas, a piano for the
virtuoso, and jukebox music invited anyone to sit and relax; a hole in the ground called the Kiva for
intimate conversations, and more. The town could not compete with the Union in terms of affordable
rest and recreation. Still I seldom went to the Union at night except for special occasions. One such
event was the annual Renaissance banquet, during which guests were transported five hundred years
back to mingle with the fake aristocrats and to live moments of revelry accented by copious portions of
modern and period food, and a procession of the Wassail Bowl. Court jesters would circulate among
tables to perform their antics; some songs and music were Renaissance vintage, and costumed guests
and servers completed the illusion.
A more frequent venue for evening entertainment was the Theater, which the School of Music
operated to stage shows, operas, recitals, concerts, ballets, and plays every day year round. From time
to time performances by international touring groups added spices and excitement to an already lively
world of the performing arts in the middle of the lush green of Midwestern country. The best part was
that most of the performances were free of charge. I got a paid ticket to my first opera, Carmen, here as
a gift from an anonymous faculty member. The Theater, a world apart from the drudgery of town life
and study, was a genuine cultural center that drew spectators from hundreds of miles away. To this day
it remains in my heart as a beloved gem to trot out of distant memory during tender moments of
reminiscence.
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87
If, in those moments of boredom or relief from reading, I walked into an empty stationery store
downtown, I would linger interminably over the worthless knickknacks, jumping from one kind to
another, deliberating with myself whether to buy this or that. It was almost an existential question. And
though my needs were simple, I occasionally made a purchase, just to show I wasn't merely wasting my
time. Then I might drop in on a hardware store, for whatever reason I still cannot fathom since I owned
nothing that had to be installed, fixed, removed, or discarded with tools. When you get desperate for
recreation, you'd go to the most unlikely place because it was among the few available.
Nighttime was different. It made the town mysterious. There was little traffic on the deserted
streets, and perhaps a shadowy figure or two were winding their way through the campus paths, or even
rarer loomed the silhouettes of a couple of giggling students on the sidewalks. Here was a lone figure
hunched up from the cold and a wayward wind with a lot of things on his mind. I loved to get out in
the dark after dinner, especially when the snow was silently blanketing the town with its soft downy
fluff. It was so romantic, so beautiful to look at those white flakes coming down and blown in oblique
streaks or here and there in Brownian motion, glinting in the street light and coming to nest on my hair
and shoulders. The snowflakes are all different in shape when examined under a microscope. But
they are all lovely. Sometimes my ears ached from the gusts that plunged the temperature to below
zero. But I did not mind, for it was part of the pleasure of getting dry in falling snow. A falling rain
may dampen your mood, but a snowfall fills you with exuberance. I would then walk for an hour or so
to the downtown square because it was safer, looking into shop windows at displays I never intended to
buy, and in general just whiling away the minutes while capturing the joy within for years to come.
One late night after hours of study I decided to walk for the first time to a 24-hour café on the
edge of campus near my house. This place catered almost exclusively to the campus crowd though a
few townsfolk might drop in for a quick meal and soda. A cup of coffee at this time would probably
keep me awake all night. But since as a student I was not gainfully employed, staying up was not a
problem. I had done this more times than I could count. So here I was, like the late-night customer in
Hemingway's A Clean, Well-Lighted Place, sitting at a bare table in a room which was only halfway
lighted and populated by five or six other night owls, sipping black coffee slowly, very slowly, and
feeling all the loneliness weighing down in my soul. Hemingway's old man drinks brandy, which is not
to my taste. But his loneliness is made worse by deafness. This room reeked with indifferent music,
not unlike the dull elevator music piped in to a captive audience. I looked around. Some students were
engaged in whispered conversations; others were reading; and still others were staring vacantly into the
void. There was nothing in the café's décor worth remembering. The only waiter in sight was busy
talking with the cashier and totally ignoring the customers. Outside was a complete dark void where
nocturnal nature took over as a crime scene for its myriad invisible predators and preys. But inside was
an unhurried hangout for the tired souls who wanted a lighted place to rest their numbed minds and
pained muscles.
How many tired souls long for a lighted place to pass the night hours without fear of being
chased away by waiters who want to go home early to their wives? And how many places are open at
night, perhaps all night, to tend to the needs of these people? Twenty-four-hour restaurants such as
IHOPs might fit the bill. They are decently clean and well-lighted. But they are devoid of romance.
Fast-food restaurants and diners fare no better. Their ambiance is pedestrian, and their coffee quite
forgettable. If you want a decent place serving decent coffee all night long, you might have to look far
and wide, or simply stay home and make your own coffee.
It is such reality that gives me the impetus to find the answers in the art world. For various
reasons, artists love the mystery and magic of night, the play of light and darkness, the solitary people,
the tired customer of a lone bistro on a deserted street, the pleasure-seeker, the low-life, the night owls,
the people who need a café for a change of pace, and all those who, though not the habitual night
Firmament
88
hawks, are nevertheless in search of a temporary haven away from home in which to spend a few hours
in the romance and mystery of night.
Art excites your imagination so that you can contribute to the creative process without
possessing the manual dexterity or the training. Two paintings left an indelible impression on me since
I first saw them in art books decades ago. Their creators came from two different worlds, the old and
the new, and two different centuries, some fifty years apart. Both portray night cafés of the cheap kind
and both depend on nighttime to deliver their effect. This discussion would be impossible before they
have had decades to age in my memory and to have taken a life of their own.
The Nighthawks (1942) by Edward Hopper
Edward Hopper's Nighthawks (Fig. 1) depicts a well-lighted street corner café, stark in its simplicity
and straight lines, and in its absence of décor as seen from the outside. It is a cheap downtown diner
furnished with stools instead of chairs. Open to all eyes through its glass enclosure, the restaurant
hides nothing. Its name Phillies is visible in the shadow across the top. The light from its fluorescentlit ceiling floods the street in the foreground with uneven patches of pale yellow light wedged between
splashes of light blue. The shops across the other street lie partly in the dark blue shadow, partly in the
light cast from inside the diner that reveals ocher panels. Two enormous steel coffee machines sit
against the corner next to what might be the kitchen door. The counter has a wood tone, indicating it
was built from solid cherry wood or with cheap wood covered by a veneer, most likely the latter to be
in keeping with the overall construction of the diner. A row of stools visible only at their tops runs
around the counter as the only seating arrangement of the house.
No one is seen in the streets. Inside four characters are at their places doing their own thing. In
the middle ground the server in a white shirt and cap, bent forward, sits idly by in front of a napkin
holder and salt and pepper shakers, his profile cast sharply against the yellow wall in the background.
A male character sitting near the corner of the counter to the server's left has his back turned to the
viewer. A coffee mug is at his right elbow. He wears a dark blue suit and a gray hat with black band,
which today is an anachronism. But in the forties and fifties men were still wearing hats. He seems
lonely as do all people who are out at night by themselves. A couple appear on the far side of the
counter. The man sports a dark blue coat and light blue shirt, with his inevitable dark gray hat; a coffee
cup covers part of his right forearm, his hands visible on the counter. The woman to his left has red
hair and wears a bright red dress and lipstick. Her right forearm is raised and seems to hold something
that she is gazing at. Her left arm is folded across her body. The couple seem engaged in some serious
conversation or non-communication, judging from their facial expression and body language.
The customers fall into two situations. The customer sitting by himself is alone. We can
imagine him being a stranger in town and having just arrived on the last bus, he is waiting to be picked
up by a friend or relative. Or he is just passing through to another destination. If he was a local, there
would be no need to wear coat and tie unless he was going to an opera or some function where
decorum dictates the dress code. Even if he had gone out to find entertainment, he went alone. In any
case, he is lonely tonight without friends of either sex with him. No man goes to a night café alone
unless he is alone. He seems lost and nothing can say that louder than his attitude. His coffee cup is
not in front of him, but behind his elbow hidden from his view and out of reach. The coffee cup is the
symbol of his loneliness, of his isolation from the rest of the world.
In the far corner of the counter the couple look like they are theatergoers. It could be an opera
or a symphony they just attended and now on the way home they drop in for a drink before bedtime.
Since this is not a bar, a nightcap is out of the question. We can surmise that they came here because
they don't drink in the first place. Hence they came for the only logical option, the brew that is
Firmament
89
contained in the two outsized steel urns. On the other hand, they don't look like husband and wife, for
their demeanor is too distant. Each ordered coffee, which they don't seem to touch judging from the
cups' positions in respect of their hands. The woman's arms are closed as in a defensive stance while
the man's hands are exposed as if to signal that he has no threatening intentions. They don't look like
travelers. They look more like lovers. And their relationship seems to be on the rocks, an
estrangement, a separation of the heart and the mind and of the body. It clearly needs attention to avoid
the dreaded breakup. Where do they go from here, we can only hope and conjecture.
All in all, the Nighthawks projects an atmosphere of quiet and peace in a night scene that is
open and safe. The mood is one of comfort and trust in order to accommodate all the drama that takes
place in its midst. Only one man is needed to run the all-night café that stays open with confidence to
serve anyone who needs a well-lighted place in the solitary hours of night. The lone customer, the
couple each with their own preoccupations could find a safe place in the café to relax or gain
perspective, confidence and energy to face the challenges beyond the door. It dates from a simpler era,
before the country was heavily involved in war, when a person could still hitchhike across the country
without fear, a time when the good Samaritan could exist. It also evokes nostalgia for a bygone time
that nothing can bring back. Greed, crime, cynicism, war, and fear have replaced trust and faith in the
goodness of man. With the war raging and thousands of men called up for overseas service, the scene
seems strangely peaceful. But underneath the surface calm is solitude, separation, isolation
Fig. 1. Edward Hopper. Nighthawks (1942). *
The Nighthawks captured my imagination years ago when I first saw it. The atmosphere,
neither too inviting nor too cold, has something about it that intrigues and attracts attention. Perhaps it
is the lighting that spills onto the streets, or perhaps it looks innocuous and approachable. Alone in the
deserted town it remains open to offer coffee at a very late hour when most people are already asleep.
It stays open for those who like a well-lighted but inexpensive place to enjoy relaxation away from the
hubbub of daytime activities. It attracts people who are out late, after the theater or movies, and who
Firmament
90
want a quick drink before bedtime. The place has convenience, lighting, and prices in its favor. On the
other hand, it is too open, and so exposed to the eye of the casual passer-by as to be forbidding to those
who want discreetness and privacy. This is not a suitable place to linger over coffee or to share
confidential information. The seating arrangement discourages private exchanges and encourages
trivial conversations of extroverts who value socialization over privacy. For all its bare appearance
and unassuming atmosphere, the café seems to thrive because it is the only place where nighthawks can
find their temporary refuge from the mystery of night. Above all it gives respite from isolation, and
relief from loneliness.
The Night Café (September 1888) by Vincent van Gogh
During his short life of thirty-seven years, Vincent van Gogh created 864 oil paintings and 1,300
watercolors, drawings, and sketches, but sold only one oil painting, the Red Vineyard to Anna Boch,
herself a painter and a friend. He had little reputation as an artist during nearly all his life. But the
story of his cutting off his left ear and hospitalization for mental illness are well known, and become
part of his legend. In 1889 he shot himself, survived long enough to be treated, but died two days later.
Even the cause of his death is controversial, largely over who did the shooting since no gun had been
found at the scene. After his death his legend spread rapidly, and his paintings were discovered as
works of a genius. Over decades many of his paintings sold for millions each, and at least one
(Portrait of Dr. Gachet) was sold at auction for more than eighty million dollars in 1990. In his days in
the small town of Arles in Provence, he painted a large number of his famous pieces. He had written
more than 600 letters to his younger brother Theo, who was an art dealer. In these letters and letters to
various friends and relatives, totaling more than 800, van Gogh explained how he created his paintings
and discussed other details of his life. These letters, besides being literary works in their own right,
contain valuable information which forms the basis of his biography.
In Arles, a Provençal town where the artist had gone for health and professional reasons, he
painted The Night Café (Fig. 2, The Café de la Gare, in the Place Lamartine), which Edward Hopper
used as an inspiration for his own work The Nighthawks. The painting depicts the interior of an allnight French café lighted by four lamps hanging from the ceiling, casting swirls of halos around them
and inducing a surreal mood. Bold primary colors dominate the scene: yellow covering the floor and
the walls to about a third the height of the room, red in the upper parts of the walls and green on the
ceiling. The room opens to another room, which is equally well lighted, through a curtained door,
which is surmounted by an oversized clock with a thick mahogany bezel showing 12:10, past midnight.
Against the back wall a large counter in light green laden with rows of bottles of liquor crowding
behind a vase contrasts boldly with the dominant red walls and yellow floor A long rectangular table
and five small square tables, with their tops in light green are scattered along the walls. In the center of
the room a green billiard table takes up a large amount of wooden floor space; to its left and between
two tables a gas furnace in cast iron dark color provides the heating. Several tables littered with glasses
and bottles of unfinished drinks combine with chairs in disarray to create an atmosphere of dereliction
and neglect.
At this point it is fitting to bring in the artist himself, who in his letter No. 676 (numbering
system used by Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam) to his brother Theo, dated September 8, 1888,
describes his thoughts about the café (1888a):
I have tried to express the terrible passions of humanity by means of red and green.
Firmament
91
The room is blood red and dark yellow with a green billiard table in the middle; there are four
lemon-yellow lamps with a glow of orange and green. Everywhere there is a clash and contrast
of the most alien reds and greens, in the figures of little sleeping hooligans, in the empty dreary
room, in violet and blue. The blood-red and the yellow-green of the billiard table, for instance,
contrast with the soft tender Louis XV green of the counter, on which there is a rose nosegay.
The white clothes of the landlord, watchful in a corner of that furnace, turn lemon-yellow, or
pale luminous green.
The next day, in a followup letter No. 677 (or 534 in chronological order as compiled by The Vincent
Van Gogh Gallery), dated September 9, 1888, van Gogh gives additional details of the interior:
In my painting of the night café I’ve tried to express the idea that the café is a place where you
can ruin yourself, go mad, commit crimes. Anyway, I tried with contrasts of delicate pink and
blood-red and wine-red. Soft Louis XV and Veronese green contrasting with yellow greens and
hard blue greens.
All of that in an ambiance of a hellish furnace, in pale sulfur.
To express something of the power of the dark corners of a grog-shop.13
And yet with the appearance of Japanese gaiety and Tartarin’s good nature.14
(The footnotes are available in the original translation.)
The café owner, dressed in white, which turns pale yellow from the play of the other lights,
stands as if at soldierly attention by the billiard table. His stance and facial expression are strangely at
odds with his role of owner. He looks insignificant, much as do the customers. And his presence is
contingent, not essential or necessary in this scene. No one in the room needs him. The world remains
indifferent with or without him. Yet without him the tavern would not exist and the customers would
have no place to spend their worthless moments at night. This symbiotic relationship must exist, or the
world just vanishes.
The customers consist of five characters in various attitudes of tiredness or despondency, except
for the couple in the far corner, who seem to be the only people who could still carry on a coherent
conversation, although of what nature no one can be sure. The two men in the foreground nearly sprawl
on their table, knocked out by too much drinking. We do not know if they came in drunk from another
place; but the possibility cannot be ruled out. The third man in the background slouches on his table,
unable to maintain a decent posture. He is a candidate for deep depression or deep despair, as his
listless body can hang on precariously only with the support of the entire table. The couple sitting
beside the back door are wrapped up in their own world as the man envelops his companion tightly
with his face and body like an octopus about to devour his prey. Given the kind of clientele that comes
at this late hour, the woman is likely to be a prostitute, and the air of intimacy surrounding them is
nothing more than bargaining over the price. The colors clash violently; the red, green, and yellow fight
to overpower the viewer with their fury. The lamps don't just emit light; they glow with globe-shaped
clouds of sulfur emissions done in bold swirling brushstrokes. The lighting is a controlled rage doing
violence to a supposedly hospitable environment and threatening to turn it into a non-violent
battleground for life with low aspirations and lower ambitions.
The entire scene exudes a downbeat mood. The problem is not the low-intensity lighting of
scenes such as The Potato Eaters. The scene would be out of place in a film noir although it is peopled
with characters from the same world. As suggested by the colors, décor, and furnishings, the café does
not look sinister. But it is the people in it that makes it a depressing place. One can see that the night
crowd originates from low-life, the drunkards, the bums, the tramps, the night prowlers, the prostitutes,
Firmament
92
who come in for free lodgings. Van Gogh said he wanted to “... express the terrible passions of
humanity by means of red and green.” True, there is plenty of red and green. The red is proclaiming
itself loud and clear; but the green in bold primitive application to the ceiling is actually more
pervasive; it is in the gaslight halos, on the table tops, on the billiard table, on the counter, and more
subtly in the yellow of the wooden floor, even on the door in the back if you follow the scene's
perspective. Still, the few characters present only weakly hint at human depravity. There is little
passion displayed by any of the human forms, except for the couple in the corner, who show desire,
even lust, by huddling together, The humans were set in contrast to the unabashed and impassioned
violence of the colors of their surroundings. By displaying listlessness, fatigue, and languor, they
contribute to the somber mood of the scene.
Fig. 2. Van Gogh's Night Café.**
Van Gogh's Night Café is a striking interior of clashing colors and contrasts ignited when a
pervasive yellow is tempered by an imperious red that keeps the yellow at bay. This mood of conflict
is at the heart of the scene. It keeps everything in precarious balance. The lighting of the interior is
furious but reassuring; paradoxically it is the guardian of safety from the uncertainties of darkness
outside. The night prowlers come in from the cold to seek refuge because they decide that in the world
Firmament
93
of darkness the café is a trusted place. Everyone is guaranteed some personal space in which to pass
the night as long as they don't become a nuisance to the rest. There are no strict rules of decorum, no
dress code, and no rejection. The only unspoken rule is that each one respects everyone else's personal
space and minds one's own business. Viewed from this perspective, van Gogh's café stands out not just
as a venue of clashing colors but as a safe refuge for the down-and-outs.
Night Cafés Forever
I can never rid my mind of my romantic notion of night cafés. There is an indescribable mystique about
these places that words cannot express. You feel it with your heart, and try to use words to convey
what you think with your head. It is so foolish an enterprise that it becomes ludicrous, that is if you
still have a sense of humor left in your shriveled mind. If you don't want to soothe your already
tortured life, if you don't want to unshackle your suffocating creativity, if you don't want to liberate
your fancy, then, by all that is sacred on this earth, don't go near a night café. It will suck you into its
mysterious maze from which even Aradne would have trouble freeing you. Strangely, for me a night
café means emancipation and freedom from the loneliness that all of us feel at some time in our lives.
So. if sometimes in your unguarded moments you come near and got drawn into the vortex,
don't waste time trying to escape. When you next feel lonely like John Donne's island, estranged from
the world, and tired of the evil things that keep happening somewhere, some time, don't feel depressed
or cynical. Get out of your room and into the nearest night café. There you will find the safety of
numbers, for there will always be people who have more or less the same view of life as you. Just
sitting in a clean, well-lighted room with other lonely people gives you a sense that you are really not
alone. You have plenty of company. Thomas D. Le
22 June 2015
Photo credits
* Fig. 1. Edward Hopper. (1942). Nighthawks. Retrieved from
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nighthawks#/media/File:Nighthawks_by_Edward_Hopper_1942.jpg
** Fig. 2. Vincent Van Gogh. (1888). The Night Café (Le Café de nuit). Retrieved from
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Night_Caf%C3%A9#/media/File:Le_caf%C3%A9_de_nuit_
%28The_Night_Caf%C3%A9%29_by_Vincent_van_Gogh.jpeg
Bibliography
Brooks, D. (n.d.). The Vincent Van Gogh Gallery. Retrieved June 20. 2015 from
http://www.vggallery.com/index.html
Carroll, J. (2009, December 28). The Wassail Song. [Video file]. Retrieved from
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XO5Zs-qlx4
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94
FMV198192. (2012, December 12). Here We Come A Wasailing-David Archuleta, Meav, Mark Wills.
[Video file]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OnvMQMLGSlU
Guitrooy, G. (1994). Van Gogh: An Appreciation of His Art. New York, NY: Snithnark Publishers, Inc.
Karin Ek. (2015, June 20). Edward Hopper and the Blank Canvas. [Video file]. Retrieved June 26,
2015 from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk7nL27BxNg
Schapiro, M. (1994). Vincent Van Gogh. New York, NY: Harry M. Abrams, Publishers.
TheAppleClean. (2012, November 24). The Great Artists-Post-Impressionists-Van Gogh. [Video file].
Retrieved June 21, 2015 from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUeIGjcpnHA
van Gogh, V. (1888a, September 8). Letter to Theo 676. Retrieved June 20, 2015 from
http://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let676/letter.html
van Gogh, V. (1888b, September 8). Letter to Theo. Retrieved June 20, 2015 from
http://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/letter/18/533.htm
van Gogh, V. (1888c, September 9). Letter to Theo 534 [PDF document]. Retrieved June 20, 2015
from http://www.vggallery.com/letters/655_V-T_534.pdf
van Gogh, V. (1888d, September 9). Letter to Theo 677. Retrieved June 20, 2015 from
http://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let677/letter.html
van Gogh, V. (1888e September 9). Letter to Theo 535 [PDF document]. Retrieved June 20, 2015
from http://www.vggallery.com/letters/658_V-T_535.pdf
The Van Gogh Museum. (n.d.). Meet Vincent: Beacon for modern art. Retrieved June 20, 2015 from
http://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en
Welsh-Ovcharov, B. (1999). Van Gogh in Provence and Auvers. New York: NY: Beaux Arts
Editions.
Firmament
Candide
Voltaire
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• CHAPITRE PREMIER
• CHAPITRE SECOND
• CHAPITRE TROISIÈME
• CHAPITRE QUATRIÈME
• CHAPITRE CINQUIÈME
• CHAPITRE SIXIÈME
• CHAPITRE SEPTIÈME
• CHAPITRE HUITIÈME
• CHAPITRE NEUVIÈME
• CHAPITRE DIXIÈME
• CHAPITRE ONZIÈME
• CHAPITRE DOUZIÈME
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CANDIDE OU L'OPTIMISME
CHAPITRE PREMIER
COMMENT CANDIDE FUT ÉLEVÉ DANS UN BEAU CHÂTEAU, ET COMMENT IL FUT CHASSÉ
D'ICELUI
95
Firmament
Il y avait en Westphalie, dans le château de M. le baron de Thunder−ten−tronckh, un jeune garçon à qui la
nature avait donné les moeurs les plus douces. Sa physionomie annonçait son âme. Il avait le jugement assez
droit, avec l'esprit le plus simple ; c'est, je crois, pour cette raison qu'on le nommait Candide. Les anciens
domestiques de la maison soupçonnaient qu'il était fils de la soeur de monsieur le baron et d'un bon et
honnête gentilhomme du voisinage, que cette demoiselle ne voulut jamais épouser parce qu'il n'avait pu
prouver que soixante et onze quartiers, et que le reste de son arbre généalogique avait été perdu par l'injure du
temps.
Monsieur le baron était un des plus puissants seigneurs de la Westphalie, car son château avait une porte et
des fenêtres. Sa grande salle même était ornée d'une tapisserie. Tous les chiens de ses basses−cours
composaient une meute dans le besoin ; ses palefreniers étaient ses piqueurs ; le vicaire du village était son
grand aumônier. Ils l'appelaient tous monseigneur, et ils riaient quand il faisait des contes.
Madame la baronne, qui pesait environ trois cent cinquante livres, s'attirait par là une très grande
considération, et faisait les honneurs de la maison avec une dignité qui la rendait encore plus respectable. Sa
fille Cunégonde, âgée de dix−sept ans, était haute en couleur, fraîche, grasse, appétissante. Le fils du baron
paraissait en tout digne de son père. Le précepteur Pangloss était l'oracle de la maison, et le petit Candide
écoutait ses leçons avec toute la bonne foi de son âge et de son caractère.
Pangloss enseignait la métaphysico−théologo−cosmolonigologie. Il prouvait admirablement qu'il n'y a point
d'effet sans cause, et que, dans ce meilleur des mondes possibles, le château de monseigneur le baron était le
plus beau des châteaux et madame la meilleure des baronnes possibles.
« Il est démontré, disait−il, que les choses ne peuvent être autrement : car, tout étant fait pour une fin, tout est
nécessairement pour la meilleure fin. Remarquez bien que les nez ont été faits pour porter des lunettes, aussi
avons−nous des lunettes. Les jambes sont visiblement instituées pour être chaussées, et nous avons des
chausses. Les pierres ont été formées pour être taillées, et pour en faire des châteaux, aussi monseigneur a un
très beau château ; le plus grand baron de la province doit être le mieux logé ; et, les cochons étant faits pour
être mangés, nous mangeons du porc toute l'année : par conséquent, ceux qui ont avancé que tout est bien ont
dit une sottise ; il fallait dire que tout est au mieux. »
Candide écoutait attentivement, et croyait innocemment ; car il trouvait Mlle Cunégonde extrêmement belle,
quoiqu'il ne prît jamais la hardiesse de le lui dire. Il concluait qu'après le bonheur d'être né baron de
Thunder−ten−tronckh, le second degré de bonheur était d'être Mlle Cunégonde ; le troisième, de la voir tous
les jours ; et le quatrième, d'entendre maître Pangloss, le plus grand philosophe de la province, et par
conséquent de toute la terre.
Un jour, Cunégonde, en se promenant auprès du château, dans le petit bois qu'on appelait parc, vit entre des
broussailles le docteur Pangloss qui donnait une leçon de physique expérimentale à la femme de chambre de
sa mère, petite brune très jolie et très docile. Comme Mlle Cunégonde avait beaucoup de dispositions pour les
sciences, elle observa, sans souffler, les expériences réitérées dont elle fut témoin ; elle vit clairement la
raison suffisante du docteur, les effets et les causes, et s'en retourna tout agitée, toute pensive, toute remplie
du désir d'être savante, songeant qu'elle pourrait bien être la raison suffisante du jeune Candide, qui pouvait
aussi être la sienne.
Elle rencontra Candide en revenant au château, et rougit ; Candide rougit aussi ; elle lui dit bonjour d'une
voix entrecoupée, et Candide lui parla sans savoir ce qu'il disait. Le lendemain après le dîner, comme on
sortait de table, Cunégonde et Candide se trouvèrent derrière un paravent ; Cunégonde laissa tomber son
mouchoir, Candide le ramassa, elle lui prit innocemment la main, le jeune homme baisa innocemment la
main de la jeune demoiselle avec une vivacité, une sensibilité, une grâce toute particulière ; leurs bouches se
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rencontrèrent, leurs yeux s'enflammèrent, leurs genoux tremblèrent, leurs mains s'égarèrent. M. le baron de
Thunder−ten−tronckh passa auprès du paravent, et voyant cette cause et cet effet, chassa Candide du château
à grands coups de pied dans le derrière ; Cunégonde s'évanouit ; elle fut souffletée par madame la baronne
dès qu'elle fut revenue à elle−même ; et tout fut consterné dans le plus beau et le plus agréable des châteaux
possibles.
CHAPITRE SECOND
CE QUE DEVINT CANDIDE PARMI LES BULGARES
Candide, chassé du paradis terrestre, marcha longtemps sans savoir où, pleurant, levant les yeux au ciel, les
tournant souvent vers le plus beau des châteaux qui renfermait la plus belle des baronnettes ; il se coucha sans
souper au milieu des champs entre deux sillons ; la neige tombait à gros flocons. Candide, tout transi, se
traîna le lendemain vers la ville voisine, qui s'appelle Valdberghoff−trarbk−dikdorff, n'ayant point d'argent,
mourant de faim et de lassitude. Il s'arrêta tristement à la porte d'un cabaret. Deux hommes habillés de bleu le
remarquèrent : « Camarade, dit l'un, voilà un jeune homme très bien fait, et qui a la taille requise. » Ils
s'avancèrent vers Candide et le prièrent à dîner très civilement. « Messieurs, leur dit Candide avec une
modestie charmante, vous me faites beaucoup d'honneur, mais je n'ai pas de quoi payer mon écot. ﾵ Ah !
monsieur, lui dit un des bleus, les personnes de votre figure et de votre mérite ne payent jamais rien :
n'avez−vous pas cinq pieds cinq pouces de haut ? ﾵ Oui, messieurs, c'est ma taille, dit−il en faisant la
révérence. ﾵ Ah ! monsieur, mettez−vous à table ; non seulement nous vous défrayerons, mais nous ne
souffrirons jamais qu'un homme comme vous manque d'argent ; les hommes ne sont faits que pour se
secourir les uns les autres. ﾵ Vous avez raison, dit Candide : c'est ce que M. Pangloss m'a toujours dit, et je
vois bien que tout est au mieux. » On le prie d'accepter quelques écus, il les prend et veut faire son billet ; on
n'en veut point, on se met à table : « N'aimez−vous pas tendrement ?... ﾵ Oh ! oui, répondit−il, j'aime
tendrement Mlle Cunégonde. ﾵ Non, dit l'un de ces messieurs, nous vous demandons si vous n'aimez pas
tendrement le roi des Bulgares. ﾵ Point du tout, dit−il, car je ne l'ai jamais vu. ﾵ Comment ! c'est le plus
charmant des rois, et il faut boire à sa santé. ﾵ Oh ! très volontiers, messieurs » ; et il boit. « C'en est assez, lui
dit−on, vous voilà l'appui, le soutien, le défenseur, le héros des Bulgares ; votre fortune est faite, et votre
gloire est assurée. » On lui met sur−le−champ les fers aux pieds, et on le mène au régiment. On le fait tourner
à droite, à gauche, hausser la baguette, remettre la baguette, coucher en joue, tirer, doubler le pas, et on lui
donne trente coups de bâton ; le lendemain il fait l'exercice un peu moins mal, et il ne reçoit que vingt coups ;
le surlendemain on ne lui en donne que dix, et il est regardé par ses camarades comme un prodige.
Candide, tout stupéfait, ne démêlait pas encore trop bien comment il était un héros. Il s'avisa un beau jour de
printemps de s'aller promener, marchant tout droit devant lui, croyant que c'était un privilège de l'espèce
humaine, comme de l'espèce animale, de se servir de ses jambes à son plaisir. Il n'eut pas fait deux lieues que
voilà quatre autres héros de six pieds qui l'atteignent, qui le lient, qui le mènent dans un cachot. On lui
demanda juridiquement ce qu'il aimait le mieux d'être fustigé trente−six fois par tout le régiment, ou de
recevoir à la fois douze balles de plomb dans la cervelle. Il eut beau dire que les volontés sont libres ; et qu'il
ne voulait ni l'un ni l'autre, il fallut faire un choix ; il se détermina, en vertu du don de Dieu qu'on nomme
liberté, à passer trente−six fois par les baguettes ; il essuya deux promenades. Le régiment était composé de
deux mille hommes ; cela lui composa quatre mille coups de baguette, qui, depuis la nuque du cou jusqu'au
cul, lui découvrirent les muscles et les nerfs. Comme on allait procéder à la troisième course, Candide, n'en
pouvant plus, demanda en grâce qu'on voulût bien avoir la bonté de lui casser la tête ; il obtint cette faveur ;
on lui bande les yeux, on le fait mettre à genoux. Le roi des Bulgares passe dans ce moment, s'informe du
crime du patient ; et comme ce roi avait un grand génie, il comprit, par tout ce qu'il apprit de Candide, que
c'était un jeune métaphysicien, fort ignorant des choses de ce monde, et il lui accorda sa grâce avec une
clémence qui sera louée dans tous les journaux et dans tous les siècles. Un brave chirurgien guérit Candide en
trois semaines avec les émollients enseignés par Dioscoride, Il avait déjà un peu de peau et pouvait marcher,
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quand le roi des Bulgares livra bataille au roi des Abares.
CHAPITRE TROISIÈME
COMMENT CANDIDE SE SAUVA D'ENTRE LES BULGARES, ET CE QU'IL DEVINT
Rien n'était si beau, si leste, si brillant, si bien ordonné que les deux armées. Les trompettes, les fifres, les
hautbois, les tambours, les canons, formaient une harmonie telle qu'il n'y en eut jamais en enfer. Les canons
renversèrent d'abord à peu près six mille hommes de chaque côté ; ensuite la mousqueterie ôta du meilleur
des mondes environ neuf à dix mille coquins qui en infectaient la surface. La baïonnette fut aussi la raison
suffisante de la mort de quelques milliers d'hommes. Le tout pouvait bien se monter à une trentaine de mille
âmes. Candide, qui tremblait comme un philosophe, se cacha du mieux qu'il put pendant cette boucherie
héroïque.
Enfin, tandis que les deux rois faisaient chanter des Te Deum chacun dans son camp, il prit le parti d'aller
raisonner ailleurs des effets et des causes. Il passa par−dessus des tas de morts et de mourants, et gagna
d'abord un village voisin ; il était en cendres : c'était un village abare que les Bulgares avaient brûlé, selon les
lois du droit public. Ici des vieillards criblés de coups regardaient mourir leurs femmes égorgées, qui tenaient
leurs enfants à leurs mamelles sanglantes ; là des filles éventrées après avoir assouvi les besoins naturels de
quelques héros rendaient les derniers soupirs ; d'autres, à demi brûlées, criaient qu'on achevât de leur donner
la mort. Des cervelles étaient répandues sur la terre à côté de bras et de jambes coupés.
Candide s'enfuit au plus vite dans un autre village : il appartenait à des Bulgares, et des héros abares l'avaient
traité de même. Candide, toujours marchant sur des membres palpitants ou à travers des ruines, arriva enfin
hors du théâtre de la guerre, portant quelques petites provisions dans son bissac, et n'oubliant jamais Mlle
Cunégonde. Ses provisions lui manquèrent quand il fut en Hollande ; mais ayant entendu dire que tout le
monde était riche dans ce pays−là, et qu'on y était chrétien, il ne douta pas qu'on ne le traitât aussi bien qu'il
l'avait été dans le château de monsieur le baron avant qu'il en eût été chassé pour les beaux yeux de Mlle
Cunégonde.
Il demanda l'aumône à plusieurs graves personnages, qui lui répondirent tous que, s'il continuait à faire ce
métier, on l'enfermerait dans une maison de correction pour lui apprendre à vivre.
Il s'adressa ensuite à un homme qui venait de parler tout seul une heure de suite sur la charité dans une grande
assemblée. Cet orateur, le regardant de travers, lui dit : « Que venez−vous faire ici ? y êtes−vous pour la
bonne cause ? ﾵ Il n'y a point d'effet sans cause, répondit modestement Candide, tout est enchaîné
nécessairement et arrangé pour le mieux. Il a fallu que je fusse chassé d'auprès de Mlle Cunégonde, que j'aie
passé par les baguettes, et il faut que je demande mon pain jusqu'à ce que je puisse en gagner ; tout cela ne
pouvait être autrement. ﾵ Mon ami, lui dit l'orateur, croyez−vous que le pape soit l'Antéchrist ? ﾵ Je ne l'avais
pas encore entendu dire, répondit Candide ; mais qu'il le soit ou qu'il ne le soit pas, je manque de pain.
ﾵ Tu ne mérites pas d'en manger, dit l'autre ; va, coquin, va, misérable, ne m'approche de ta vie. » La femme
de l'orateur, ayant mis la tête à la fenêtre et avisant un homme qui doutait que le pape fût antéchrist, lui
répandit sur le chef un plein... O ciel ! à quel excès se porte le zèle de la religion dans les dames !
Un homme qui n'avait point été baptisé, un bon anabaptiste, nommé Jacques, vit la manière cruelle et
ignominieuse dont on traitait ainsi un de ses frères, un être à deux pieds sans plumes, qui avait une âme ; il
l'amena chez lui, le nettoya, lui donna du pain et de la bière, lui fit présent de deux florins, et voulut même lui
apprendre à travailler dans ses manufactures aux étoffes de Perse qu'on fabrique en Hollande. Candide, se
prosternant presque devant lui, s'écriait : « Maître Pangloss me l'avait bien dit que tout est au mieux dans ce
monde, car je suis infiniment plus touché de votre extrême générosité que de la dureté de ce monsieur à
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manteau noir et de madame son épouse. »
Le lendemain, en se promenant, il rencontra un gueux tout couvert de pustules, les yeux morts, le bout du nez
rongé, la bouche de travers, les dents noires, et parlant de la gorge, tourmenté d'une toux violente et crachant
une dent à chaque effort.
CHAPITRE QUATRIÈME
COMMENT CANDIDE RENCONTRA SON ANCIEN MAÎTRE DE PHILOSOPHIE, LE DOCTEUR
PANGLOSS, ET CE QUI EN ADVINT
Candide, plus ému encore de compassion que d'horreur, donna à cet épouvantable gueux les deux florins qu'il
avait reçus de son honnête anabaptiste Jacques. Le fantôme le regarda fixement, versa des larmes, et sauta à
son cou. Candide, effrayé, recule. « Hélas ! dit le misérable à l'autre misérable, ne reconnaissez−vous plus
votre cher Pangloss ? ﾵ Qu'entends−je ? Vous, mon cher maître ! vous, dans cet état horrible ! Quel malheur
vous est−il donc arrivé ? Pourquoi n'êtes−vous plus dans le plus beau des châteaux ? Qu'est devenue Mlle
Cunégonde, la perle des filles, le chef d'oeuvre de la nature ? ﾵ Je n'en peux plus », dit Pangloss. Aussitôt
Candide le mena dans l'étable de l'anabaptiste, où il lui fit manger un peu de pain ; et quand Pangloss fut
refait : « Eh bien ! lui dit−il, Cunégonde ? ﾵ Elle est morte », reprit l'autre. Candide s'évanouit à ce mot ; son
ami rappela ses sens avec un peu de mauvais vinaigre qui se trouva par hasard dans l'étable. Candide rouvre
les yeux. « Cunégonde est morte ! Ah ! meilleur des mondes, où êtes−vous ? Mais de quelle maladie est−elle
morte ? ne serait−ce point de m'avoir vu chasser du beau château de monsieur son père à grands coups de
pied ? ﾵ Non, dit Pangloss ; elle a été éventrée par des soldats bulgares, après avoir été violée autant qu'on
peut l'être ; ils ont cassé la tête à monsieur le baron qui voulait la défendre ; madame la baronne a été coupée
en morceaux ; mon pauvre pupille, traité précisément comme sa soeur ; et quant au château, il n'est pas resté
pierre sur pierre, pas une grange, pas un mouton, pas un canard, pas un arbre ; mais nous avons été bien
vengés, car les Abares en ont fait autant dans une baronnie voisine qui appartenait à un seigneur bulgare. »
A ce discours, Candide s'évanouit encore ; mais revenu à soi, et ayant dit tout ce qu'il devait dire, il s'enquit
de la cause et de l'effet, et de la raison suffisante qui avait mis Pangloss dans un si piteux état. « Hélas ! dit
l'autre, c'est l'amour ; l'amour, le consolateur du genre humain, le conservateur de l'univers, l'âme de tous les
êtres sensibles, le tendre amour. ﾵ Hélas ! dit Candide, je l'ai connu, cet amour, ce souverain des coeurs, cette
âme de notre âme ; il ne m'a jamais valu qu'un baiser et vingt coups de pied au cul. Comment cette belle
cause a−t−elle pu produire en vous un effet si abominable ? »
Pangloss répondit en ces termes : « O mon cher Candide ! vous avez connu Paquette, cette jolie suivante de
notre auguste baronne ; j'ai goûté dans ses bras les délices du paradis, qui ont produit ces tourments d'enfer
dont vous me voyez dévoré ; elle en était infectée, elle en est peut−être morte. Paquette tenait ce présent d'un
cordelier très savant, qui avait remonté à la source ; car il l'avait eue d'une vieille comtesse, qui l'avait reçue
d'un capitaine de cavalerie, qui la devait à une marquise, qui la tenait d'un page, qui l'avait reçue d'un jésuite,
qui, étant novice, l'avait eue en droite ligne d'un des compagnons de Christophe Colomb. Pour moi, je ne la
donnerai à personne, car je me meurs.
ﾵ
Ô Pangloss ! s'écria Candide, voilà une étrange généalogie ! n'est−ce pas le diable qui en fut la souche ? ﾵ
Point du tout, répliqua ce grand homme ; c'était une chose indispensable dans le meilleur des mondes, un
ingrédient nécessaire ; car si Colomb n'avait pas attrapé, dans une île de l'Amérique, cette maladie qui
empoisonne la source de la génération, qui souvent même empêche la génération, et qui est évidemment
l'opposé du grand but de la nature, nous n'aurions ni le chocolat ni la cochenille ; il faut encore observer que
jusqu'aujourdh'ui, dans notre continent, cette maladie nous est particulière, comme la controverse. Les Turcs,
les Indiens, les Persans, les Chinois, les Siamois, les Japonais, ne la connaissent pas encore ; mais il y a une
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raison suffisante pour qu'ils la connaissent à leur tour dans quelques siècles. En attendant, elle a fait un
merveilleux progrès parmi nous, et surtout dans ces grandes armées composées d'honnêtes stipendiaires, bien
élevés, qui décident du destin des États ; on peut assurer que, quand trente mille hommes combattent en
bataille rangée contre des troupes égales en nombre, il y a environ vingt mille vérolés de chaque côté.
Voilà qui est admirable, dit Candide, mais il faut vous faire guérir. ﾵ Et comment le puis− je ? dit Pangloss;
je n'ai pas le sou, mon ami ; et dans toute l'étendue de ce globe, on ne peut ni se faire saigner ni prendre un
lavement sans payer, ou sans qu'il y ait quelqu'un qui paye pour nous. »
Ce dernier discours détermina Candide ; il alla se jeter aux pieds de son charitable anabaptiste Jacques, et lui
fit une peinture si touchante de l'état où son ami était réduit que le bonhomme n'hésita pas à recueillir le
docteur Pangloss ; il le fit guérir à ses dépens. Pangloss, dans la cure, ne perdit qu'un oeil et une oreille. Il
écrivait bien et savait parfaitement l'arithmétique. L'anabaptiste Jacques en fit son teneur de livres. Au bout
de deux mois, étant obligé d'aller à Lisbonne pour les affaires de son commerce, il mena dans son vaisseau
ses deux philosophes. Pangloss lui expliqua comment tout était on ne peut mieux. Jacques n'était pas de cet
avis. « Il faut bien, disait−il, que les hommes aient un peu corrompu la nature, car ils ne sont point nés loups,
et ils sont devenus loups. Dieu ne leur a donné ni canon de vingt−quatre ni baïonnettes, et ils se sont fait des
baïonnettes et des canons pour se détruire. Je pourrais mettre en ligne de compte les banqueroutes, et la
justice qui s'empare des biens des banqueroutiers pour en frustrer les créanciers. ﾵ Tout cela était
indispensable, répliquait le docteur borgne, et les malheurs particuliers font le bien général, de sorte que plus
il y a de malheurs particuliers, et plus tout est bien. » Tandis qu'il raisonnait, l'air s'obscurcit, les vents
soufflèrent des quatre coins du monde et le vaisseau fut assailli de la plus horrible tempête à la vue du port de
Lisbonne.
CHAPITRE CINQUIÈME
TEMPÊTE, NAUFRAGE, TREMBLEMENT DE TERRE, ET CE QUI ADVINT DU DOCTEUR
PANGLOSS, DE CANDIDE ET DE L'ANABAPTISTE JACQUES
La moitié des passagers, affaiblis, expirants de ces angoisses inconcevables que le roulis d'un vaisseau porte
dans les nerfs et dans toutes les humeurs du corps agitées en sens contraire, n'avait pas même la force de
s'inquiéter du danger. L'autre moitié jetait des cris et faisait des prières ; les voiles étaient déchirées, les mâts
brisés, le vaisseau entrouvert. Travaillait qui pouvait, personne ne s'entendait, personne ne commandait.
L'anabaptiste aidait un peu à la manoeuvre ; il était sur le tillac ; un matelot furieux le frappe rudement et
l'étend sur les planches ; mais du coup qu'il lui donna il eut lui−même une si violente secousse qu'il tomba
hors du vaisseau la tête la première. Il restait suspendu et accroché à une partie de mât rompue. Le bon
Jacques court à son secours, l'aide à remonter, et de l'effort qu'il fit il est précipité dans la mer à la vue du
matelot, qui le laissa périr, sans daigner seulement le regarder. Candide approche, voit son bienfaiteur qui
reparaît un moment et qui est englouti pour jamais. Il veut se jeter après lui dans la mer ; le philosophe
Pangloss l'en empêche, en lui prouvant que la rade de Lisbonne avait été formée exprès pour que cet
anabaptiste s'y noyât. Tandis qu'il le prouvait a priori, le vaisseau s'entrouvre, tout périt à la réserve de
Pangloss, de Candide, et de ce brutal de matelot qui avait noyé le vertueux anabaptiste ; le coquin nagea
heureusement jusqu'au rivage où Pangloss et Candide furent portés sur une planche.
Quand ils furent revenus un peu à eux, ils marchèrent vers Lisbonne ; il leur restait quelque argent, avec
lequel ils espéraient se sauver de la faim après avoir échappé à la tempête.
À peine ont−ils mis le pied dans la ville en pleurant la mort de leur bienfaiteur, qu'ils sentent la terre trembler
sous leurs pas ; la mer s'élève en bouillonnant dans le port, et brise les vaisseaux qui sont à l'ancre. Des
tourbillons de flammes et de cendres couvrent les rues et les places publiques ; les maisons s'écroulent, les
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toits sont renversés sur les fondements, et les fondements se dispersent ; trente mille habitants de tout âge et
de tout sexe sont écrasés sous des ruines, Le matelot disait en sifflant et en jurant : « Il y aura quelque chose à
gagner ici. ﾵ Quelle peut être la raison suffisante de ce phénomène ? disait Pangloss. ﾵ Voici le dernier jour
du monde ! » s'écriait Candide. Le matelot court incontinent au milieu des débris, affronte la mort pour
trouver de l'argent, en trouve, s'en empare, s'enivre, et, ayant cuvé son vin, achète les faveurs de la première
fille de bonne volonté qu'il rencontre sur les ruines des maisons détruites et au milieu des mourants et des
morts. Pangloss le tirait cependant par la manche. « Mon ami, lui disait−il, cela n'est pas bien, vous manquez
à la raison universelle, vous prenez mal votre temps. ﾵ Tête et sang ! répondit l'autre, je suis matelot et né à
Batavia ; j'ai marché quatre fois sur le crucifix dans quatre voyages au Japon ; tu as bien trouvé ton homme
avec ta raison universelle ! »
Quelques éclats de pierre avaient blessé Candide ; il était étendu dans la rue et couvert de débris. Il disait à
Pangloss : « Hélas ! procure−moi un peu de vin et d'huile ; je me meurs. ﾵ Ce tremblement de terre n'est pas
une chose nouvelle, répondit Pangloss ; la ville de Lima éprouva les mêmes secousses en Amérique l'année
passée ; même causes, même effets : il y a certainement une traînée de soufre sous terre depuis Lima jusqu'à
Lisbonne. ﾵ Rien n'est plus probable, dit Candide ; mais, pour Dieu, un peu d'huile et de vin. ﾵ Comment,
probable ? répliqua le philosophe ; je soutiens que la chose est démontrée. » Candide perdit connaissance, et
Pangloss lui apporta un peu d'eau d'une fontaine voisine.
Le lendemain, ayant trouvé quelques provisions de bouche en se glissant à travers des décombres, ils
réparèrent un peu leurs forces. Ensuite, ils travaillèrent comme les autres à soulager les habitants échappés à
la mort. Quelques citoyens secourus par eux leur donnèrent un aussi bon dîner qu'on le pouvait dans un tel
désastre. Il est vrai que le repas était triste ; les convives arrosaient leur pain de leurs larmes ; mais Pangloss
les consola en les assurant que les choses ne pouvaient être autrement : « Car, dit−il, tout ceci est ce qu'il y a
de mieux. Car, s'il y a un volcan à Lisbonne, il ne pouvait être ailleurs. Car il est impossible que les choses ne
soient pas où elles sont. Car tout est bien. »
Un petit homme noir, familier de l'Inquisition, lequel était à côté de lui, prit poliment la parole et dit : «
Apparemment que monsieur ne croit pas au péché originel ; car, si tout est au mieux, il n'y a donc eu ni chute
ni punition.
ﾵ
Je demande très humblement pardon à Votre Excellence, répondit Pangloss encore plus poliment, car la
chute de l'homme et la malédiction entraient nécessairement dans le meilleur des mondes possibles. ﾵ
Monsieur ne croit donc pas à la liberté ? dit le familier. ﾵ Votre Excellence m'excusera, dit Pangloss ; la
liberté peut subsister avec la nécessité absolue ; car il était nécessaire que nous fussions libres ; car enfin la
volonté déterminée... » Pangloss était au milieu de sa phrase, quand le familier fit un signe de tête à son
estafier qui lui servait à boire du vin de Porto, ou d'Oporto.
CHAPITRE SIXIÈME
COMMENT ON FIT UN BEL AUTO−DA−FÉ POUR EMPÊCHER LES TREMBLEMENTS DE TERRE,
ET COMMENT CANDIDE FUT FESSÉ
Après le tremblement de terre qui avait détruit les trois quarts de Lisbonne, les sages du pays n'avaient pas
trouvé un moyen plus efficace pour prévenir une ruine totale que de donner au peuple un bel auto−da−fé ; il
était décidé par l'université de Coïmbre que le spectacle de quelques personnes brûlées à petit feu, en grande
cérémonie, est un secret infaillible pour empêcher la terre de trembler.
On avait en conséquence saisi un Biscayen convaincu d'avoir épousé sa commère, et deux Portugais qui en
mangeant un poulet en avaient arraché le lard : on vint lier après le dîner le docteur Pangloss et son disciple
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Candide, l'un pour avoir parlé, et l'autre pour avoir écouté avec un air d'approbation : tous deux furent menés
séparément dans des appartements d'une extrême fraîcheur, dans lesquels on n'était jamais incommodé du
soleil ; huit jours après ils furent tous deux revêtus d'un san−benito, et on orna leurs têtes de mitres de papier :
la mitre et le san−benito de Candide étaient peints de flammes renversées et de diables qui n'avaient ni queues
ni griffes ; mais les diables de Pangloss portaient griffes et queues, et les flammes étaient droites. Ils
marchèrent en procession ainsi vêtus, et entendirent un sermon très pathétique, suivi d'une belle musique en
faux−bourdon. Candide fut fessé en cadence, pendant qu'on chantait ; le Biscayen et les deux hommes qui
n'avaient point voulu manger de lard furent brûlés, et Pangloss fut pendu, quoique ce ne soit pas la coutume.
Le même jour la terre trembla de nouveau avec un fracas épouvantable.
Candide, épouvanté, interdit, éperdu, tout sanglant, tout palpitant, se disait à lui−même : « Si c'est ici le
meilleur des mondes possibles, que sont donc les autres ? Passe encore si je n'étais que fessé, je l'ai été chez
les Bulgares. Mais, ô mon cher Pangloss ! le plus grand des philosophes, faut−il vous avoir vu pendre sans
que je sache pourquoi ! Ô mon cher anabaptiste, le meilleur des hommes, faut−il que vous ayez été noyé dans
le port ! Ô Mlle Cunégonde ! la perle des filles, faut−il qu'on vous ait fendu le ventre ! »
Il s'en retournait, se soutenant à peine, prêché, fessé, absous et béni, lorsqu'une vieille l'aborda et lui dit :
« Mon fils, prenez courage, suivez−moi. »
CHAPITRE SEPTIÈME
COMMENT UNE VIEILLE PRIT SOIN DE CANDIDE, ET COMMENT IL RETROUVA CE QU'IL
AIMAIT
Candide ne prit point courage, mais il suivit la vieille dans une masure ; elle lui donna un pot de pommade
pour se frotter, lui laissa à manger et à boire ; elle lui montra un petit lit assez propre ; il y avait auprès du lit
un habit complet. « Mangez, buvez, dormez, lui dit− elle, et que Notre−Dame d'Atocha, Mgr saint Antoine de
Padoue et Mgr saint Jacques de Compostelle prennent soin de vous : je reviendrai demain. » Candide,
toujours étonné de tout ce qu'il avait vu, de tout ce qu'il avait souffert, et encore plus de la charité de la
vieille, voulut lui baiser la main. « Ce n'est pas ma main qu'il faut baiser, dit la vieille ; je reviendrai demain.
Frottez−vous de pommade, mangez et dormez. »
Candide, malgré tant de malheurs, mangea et dormit. Le lendemain la vieille lui apporte à déjeuner, visite son
dos, le frotte elle−même d'une autre pommade ; elle lui apporte ensuite à dîner ; elle revient sur le soir, et
apporte à souper. Le surlendemain elle fit encore les mêmes cérémonies. « Qui êtes−vous ? lui disait toujours
Candide ; qui vous a inspiré tant de bonté ? quelles grâces puis−je vous rendre ? » La bonne femme ne
répondait jamais rien ; elle revint sur le soir et n'apporta point à souper. « Venez avec moi, dit−elle, et ne
dites mot. » Elle le prend sous le bras, et marche avec lui dans la campagne environ un quart de mille : ils
arrivent à une maison isolée, entourée de jardins et de canaux. La vieille frappe à une petite porte. On ouvre ;
elle mène Candide, par un escalier dérobé, dans un cabinet doré, le laisse sur un canapé de brocart, referme la
porte, et s'en va. Candide croyait rêver, et regardait toute sa vie comme un songe funeste, et le moment
présent comme un songe agréable.
La vieille reparut bientôt ; elle soutenait avec peine une femme tremblante, d'une taille majestueuse, brillante
de pierreries et couverte d'un voile. « Ôtez ce voile », dit la vieille à Candide. Le jeune homme approche ; il
lève le voile d'une main timide. Quel moment ! quelle surprise ! il croit voir Mlle Cunégonde ; il la voyait en
effet, c'était elle−même. La force lui manque, il ne peut proférer une parole, il tombe à ses pieds. Cunégonde
tombe sur le canapé. La vieille les accable d'eaux spiritueuses ; ils reprennent leurs sens, ils se parlent : ce
sont d'abord des mots entrecoupés, des demandes et des réponses qui se croisent, des soupirs, des larmes, des
cris. La vieille leur recommande de faire moins de bruit, et les laisse en liberté. « Quoi ! c'est vous, lui dit
Candide, vous vivez ! Je vous retrouve en Portugal ! On ne vous a donc pas violée ? On ne vous a point fendu
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le ventre, comme le philosophe Pangloss me l'avait assuré ? ﾵ Si fait, dit la belle Cunégonde ; mais on ne
meurt pas toujours de ces deux accidents. ﾵ Mais votre père et votre mère ont−ils été tués ? ﾵ Il n'est que trop
vrai, dit Cunégonde en pleurant. ﾵ Et votre frère ? ﾵ Mon frère a été tué aussi. ﾵ Et pourquoi êtes−vous en
Portugal ? et comment avez−vous su que j'y étais ? et par quelle étrange aventure m'avez−vous fait conduire
dans cette maison ? ﾵ Je vous dirai tout cela, répliqua la dame ; mais il faut auparavant que vous m'appreniez
tout ce qui vous est arrivé depuis le baiser innocent que vous me donnâtes et les coups de pied que vous
reçûtes. »
Candide lui obéit avec un profond respect ; et quoiqu'il fût interdit, quoique sa voix fût faible et tremblante,
quoique l'échine lui fît encore un peu mal, il lui raconta de la manière la plus naïve tout ce qu'il avait éprouvé
depuis le moment de leur séparation. Cunégonde levait les yeux au ciel ; elle donna des larmes à la mort du
bon anabaptiste et de Pangloss ; après quoi elle parla en ces termes à Candide, qui ne perdait pas une parole,
et qui la dévorait des yeux.
CHAPITRE HUITIÈME
HISTOIRE DE CUNÉGONDE
« J'étais dans mon lit et je dormais profondément, quand il plut au ciel d'envoyer les Bulgares dans notre beau
château de Thunder−ten−tronckh ; ils égorgèrent mon père et mon frère, et coupèrent ma mère par morceaux.
Un grand Bulgare, haut de six pieds, voyant qu'à ce spectacle j'avais perdu connaissance, se mit à me violer ;
cela me fit revenir, je repris mes sens, je criai, je me débattis, je mordis, j'égratignai, je voulais arracher les
yeux à ce grand Bulgare, ne sachant pas que tout ce qui arrivait dans le château de mon père était une chose
d'usage : le brutal me donna un coup de couteau dans le flanc gauche dont je porte encore la marque. ﾵ Hélas
! j'espère bien la voir, dit le naïf Candide. ﾵ Vous la verrez, dit Cunégonde ; mais continuons. ﾵ Continuez »,
dit Candide.
Elle reprit ainsi le fil de son histoire : « Un capitaine bulgare entra, il me vit toute sanglante, et le soldat ne se
dérangeait pas. Le capitaine se mit en colère du peu de respect que lui témoignait ce brutal, et le tua sur mon
corps. Ensuite il me fit panser, et m'emmena prisonnière de guerre dans son quartier. Je blanchissais le peu de
chemises qu'il avait, je faisais sa cuisine ; il me trouvait fort jolie, il faut l'avouer ; et je ne nierai pas qu'il ne
fût très bien fait, et qu'il n'eût la peau blanche et douce ; d'ailleurs peu d'esprit, peu de philosophie : on voyait
bien qu'il n'avait pas été élevé par le docteur Pangloss. Au bout de trois mois, ayant perdu tout son argent et
s'étant dégoûté de moi, il me vendit à un Juif nommé don Issacar, qui trafiquait en Hollande et en Portugal, et
qui aimait passionnément les femmes. Ce Juif s'attacha beaucoup à ma personne, mais il ne pouvait en
triompher ; je lui ai mieux résisté qu'au soldat bulgare. Une personne d'honneur peut être violée une fois, mais
sa vertu s'en affermit. Le Juif, pour m'apprivoiser, me mena dans cette maison de campagne que vous voyez.
J'avais cru jusque−là qu'il n'y avait rien sur la terre de si beau que le château de Thunder−ten−tronckh ; j'ai
été détrompée.
« Le grand inquisiteur m'aperçut un jour à la messe, il me lorgna beaucoup, et me fit dire qu'il avait à me
parler pour des affaires secrètes. Je fus conduite à son palais ; je lui appris ma naissance ; il me représenta
combien il était au−dessous de mon rang d'appartenir à un Israélite. On proposa de sa part à don Issacar de
me céder à monseigneur. Don Issacar, qui est le banquier de la cour et homme de crédit, n'en voulut rien
faire. L'inquisiteur le menaça d'un auto−da−fé. Enfin mon Juif, intimidé, conclut un marché, par lequel la
maison et moi leur appartiendraient à tous deux en commun : que le Juif aurait pour lui les lundis, mercredis
et le jour du sabbat, et que l'inquisiteur aurait les autres jours de la semaine. Il y a six mois que cette
convention subsiste. Ce n'a pas été sans querelles ; car souvent il a été indécis si la nuit du samedi au
dimanche appartenait à l'ancienne loi ou à la nouvelle. Pour moi, j'ai résisté jusqu'à présent à toutes les deux,
et je crois que c'est pour cette raison que j'ai toujours été aimée.
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« Enfin, pour détourner le fléau des tremblements de terre, et pour intimider don Issacar, il plut à
monseigneur l'inquisiteur de célébrer un auto−da−fé. Il me fit l'honneur de m'y inviter. Je fus très bien placée
; on servit aux dames des rafraîchissements entre la messe et l'exécution. Je fus, à la vérité, saisie d'horreur en
voyant brûler ces deux Juifs et cet honnête Biscayen qui avait épousé sa commère ; mais quelle fut ma
surprise, mon effroi, mon trouble, quand je vis, dans un san−benito et sous une mitre, une figure qui
ressemblait à celle de Pangloss ! Je me frottai les yeux, je regardai attentivement, je le vis pendre ; je tombai
en faiblesse. À peine reprenais−je mes sens que je vous vis dépouillé tout nu : ce fut là le comble de l'horreur,
de la consternation, de la douleur, du désespoir. Je vous dirai, avec vérité, que votre peau est encore plus
blanche et d'un incarnat plus parfait que celle de mon capitaine des Bulgares. Cette vue redoubla tous les
sentiments qui m'accablaient, qui me dévoraient. Je m'écriai, je voulus dire : " Arrêtez, barbares ! " mais la
voix me manqua, et mes cris auraient été inutiles. Quand vous eûtes été bien fessé : « Comment se peut−il
faire, disais−je, que l'aimable Candide et le sage Pangloss se trouvent à Lisbonne, l'un pour recevoir cent
coups de fouet, et l'autre pour être pendu par l'ordre de monseigneur l'inquisiteur dont je suis la bien−aimée ?
Pangloss m'a donc bien cruellement trompée quand il me disait que tout va le mieux du monde. »
« Agitée, éperdue, tantôt hors de moi−même, et tantôt prête de mourir de faiblesse, j'avais la tête remplie du
massacre de mon père, de ma mère, de mon frère, de l'insolence de mon vilain soldat bulgare, du coup de
couteau qu'il me donna, de ma servitude, de mon métier de cuisinière, de mon capitaine bulgare, de mon
vilain don Issacar, de mon abominable inquisiteur, de la pendaison du docteur Pangloss, de ce grand miserere
en faux−bourdon pendant lequel on vous fessait, et surtout du baiser que je vous avais donné derrière un
paravent, le jour que je vous avais vu pour la dernière fois. Je louai Dieu qui vous ramenait à moi par tant
d'épreuves. Je recommandai à ma vieille d'avoir soin de vous, et de vous amener ici dès qu'elle le pourrait.
Elle a très bien exécuté ma commission ; j'ai goûté le plaisir inexprimable de vous revoir, de vous entendre,
de vous parler. Vous devez avoir une faim dévorante ; j'ai grand appétit ; commençons par souper. »
Les voilà qui se mettent tous deux à table ; et après le souper, ils se replacent sur ce beau canapé dont on a
déjà parlé ; ils y étaient quand le signor don Issacar, l'un des maîtres de la maison, arriva. C'était le jour du
sabbat. Il venait jouir de ses droits, et expliquer son tendre amour.
CHAPITRE NEUVIÈME
CE QUI ADVINT DE CUNÉGONDE, DE CANDIDE, DU GRAND INQUISITEUR ET D'UN JUIF
Cet Issacar était le plus colérique Hébreu qu'on eût vu dans Israël depuis la captivité en Babylone. « Quoi !
dit−il, chienne de Galiléenne, ce n'est pas assez de monsieur l'inquisiteur ? Il faut que ce coquin partage aussi
avec moi ? » En disant cela il tire un long poignard dont il était toujours pourvu, et ne croyant pas que son
adverse partie eût des armes, il se jette sur Candide ; mais notre bon Westphalien avait reçu une belle épée de
la vieille avec l'habit complet. Il tire son épée, quoiqu'il eût les moeurs fort douces, et vous étend l'Israélite
roide mort sur le carreau, aux pieds de la belle Cunégonde.
« Sainte Vierge ! s'écria−t−elle, qu'allons−nous devenir ? Un homme tué chez moi ! si la justice vient, nous
sommes perdus. ﾵ Si Pangloss n'avait pas été pendu, dit Candide, il nous donnerait un bon conseil dans cette
extrémité, car c'était un grand philosophe. À son défaut consultons la vieille. » Elle était fort prudente, et
commençait à dire son avis, quand une autre petite porte s'ouvrit. Il était une heure après minuit, c'était le
commencement du dimanche. Ce jour appartenait à monseigneur l'inquisiteur. Il entre et voit le fessé Candide
l'épée à la main, un mort étendu par terre, Cunégonde effarée, et la vieille donnant des conseils.
Voici dans ce moment ce qui se passa dans l'âme de Candide, et comment il raisonna : « Si ce saint homme
appelle du secours, il me fera infailliblement brûler ; il pourra en faire autant de Cunégonde ; il m'a fait
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fouetter impitoyablement ; il est mon rival ; je suis en train de tuer, il n'y a pas à balancer. » Ce raisonnement
fut net et rapide, et sans donner le temps à l'inquisiteur de revenir de sa surprise, il le perce d'outre en outre, et
le jette à côté du Juif. « En voici bien d'une autre, dit Cunégonde ; il n'y a plus de rémission ; nous sommes
excommuniés, notre dernière heure est venue. Comment avez−vous fait, vous qui êtes né si doux, pour tuer
en deux minutes un Juif et un prélat ? ﾵ Ma belle demoiselle, répondit Candide, quand on est amoureux,
jaloux et fouetté par l'Inquisition, on ne se connaît plus. »
La vieille prit alors la parole et dit : « Il y a trois chevaux andalous dans l'écurie, avec leurs selles et leurs
brides : que le brave Candide les prépare ; madame a des moyadors et des diamants : montons vite à cheval,
quoique je ne puisse me tenir que sur une fesse, et allons à Cadix ; il fait le plus beau temps du monde, et c'est
un grand plaisir de voyager pendant la fraîcheur de la nuit. »
Aussitôt Candide selle les trois chevaux. Cunégonde, la vieille et lui font trente milles d'une traite. Pendant
qu'ils s'éloignaient, la Sainte−Hermandad arrive dans la maison ; on enterre monseigneur dans une belle
église, et on jette Issacar à la voirie.
Candide, Cunégonde et la vieille étaient déjà dans la petite ville d'Avacéna, au milieu des montagnes de la
Sierra−Morena ; et ils parlaient ainsi dans un cabaret.
CHAPITRE DIXIÈME
DANS QUELLE DÉTRESSE CANDIDE, CUNÉGONDE ET LA VIEILLE ARRIVENT À CADIX, ET DE
LEUR EMBARQUEMENT
« Qui a donc pu me voler mes pistoles et mes diamants ? disait en pleurant Cunégonde ; de quoi
vivrons−nous ? comment ferons−nous ? où trouver des inquisiteurs et des Juifs qui m'en donnent d'autres ? ﾵ
Hélas ! dit la vieille, je soupçonne fort un révérend père cordelier qui coucha hier dans la même auberge que
nous à Badajoz ; Dieu me garde de faire un jugement téméraire ! mais il entra deux fois dans notre chambre,
et il partit longtemps avant nous. ﾵ Hélas ! dit Candide, le bon Pangloss m'avait souvent prouvé que les biens
de la terre sont communs à tous les hommes, que chacun y a un droit égal. Ce cordelier devait bien, suivant
ces principes, nous laisser de quoi achever notre voyage. Il ne vous reste donc rien du tout, ma belle
Cunégonde ﾵ Pas un maravédis, dit−elle. ﾵ Quel parti prendre ? dit Candide. ﾵ Vendons un des chevaux, dit
la vieille ; je monterai en croupe derrière mademoiselle, quoique je ne puisse me tenir que sur une fesse, et
nous arriverons à Cadix. »
Il y avait dans la même hôtellerie un prieur de bénédictins ; il acheta le cheval bon marché. Candide,
Cunégonde et la vieille passèrent par Lucena, par Chillas, par Lebrixa, et arrivèrent enfin à Cadix. On y
équipait une flotte, et on y assemblait des troupes pour mettre à la raison les révérends pères jésuites du
Paraguay, qu'on accusait d'avoir fait révolter une de leurs hordes contre les rois d'Espagne et de Portugal,
auprès de la ville du Saint− Sacrement. Candide, ayant servi chez les Bulgares, fit l'exercice bulgarien devant
le général de la petite armée avec tant de grâce, de célérité, d'adresse, de fierté, d'agilité, qu'on lui donna une
compagnie d'infanterie à commander. Le voilà capitaine ; il s'embarque avec Mlle Cunégonde, la vieille, deux
valets et les deux chevaux andalous qui avaient appartenu à M. le grand inquisiteur de Portugal.
Pendant toute la traversée ils raisonnèrent beaucoup sur la philosophie du pauvre Pangloss. « Nous allons
dans un autre univers, disait Candide ; c'est dans celui−là sans doute que tout est bien. Car il faut avouer
qu'on pourrait gémir un peu de ce qui se passe dans le nôtre en physique et en morale. ﾵ Je vous aime de tout
mon coeur, disait Cunégonde ; mais j'ai encore l'âme tout effarouchée de ce que j'ai vu, de ce que j'ai éprouvé.
ﾵ Tout ira bien, répliquait Candide ; la mer de ce nouveau monde vaut déjà mieux que les mers de notre
Europe ; elle est plus calme, les vents plus constants. C'est certainement le nouveau monde qui est le meilleur
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des univers possibles. ﾵ Dieu le veuille ! disait Cunégonde ; mais j'ai été si horriblement malheureuse dans le
mien que mon coeur est presque fermé à l'espérance. ﾵ Vous vous plaignez, leur dit la vieille ; hélas ! vous
n'avez pas éprouvé des infortunes telles que les miennes. » Cunégonde se mit presque à rire, et trouva cette
bonne femme fort plaisante de prétendre être plus malheureuse qu'elle. « Hélas ! lui dit−elle, ma bonne, à
moins que vous n'ayez été violée par deux Bulgares, que vous n'ayez reçu deux coups de couteau dans le
ventre, qu'on n'ait démoli deux de vos châteaux, qu'on n'ait égorgé à vos yeux deux mères et deux pères, et
que vous n'ayez vu deux de vos amants fouettés dans un auto−da−fé, je ne vois pas que vous puissiez
l'emporter sur moi ; ajoutez que je suis née baronne avec soixante et douze quartiers, et que j'ai été cuisinière.
ﾵ Mademoiselle, répondit la vieille, vous ne savez pas quelle est ma naissance ; et si je vous montrais mon
derrière, vous ne parleriez pas comme vous faites, et vous suspendriez votre jugement. » Ce discours fit naître
une extrême curiosité dans l'esprit de Cunégonde et de Candide. La vieille leur parla en ces termes.
(A suivre)
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107
CANDIDE
By VOLTAIRE
INTRODUCTION BY PHILIP LITTELL
BONI AND LIVERIGHT, INC.
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1918, by
Boni & Liveright, Inc.
Printed in the United States of America [Pg vii]
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19942/19942-h/19942-h.htm
INTRODUCTION
Ever since 1759, when Voltaire wrote "Candide" in ridicule of the notion that this is the best of all
possible worlds, this world has been a gayer place for readers. Voltaire wrote it in three days, and five
or six generations have found that its laughter does not grow old.
"Candide" has not aged. Yet how different the book would have looked if Voltaire had written it a
hundred and fifty years later than 1759. It would have been, among other things, a book of sights and
sounds. A modern writer would have tried to catch and fix in words some of those Atlantic changes
which broke the Atlantic monotony of that voyage from Cadiz to Buenos Ayres. When Martin and
Candide were sailing the length of the Mediterranean we should have had a contrast between naked
scarped Balearic cliffs and headlands of Calabria in their mists. We should have had quarter distances,
far horizons, the altering silhouettes of an Ionian island. Colored birds would have filled Paraguay with
their silver or acid cries.
Dr. Pangloss, to prove the existence of design in the universe, says [Pg viii]that noses were made to
carry spectacles, and so we have spectacles. A modern satirist would not try to paint with Voltaire's
quick brush the doctrine that he wanted to expose. And he would choose a more complicated doctrine
than Dr. Pangloss's optimism, would study it more closely, feel his destructive way about it with a more
learned and caressing malice. His attack, stealthier, more flexible and more patient than Voltaire's,
would call upon us, especially when his learning got a little out of control, to be more than patient.
Now and then he would bore us. "Candide" never bored anybody except William Wordsworth.
Voltaire's men and women point his case against optimism by starting high and falling low. A modern
could not go about it after this fashion. He would not plunge his people into an unfamiliar misery. He
would just keep them in the misery they were born to.
But such an account of Voltaire's procedure is as misleading as the plaster cast of a dance. Look at his
procedure again. Mademoiselle Cunégonde, the illustrious Westphalian, sprung from a family that
could prove seventy-one quarterings, descends and descends until we find her earning her keep by
washing dishes in the Propontis. The aged faithful attendant, victim of a hundred acts of rape by negro
pirates, remembers [Pg ix]that she is the daughter of a pope, and that in honor of her approaching
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marriage with a Prince of Massa-Carrara all Italy wrote sonnets of which not one was passable. We do
not need to know French literature before Voltaire in order to feel, although the lurking parody may
escape us, that he is poking fun at us and at himself. His laughter at his own methods grows more
unmistakable at the last, when he caricatures them by casually assembling six fallen monarchs in an inn
at Venice.
A modern assailant of optimism would arm himself with social pity. There is no social pity in
"Candide." Voltaire, whose light touch on familiar institutions opens them and reveals their absurdity,
likes to remind us that the slaughter and pillage and murder which Candide witnessed among the
Bulgarians was perfectly regular, having been conducted according to the laws and usages of war. Had
Voltaire lived to-day he would have done to poverty what he did to war. Pitying the poor, he wof the
Eighteenth, in Watching the Progress (or whatever it is) of the Twentieth." This Eighteenth Century
snuff-taking and malicious, is like Voltaire, who nevertheless must know, if he happens to think of it,
that not yet in the Twentieth Century, not for all its speed mania, has any one come near to equalling
the speed of a prose tale by Voltaire. "Candide" is a full book. It is filled with mockery, with
inventiveness, with things as concrete as things to eat and coins, it has time for the neatest intellectual
clickings, it is never hurried, and it moves with the most amazing rapidity. It has the rapidity of high
spirits playing a game. The dry high spirits of this destroyer of optimism make most optimists look
damp and depressed.[Pg xi] Contemplation of the stupidity which deems happiness possible almost
made Voltaire happy. His attack on optimism is one of the gayest books in the world. Gaiety has been
scattered everywhere up and down its pages by Voltaire's lavish hand, by his thin fingers.
Many propagandist satirical books have been written with "Candide" in mind, but not too many. Today, especially, when new faiths are changing the structure of the world, faiths which are still plastic
enough to be deformed by every disciple, each disciple for himself, and which have not yet received
the final deformation known as universal acceptance, to-day "Candide" is an inspiration to every
narrative satirist who hates one of these new faiths, or hates every interpretation of it but his own.
Either hatred will serve as a motive to satire.
That is why the present is one of the right moments to republish "Candide." I hope it will inspire
younger men and women, the only ones who can be inspired, to have a try at Theodore, or Militarism;
Jane, or Pacifism; at So-and-So, the Pragmatist or the Freudian. And I hope, too, that they will without
trying hold their pens with an eighteenth century lightness, not inappropriate to a philosophic tale. In
Voltaire's fingers, as Anatole France has said, the pen runs and laughs.
Philip Littell.[Pg xii]
CONTENTS
[Pg xiii]
CHAPTER
I.
PAGE
How Candide was brought up in a Magnificent Castle, and how he was
expelled thence
II. What became of Candide among the Bulgarians
III.
How Candide made his escape from the Bulgarians, and what afterwards
became of him
1
5
9
Firmament
IV. How Candide found his old Master Pangloss, and what happened to them
109
13
V.
Tempest, Shipwreck, Earthquake, and what became of Doctor Pangloss,
Candide, and James the Anabaptist
18
VI.
How the Portuguese made a Beautiful Auto-da-fé, to prevent any further
Earthquakes: and how Candide was publicly whipped
23
How the Old Woman took care of Candide, and how he found the Object he
loved
26
VII.
VIII. The History of Cunegonde
IX. What became of Cunegonde, Candide, the Grand Inquisitor, and the Jew
X.
In what distress Candide, Cunegonde, and the Old Woman arrived at Cadiz;
and of their Embarkation
XI. History of the Old Woman
XII. The Adventures of the Old Woman continued
30
35[Pg
xiv]
38
42
48
XIII. How Candide was forced away from his fair Cunegonde and the Old Woman
54
XIV. How Candide and Cacambo were received by the Jesuits of Paraguay
58
XV. How Candide killed the brother of his dear Cunegonde
XVI.
Adventures of the Two Travellers, with Two Girls, Two Monkeys, and the
Savages called Oreillons
XVII. Arrival of Candide and his Valet at El Dorado, and what they saw there
XVIII. What they saw in the Country of El Dorado
XIX.
What happened to them at Surinam and how Candide got acquainted with
Martin
XX. What happened at Sea to Candide and Martin
XXI. Candide and Martin, reasoning, draw near the Coast of France
XXII. What happened in France to Candide and Martin
XXIII.
Candide and Martin touched upon the Coast of England, and what they saw
there
XXIV. Of Paquette and Friar Giroflée
XXV. The Visit to Lord Pococurante, a Noble Venetian
XXVI.
Of a Supper which Candide and Martin took with Six Strangers, and who they
were
XXVII. Candide's Voyage to Constantinople
XXVIII. What happened to Candide, Cunegonde, Pangloss, Martin, etc.
64
68
74
80
89
98
102[Pg
xv]
105
122
125
133
142
148
154
Firmament
XXIX. How Candide found Cunegonde and the Old Woman again
XXX. The Conclusion
[Pg xvi]
110
159
161
[Pg xvii]
[Pg xviii]
[Pg 1]
CANDIDE
I
HOW CANDIDE WAS BROUGHT UP IN A MAGNIFICENT CASTLE, AND
HOW HE WAS EXPELLED THENCE.
In a castle of Westphalia, belonging to the Baron of Thunder-ten-Tronckh, lived a youth, whom nature
had endowed with the most gentle manners. His countenance was a true picture of his soul. He
combined a true judgment with simplicity of spirit, which was the reason, I apprehend, of his being
called Candide. The old servants of the family suspected him to have been the son of the Baron's sister,
by a good, honest gentleman of the neighborhood, whom that young lady would never marry because
he had been able to prove only seventy-one quarterings, the rest of his genealogical tree having been
Firmament
111
lost through the injuries of time.
The Baron was one of the most powerful lords in Westphalia, for his castle had not only a gate, but
windows. His great hall, even, was[Pg 2] hung with tapestry. All the dogs of his farm-yards formed a
pack of hounds at need; his grooms were his huntsmen; and the curate of the village was his grand
almoner. They called him "My Lord," and laughed at all his stories.
The Baron's lady weighed about three hundred and fifty pounds, and was therefore a person of great
consideration, and she did the honours of the house with a dignity that commanded still greater respect.
Her daughter Cunegonde was seventeen years of age, fresh-coloured, comely, plump, and desirable.
The Baron's son seemed to be in every respect worthy of his father. The Preceptor Pangloss[1] was the
oracle of the family, and little Candide heard his lessons with all the good faith of his age and character.
Pangloss was professor of metaphysico-theologico-cosmolo-nigology. He proved admirably that there
is no effect without a cause, and that, in this best of all possible worlds, the Baron's castle was the most
magnificent of castles, and his lady the best of all possible Baronesses.
"It is demonstrable," said he, "that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for all being created for
an end, all is necessarily for the best end. Observe, that the nose has been formed to bear spectacles—
thus we have spectacles. Legs are visibly designed for stockings[Pg 3]—and we have stockings. Stones
were made to be hewn, and to construct castles—therefore my lord has a magnificent castle; for the
greatest baron in the province ought to be the best lodged. Pigs were made to be eaten—therefore we
eat pork all the year round. Consequently they who assert that all is well have said a foolish thing, they
should have said all is for the best."
Candide listened attentively and believed innocently; for he thought Miss Cunegonde extremely
beautiful, though he never had the courage to tell her so. He concluded that after the happiness of being
born of Baron of Thunder-ten-Tronckh, the second degree of happiness was to be Miss Cunegonde, the
third that of seeing her every day, and the fourth that of hearing Master Pangloss, the greatest
philosopher of the whole province, and consequently of the whole world.
One day Cunegonde, while walking near the castle, in a little wood which they called a park, saw
between the bushes, Dr. Pangloss giving a lesson in experimental natural philosophy to her mother's
chamber-maid, a little brown wench, very pretty and very docile. As Miss Cunegonde had a great
disposition for the sciences, she breathlessly observed the repeated experiments of which she was a
witness; she clearly perceived [Pg 4]the force of the Doctor's reasons, the effects, and the causes; she
turned back greatly flurried, quite pensive, and filled with the desire to be learned; dreaming that she
might well be a sufficient reason for young Candide, and he for her.
She met Candide on reaching the castle and blushed; Candide blushed also; she wished him good
morrow in a faltering tone, and Candide spoke to her without knowing what he said. The next day after
dinner, as they went from table, Cunegonde and Candide found themselves behind a screen;
Cunegonde let fall her handkerchief, Candide picked it up, she took him innocently by the hand, the
youth as innocently kissed the young lady's hand with particular vivacity, sensibility, and grace; their
lips met, their eyes sparkled, their knees trembled, their hands strayed. Baron Thunder-ten-Tronckh
passed near the screen and beholding this cause and effect chased Candide from the castle with great
kicks on the backside; Cunegonde fainted away; she was boxed on the ears by the Baroness, as soon as
she came to herself; and all was consternation in this most magnificent and most agreeable of all
possible castles.[Pg 5]
Firmament
112
II
WHAT BECAME OF CANDIDE AMONG THE BULGARIANS.
Candide, driven from terrestrial paradise, walked a long while without knowing where, weeping,
raising his eyes to heaven, turning them often towards the most magnificent of castles which
imprisoned the purest of noble young ladies. He lay down to sleep without supper, in the middle of a
field between two furrows. The snow fell in large flakes. Next day Candide, all benumbed, dragged
himself towards the neighbouring town which was called Waldberghofftrarbk-dikdorff, having no
money, dying of hunger and fatigue, he stopped sorrowfully at the door of an inn. Two men dressed in
blue observed him.
"Comrade," said one, "here is a well-built young fellow, and of proper height."
They went up to Candide and very civilly invited him to dinner.
"Gentlemen," replied Candide, with a most engaging modesty, "you do me great honour, but I have not
wherewithal to pay my share."[Pg 6]
"Oh, sir," said one of the blues to him, "people of your appearance and of your merit never pay
anything: are you not five feet five inches high?"
"Yes, sir, that is my height," answered he, making a low bow.
"Come, sir, seat yourself; not only will we pay your reckoning, but we will never suffer such a man as
you to want money; men are only born to assist one another."
"You are right," said Candide; "this is what I was always taught by Mr. Pangloss, and I see plainly that
all is for the best."
They begged of him to accept a few crowns. He took them, and wished to give them his note; they
refused; they seated themselves at table.
"Love you not deeply?"
"Oh yes," answered he; "I deeply love Miss Cunegonde."
"No," said one of the gentlemen, "we ask you if you do not deeply love the King of the Bulgarians?"
"Not at all," said he; "for I have never seen him."
"What! he is the best of kings, and we must drink his health."
"Oh! very willingly, gentlemen," and he drank.
"That is enough," they tell him. "Now you[Pg 7] are the help, the support, the defender, the hero of the
Bulgarians. Your fortune is made, and your glory is assured."
Instantly they fettered him, and carried him away to the regiment. There he was made to wheel about to
the right, and to the left, to draw his rammer, to return his rammer, to present, to fire, to march, and
they gave him thirty blows with a cudgel. The next day he did his exercise a little less badly, and he
received but twenty blows. The day following they gave him only ten, and he was regarded by his
comrades as a prodigy.
Candide, all stupefied, could not yet very well realise how he was a hero. He resolved one fine day in
spring to go for a walk, marching straight before him, believing that it was a privilege of the human as
Firmament
113
well as of the animal species to make use of their legs as they pleased. He had advanced two leagues
when he was overtaken by four others, heroes of six feet, who bound him and carried him to a dungeon.
He was asked which he would like the best, to be whipped six-and-thirty times through all the
regiment, or to receive at once twelve balls of lead in his brain. He vainly said that human will is free,
and that he chose neither the one nor the other. He was forced to make a choice; he determined, in
virtue of that gift of God[Pg 8] called liberty, to run the gauntlet six-and-thirty times. He bore this
twice. The regiment was composed of two thousand men; that composed for him four thousand strokes,
which laid bare all his muscles and nerves, from the nape of his neck quite down to his rump. As they
were going to proceed to a third whipping, Candide, able to bear no more, begged as a favour that they
would be so good as to shoot him. He obtained this favour; they bandaged his eyes, and bade him kneel
down. The King of the Bulgarians passed at this moment and ascertained the nature of the crime. As he
had great talent, he understood from all that he learnt of Candide that he was a young metaphysician,
extremely ignorant of the things of this world, and he accorded him his pardon with a clemency which
will bring him praise in all the journals, and throughout all ages.
An able surgeon cured Candide in three weeks by means of emollients taught by Dioscorides. He had
already a little skin, and was able to march when the King of the Bulgarians gave battle to the King of
the Abares.[2][Pg 9]
III
HOW CANDIDE MADE HIS ESCAPE FROM THE BULGARIANS, AND WHAT
AFTERWARDS BECAME OF HIM.
There was never anything so gallant, so spruce, so brilliant, and so well disposed as the two armies.
Trumpets, fifes, hautboys, drums, and cannon made music such as Hell itself had never heard. The
cannons first of all laid flat about six thousand men on each side; the muskets swept away from this
best of worlds nine or ten thousand ruffians who infested its surface. The bayonet was also a sufficient
reason for the death of several thousands. The whole might amount to thirty thousand souls. Candide,
who trembled like a philosopher, hid himself as well as he could during this heroic butchery.
At length, while the two kings were causing Te Deum to be sung each in his own camp, Candide
resolved to go and reason elsewhere on effects and causes. He passed over heaps of dead and dying,
and first reached a neighbouring village; it was in cinders, it was an Abare village which the Bulgarians
had burnt according[Pg 10] to the laws of war. Here, old men covered with wounds, beheld their wives,
hugging their children to their bloody breasts, massacred before their faces; there, their daughters,
disembowelled and breathing their last after having satisfied the natural wants of Bulgarian heroes;
while others, half burnt in the flames, begged to be despatched. The earth was strewed with brains,
arms, and legs.
Candide fled quickly to another village; it belonged to the Bulgarians; and the Abarian heroes had
treated it in the same way. Candide, walking always over palpitating limbs or across ruins, arrived at
last beyond the seat of war, with a few provisions in his knapsack, and Miss Cunegonde always in his
heart. His provisions failed him when he arrived in Holland; but having heard that everybody was rich
in that country, and that they were Christians, he did not doubt but he should meet with the same
treatment from them as he had met with in the Baron's castle, before Miss Cunegonde's bright eyes
were the cause of his expulsion thence.
He asked alms of several grave-looking people, who all answered him, that if he continued to follow
Firmament
114
this trade they would confine him to the house of correction, where he should be taught to get a living.
[Pg 11]
The next he addressed was a man who had been haranguing a large assembly for a whole hour on the
subject of charity. But the orator, looking askew, said:
"What are you doing here? Are you for the good cause?"
"There can be no effect without a cause," modestly answered Candide; "the whole is necessarily
concatenated and arranged for the best. It was necessary for me to have been banished from the
presence of Miss Cunegonde, to have afterwards run the gauntlet, and now it is necessary I should beg
my bread until I learn to earn it; all this cannot be otherwise."
"My friend," said the orator to him, "do you believe the Pope to be Anti-Christ?"
"I have not heard it," answered Candide; "but whether he be, or whether he be not, I want bread."
"Thou dost not deserve to eat," said the other. "Begone, rogue; begone, wretch; do not come near me
again."
The orator's wife, putting her head out of the window, and spying a man that doubted whether the Pope
was Anti-Christ, poured over him a full.... Oh, heavens! to what excess does religious zeal carry the
ladies.
A man who had never been christened, a good Anabaptist, named James, beheld the cruel and[Pg 12]
ignominious treatment shown to one of his brethren, an unfeathered biped with a rational soul, he took
him home, cleaned him, gave him bread and beer, presented him with two florins, and even wished to
teach him the manufacture of Persian stuffs which they make in Holland. Candide, almost prostrating
himself before him, cried:
"Master Pangloss has well said that all is for the best in this world, for I am infinitely more touched by
your extreme generosity than with the inhumanity of that gentleman in the black coat and his lady."
The next day, as he took a walk, he met a beggar all covered with scabs, his eyes diseased, the end of
his nose eaten away, his mouth distorted, his teeth black, choking in his throat, tormented with a violent
cough, and spitting out a tooth at each effort.[Pg 13]
IV
HOW CANDIDE FOUND HIS OLD MASTER PANGLOSS, AND
WHATHAPPENED TO THEM.
Candide, yet more moved with compassion than with horror, gave to this shocking beggar the two
florins which he had received from the honest Anabaptist James. The spectre looked at him very
earnestly, dropped a few tears, and fell upon his neck. Candide recoiled in disgust.
"Alas!" said one wretch to the other, "do you no longer know your dear Pangloss?"
"What do I hear? You, my dear master! you in this terrible plight! What misfortune has happened to
you? Why are you no longer in the most magnificent of castles? What has become of Miss Cunegonde,
the pearl of girls, and nature's masterpiece?"
"I am so weak that I cannot stand," said Pangloss.
Firmament
115
Upon which Candide carried him to the Anabaptist's stable, and gave him a crust of bread. As soon as
Pangloss had refreshed himself a little:
"Well," said Candide, "Cunegonde?"[Pg 14]
"She is dead," replied the other.
Candide fainted at this word; his friend recalled his senses with a little bad vinegar which he found by
chance in the stable. Candide reopened his eyes.
"Cunegonde is dead! Ah, best of worlds, where art thou? But of what illness did she die? Was it not for
grief, upon seeing her father kick me out of his magnificent castle?"
"No," said Pangloss, "she was ripped open by the Bulgarian soldiers, after having been violated by
many; they broke the Baron's head for attempting to defend her; my lady, her mother, was cut in pieces;
my poor pupil was served just in the same manner as his sister; and as for the castle, they have not left
one stone upon another, not a barn, nor a sheep, nor a duck, nor a tree; but we have had our revenge, for
the Abares have done the very same thing to a neighbouring barony, which belonged to a Bulgarian
lord."
At this discourse Candide fainted again; but coming to himself, and having said all that it became him
to say, inquired into the cause and effect, as well as into the sufficient reason that had reduced Pangloss
to so miserable a plight.
"Alas!" said the other, "it was love; love, the comfort of the human species, the preserver of the
universe, the soul of all sensible beings, love, tender love."[Pg 15]
"Alas!" said Candide, "I know this love, that sovereign of hearts, that soul of our souls; yet it never cost
me more than a kiss and twenty kicks on the backside. How could this beautiful cause produce in you
an effect so abominable?"
Pangloss made answer in these terms: "Oh, my dear Candide, you remember Paquette, that pretty
wench who waited on our noble Baroness; in her arms I tasted the delights of paradise, which produced
in me those hell torments with which you see me devoured; she was infected with them, she is perhaps
dead of them. This present Paquette received of a learned Grey Friar, who had traced it to its source; he
had had it of an old countess, who had received it from a cavalry captain, who owed it to a
marchioness, who took it from a page, who had received it from a Jesuit, who when a novice had it in a
direct line from one of the companions of Christopher Columbus.[3] For my part I shall give it to
nobody, I am dying."
"Oh, Pangloss!" cried Candide, "what a strange genealogy! Is not the Devil the original stock of it?"
"Not at all," replied this great man, "it was a thing unavoidable, a necessary ingredient in the best of
worlds; for if Columbus had not in an island of America caught this disease, which contaminates the
source of life, frequently even[Pg 16] hinders generation, and which is evidently opposed to the great
end of nature, we should have neither chocolate nor cochineal. We are also to observe that upon our
continent, this distemper is like religious controversy, confined to a particular spot. The Turks, the
Indians, the Persians, the Chinese, the Siamese, the Japanese, know nothing of it; but there is a
sufficient reason for believing that they will know it in their turn in a few centuries. In the meantime, it
has made marvellous progress among us, especially in those great armies composed of honest welldisciplined hirelings, who decide the destiny of states; for we may safely affirm that when an army of
thirty thousand men fights another of an equal number, there are about twenty thousand of them p-x-d
on each side."
Firmament
116
"Well, this is wonderful!" said Candide, "but you must get cured."
"Alas! how can I?" said Pangloss, "I have not a farthing, my friend, and all over the globe there is no
letting of blood or taking a glister, without paying, or somebody paying for you."
These last words determined Candide; he went and flung himself at the feet of the charitable Anabaptist
James, and gave him so touching a picture of the state to which his friend was reduced, that the good
man did not scruple to take Dr. Pangloss into his house, and had[Pg 17] him cured at his expense. In the
cure Pangloss lost only an eye and an ear. He wrote well, and knew arithmetic perfectly. The Anabaptist
James made him his bookkeeper. At the end of two months, being obliged to go to Lisbon about some
mercantile affairs, he took the two philosophers with him in his ship. Pangloss explained to him how
everything was so constituted that it could not be better. James was not of this opinion.
"It is more likely," said he, "mankind have a little corrupted nature, for they were not born wolves, and
they have become wolves; God has given them neither cannon of four-and-twenty pounders, nor
bayonets; and yet they have made cannon and bayonets to destroy one another. Into this account I
might throw not only bankrupts, but Justice which seizes on the effects of bankrupts to cheat the
creditors."
"All this was indispensable," replied the one-eyed doctor, "for private misfortunes make the general
good, so that the more private misfortunes there are the greater is the general good."
While he reasoned, the sky darkened, the winds blew from the four quarters, and the ship was assailed
by a most terrible tempest within sight of the port of Lisbon.[Pg 18]
V
TEMPEST, SHIPWRECK, EARTHQUAKE, AND WHAT BECAME OF
DOCTOR PANGLOSS, CANDIDE, AND JAMES THE ANABAPTIST.
Half dead of that inconceivable anguish which the rolling of a ship produces, one-half of the passengers
were not even sensible of the danger. The other half shrieked and prayed. The sheets were rent, the
masts broken, the vessel gaped. Work who would, no one heard, no one commanded. The Anabaptist
being upon deck bore a hand; when a brutish sailor struck him roughly and laid him sprawling; but with
the violence of the blow he himself tumbled head foremost overboard, and stuck upon a piece of the
broken mast. Honest James ran to his assistance, hauled him up, and from the effort he made was
precipitated into the sea in sight of the sailor, who left him to perish, without deigning to look at him.
Candide drew near and saw his benefactor, who rose above the water one moment and was then
swallowed up for ever. He was just going to jump after him, but was prevented by the philosopher
Pangloss, who[Pg 19] demonstrated to him that the Bay of Lisbon had been made on purpose for the
Anabaptist to be drowned. While he was proving this à priori, the ship foundered; all perished except
Pangloss, Candide, and that brutal sailor who had drowned the good Anabaptist. The villain swam
safely to the shore, while Pangloss and Candide were borne thither upon a plank.
As soon as they recovered themselves a little they walked toward Lisbon. They had some money left,
with which they hoped to save themselves from starving, after they had escaped drowning. Scarcely
had they reached the city, lamenting the death of their benefactor, when they felt the earth tremble
under their feet. The sea swelled and foamed in the harbour, and beat to pieces the vessels riding at
anchor. Whirlwinds of fire and ashes covered the streets and public places; houses fell, roofs were flung
upon the pavements, and the pavements were scattered. Thirty thousand inhabitants of all ages and
Firmament
117
sexes were crushed under the ruins.[4] The sailor, whistling and swearing, said there was booty to be
gained here.
"What can be the sufficient reason of this phenomenon?" said Pangloss.
"This is the Last Day!" cried Candide.
The sailor ran among the ruins, facing death to find money; finding it, he took it, got drunk,[Pg 20] and
having slept himself sober, purchased the favours of the first good-natured wench whom he met on the
ruins of the destroyed houses, and in the midst of the dying and the dead. Pangloss pulled him by the
sleeve.
"My friend," said he, "this is not right. You sin against the universal reason; you choose your time
badly."
"S'blood and fury!" answered the other; "I am a sailor and born at Batavia. Four times have I trampled
upon the crucifix in four voyages to Japan[5]; a fig for thy universal reason."
Some falling stones had wounded Candide. He lay stretched in the street covered with rubbish.
"Alas!" said he to Pangloss, "get me a little wine and oil; I am dying."
"This concussion of the earth is no new thing," answered Pangloss. "The city of Lima, in America,
experienced the same convulsions last year; the same cause, the same effects; there is certainly a train
of sulphur under ground from Lima to Lisbon."
"Nothing more probable," said Candide; "but for the love of God a little oil and wine."
"How, probable?" replied the philosopher. "I maintain that the point is capable of being demonstrated."
Candide fainted away, and Pangloss fetched[Pg 21] him some water from a neighbouring fountain. The
following day they rummaged among the ruins and found provisions, with which they repaired their
exhausted strength. After this they joined with others in relieving those inhabitants who had escaped
death. Some, whom they had succoured, gave them as good a dinner as they could in such disastrous
circumstances; true, the repast was mournful, and the company moistened their bread with tears; but
Pangloss consoled them, assuring them that things could not be otherwise.
"For," said he, "all that is is for the best. If there is a volcano at Lisbon it cannot be elsewhere. It is
impossible that things should be other than they are; for everything is right."
A little man dressed in black, Familiar of the Inquisition, who sat by him, politely took up his word and
said:
"Apparently, then, sir, you do not believe in original sin; for if all is for the best there has then been
neither Fall nor punishment."
"I humbly ask your Excellency's pardon," answered Pangloss, still more politely; "for the Fall and curse
of man necessarily entered into the system of the best of worlds."
"Sir," said the Familiar, "you do not then believe in liberty?"
"Your Excellency will excuse me," said Pangloss;[Pg 22] "liberty is consistent with absolute necessity,
for it was necessary we should be free; for, in short, the determinate will——"
Pangloss was in the middle of his sentence, when the Familiar beckoned to his footman, who gave him
a glass of wine from Porto or Opporto.[Pg 23]
Firmament
118
VI
HOW THE PORTUGUESE MADE A BEAUTIFUL AUTO-DA-FÉ, TO
PREVENTANY FURTHER EARTHQUAKES; AND HOW CANDIDE
WAS PUBLICLY WHIPPED.
After the earthquake had destroyed three-fourths of Lisbon, the sages of that country could think of no
means more effectual to prevent utter ruin than to give the people a beautiful auto-da-fé[6]; for it had
been decided by the University of Coimbra, that the burning of a few people alive by a slow fire, and
with great ceremony, is an infallible secret to hinder the earth from quaking.
In consequence hereof, they had seized on a Biscayner, convicted of having married his godmother, and
on two Portuguese, for rejecting the bacon which larded a chicken they were eating[7]; after dinner,
they came and secured Dr. Pangloss, and his disciple Candide, the one for speaking his mind, the other
for having listened with an air of approbation. They were conducted to separate apartments, extremely
cold, as they were never incommoded by the sun.[Pg 24] Eight days after they were dressed in sanbenitos[8] and their heads ornamented with paper mitres. The mitre and san-benito belonging to
Candide were painted with reversed flames and with devils that had neither tails nor claws; but
Pangloss's devils had claws and tails and the flames were upright. They marched in procession thus
habited and heard a very pathetic sermon, followed by fine church music. Candide was whipped in
cadence while they were singing; the Biscayner, and the two men who had refused to eat bacon, were
burnt; and Pangloss was hanged, though that was not the custom. The same day the earth sustained a
most violent concussion.
Candide, terrified, amazed, desperate, all bloody, all palpitating, said to himself:
"If this is the best of possible worlds, what then are the others? Well, if I had been only whipped I could
put up with it, for I experienced that among the Bulgarians; but oh, my dear Pangloss! thou greatest of
philosophers, that I should have seen you hanged, without knowing for what! Oh, my dear Anabaptist,
thou best of men, that thou should'st have been drowned in the very harbour! Oh, Miss Cunegonde,
thou pearl of girls! that thou should'st have had thy belly ripped open!"[Pg 25]
Thus he was musing, scarce able to stand, preached at, whipped, absolved, and blessed, when an old
woman accosted him saying:
"My son, take courage and follow me."[Pg 26]
VII
HOW THE OLD WOMAN TOOK CARE OF CANDIDE, AND HOW HE FOUND
THE OBJECT HE LOVED.
Candide did not take courage, but followed the old woman to a decayed house, where she gave him a
pot of pomatum to anoint his sores, showed him a very neat little bed, with a suit of clothes hanging up,
and left him something to eat and drink.
"Eat, drink, sleep," said she, "and may our lady of Atocha,[9] the great St. Anthony of Padua, and the
great St. James of Compostella, receive you under their protection. I shall be back to-morrow."
Candide, amazed at all he had suffered and still more with the charity of the old woman, wished to kiss
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119
her hand.
"It is not my hand you must kiss," said the old woman; "I shall be back to-morrow. Anoint yourself
with the pomatum, eat and sleep."
Candide, notwithstanding so many disasters, ate and slept. The next morning the old woman brought
him his breakfast, looked at his back, and rubbed it herself with another ointment: in[Pg 27] like
manner she brought him his dinner; and at night she returned with his supper. The day following she
went through the very same ceremonies.
"Who are you?" said Candide; "who has inspired you with so much goodness? What return can I make
you?"
The good woman made no answer; she returned in the evening, but brought no supper.
"Come with me," she said, "and say nothing."
She took him by the arm, and walked with him about a quarter of a mile into the country; they arrived
at a lonely house, surrounded with gardens and canals. The old woman knocked at a little door, it
opened, she led Candide up a private staircase into a small apartment richly furnished. She left him on a
brocaded sofa, shut the door and went away. Candide thought himself in a dream; indeed, that he had
been dreaming unluckily all his life, and that the present moment was the only agreeable part of it all.
The old woman returned very soon, supporting with difficulty a trembling woman of a majestic figure,
brilliant with jewels, and covered with a veil.
"Take off that veil," said the old woman to Candide.
The young man approaches, he raises the veil[Pg 28] with a timid hand. Oh! what a moment! what
surprise! he believes he beholds Miss Cunegonde? he really sees her! it is herself! His strength fails
him, he cannot utter a word, but drops at her feet. Cunegonde falls upon the sofa. The old woman
supplies a smelling bottle; they come to themselves and recover their speech. As they began with
broken accents, with questions and answers interchangeably interrupted with sighs, with tears, and
cries. The old woman desired they would make less noise and then she left them to themselves.
"What, is it you?" said Candide, "you live? I find you again in Portugal? then you have not been
ravished? then they did not rip open your belly as Doctor Pangloss informed me?"
"Yes, they did," said the beautiful Cunegonde; "but those two accidents are not always mortal."
"But were your father and mother killed?"
"It is but too true," answered Cunegonde, in tears.
"And your brother?"
"My brother also was killed."
"And why are you in Portugal? and how did you know of my being here? and by what strange
adventure did you contrive to bring me to this house?"
"I will tell you all that," replied the lady, "but first of all let me know your history, since[Pg 29] the
innocent kiss you gave me and the kicks which you received."
Candide respectfully obeyed her, and though he was still in a surprise, though his voice was feeble and
trembling, though his back still pained him, yet he gave her a most ingenuous account of everything
that had befallen him since the moment of their separation. Cunegonde lifted up her eyes to heaven;
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120
shed tears upon hearing of the death of the good Anabaptist and of Pangloss; after which she spoke as
follows to Candide, who did not lose a word and devoured her with his eyes.[Pg 30]
VIII
THE HISTORY OF CUNEGONDE.
"I was in bed and fast asleep when it pleased God to send the Bulgarians to our delightful castle of
Thunder-ten-Tronckh; they slew my father and brother, and cut my mother in pieces. A tall Bulgarian,
six feet high, perceiving that I had fainted away at this sight, began to ravish me; this made me recover;
I regained my senses, I cried, I struggled, I bit, I scratched, I wanted to tear out the tall Bulgarian's eyes
—not knowing that what happened at my father's house was the usual practice of war. The brute gave
me a cut in the left side with his hanger, and the mark is still upon me."
"Ah! I hope I shall see it," said honest Candide.
"You shall," said Cunegonde, "but let us continue."
"Do so," replied Candide.
Thus she resumed the thread of her story:
"A Bulgarian captain came in, saw me all bleeding, and the soldier not in the least disconcerted. The
captain flew into a passion at[Pg 31] the disrespectful behaviour of the brute, and slew him on my
body. He ordered my wounds to be dressed, and took me to his quarters as a prisoner of war. I washed
the few shirts that he had, I did his cooking; he thought me very pretty—he avowed it; on the other
hand, I must own he had a good shape, and a soft and white skin; but he had little or no mind or
philosophy, and you might see plainly that he had never been instructed by Doctor Pangloss. In three
months time, having lost all his money, and being grown tired of my company, he sold me to a Jew,
named Don Issachar, who traded to Holland and Portugal, and had a strong passion for women. This
Jew was much attached to my person, but could not triumph over it; I resisted him better than the
Bulgarian soldier. A modest woman may be ravished once, but her virtue is strengthened by it. In order
to render me more tractable, he brought me to this country house. Hitherto I had imagined that nothing
could equal the beauty of Thunder-ten-Tronckh Castle; but I found I was mistaken.
"The Grand Inquisitor, seeing me one day at Mass, stared long at me, and sent to tell me that he wished
to speak on private matters. I was conducted to his palace, where I acquainted him with the history of
my family, and he represented to me how much it was beneath my rank[Pg 32] to belong to an Israelite.
A proposal was then made to Don Issachar that he should resign me to my lord. Don Issachar, being the
court banker, and a man of credit, would hear nothing of it. The Inquisitor threatened him with an autoda-fé. At last my Jew, intimidated, concluded a bargain, by which the house and myself should belong
to both in common; the Jew should have for himself Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, and the
Inquisitor should have the rest of the week. It is now six months since this agreement was made.
Quarrels have not been wanting, for they could not decide whether the night from Saturday to Sunday
belonged to the old law or to the new. For my part, I have so far held out against both, and I verily
believe that this is the reason why I am still beloved.
"At length, to avert the scourge of earthquakes, and to intimidate Don Issachar, my Lord Inquisitor was
pleased to celebrate an auto-da-fé. He did me the honour to invite me to the ceremony. I had a very
good seat, and the ladies were served with refreshments between Mass and the execution. I was in truth
seized with horror at the burning of those two Jews, and of the honest Biscayner who had married his
Firmament
121
godmother; but what was my surprise, my fright, my trouble, when I saw in a san-benito and mitre a
figure which resembled that[Pg 33] of Pangloss! I rubbed my eyes, I looked at him attentively, I saw
him hung; I fainted. Scarcely had I recovered my senses than I saw you stripped, stark naked, and this
was the height of my horror, consternation, grief, and despair. I tell you, truthfully, that your skin is yet
whiter and of a more perfect colour than that of my Bulgarian captain. This spectacle redoubled all the
feelings which overwhelmed and devoured me. I screamed out, and would have said, 'Stop, barbarians!'
but my voice failed me, and my cries would have been useless after you had been severely whipped.
How is it possible, said I, that the beloved Candide and the wise Pangloss should both be at Lisbon, the
one to receive a hundred lashes, and the other to be hanged by the Grand Inquisitor, of whom I am the
well-beloved? Pangloss most cruelly deceived me when he said that everything in the world is for the
best.
"Agitated, lost, sometimes beside myself, and sometimes ready to die of weakness, my mind was filled
with the massacre of my father, mother, and brother, with the insolence of the ugly Bulgarian soldier,
with the stab that he gave me, with my servitude under the Bulgarian captain, with my hideous Don
Issachar, with my abominable Inquisitor, with the execution of Doctor Pangloss, with the grand
Miserere to[Pg 34] which they whipped you, and especially with the kiss I gave you behind the screen
the day that I had last seen you. I praised God for bringing you back to me after so many trials, and I
charged my old woman to take care of you, and to conduct you hither as soon as possible. She has
executed her commission perfectly well; I have tasted the inexpressible pleasure of seeing you again, of
hearing you, of speaking with you. But you must be hungry, for myself, I am famished; let us have
supper."
They both sat down to table, and, when supper was over, they placed themselves once more on the
sofa; where they were when Signor Don Issachar arrived. It was the Jewish Sabbath, and Issachar had
come to enjoy his rights, and to explain his tender love.[Pg 35]
IX
WHAT BECAME OF CUNEGONDE, CANDIDE, THE GRAND INQUISITOR,
AND THE JEW.
This Issachar was the most choleric Hebrew that had ever been seen in Israel since the Captivity in
Babylon.
"What!" said he, "thou bitch of a Galilean, was not the Inquisitor enough for thee? Must this rascal also
share with me?"
In saying this he drew a long poniard which he always carried about him; and not imagining that his
adversary had any arms he threw himself upon Candide: but our honest Westphalian had received a
handsome sword from the old woman along with the suit of clothes. He drew his rapier, despite his
gentleness, and laid the Israelite stone dead upon the cushions at Cunegonde's feet.
"Holy Virgin!" cried she, "what will become of us? A man killed in my apartment! If the officers of
justice come, we are lost!"
"Had not Pangloss been hanged," said Candide, "he would give us good counsel in this[Pg 36]
emergency, for he was a profound philosopher. Failing him let us consult the old woman."
She was very prudent and commenced to give her opinion when suddenly another little door opened. It
was an hour after midnight, it was the beginning of Sunday. This day belonged to my lord the
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122
Inquisitor. He entered, and saw the whipped Candide, sword in hand, a dead man upon the floor,
Cunegonde aghast, and the old woman giving counsel.
At this moment, the following is what passed in the soul of Candide, and how he reasoned:
If this holy man call in assistance, he will surely have me burnt; and Cunegonde will perhaps be served
in the same manner; he was the cause of my being cruelly whipped; he is my rival; and, as I have now
begun to kill, I will kill away, for there is no time to hesitate. This reasoning was clear and
instantaneous; so that without giving time to the Inquisitor to recover from his surprise, he pierced him
through and through, and cast him beside the Jew.
"Yet again!" said Cunegonde, "now there is no mercy for us, we are excommunicated, our last hour has
come. How could you do it? you, naturally so gentle, to slay a Jew and a prelate in two minutes!"
"My beautiful young lady," responded Candide,[Pg 37] "when one is a lover, jealous and whipped by
the Inquisition, one stops at nothing."
The old woman then put in her word, saying:
"There are three Andalusian horses in the stable with bridles and saddles, let the brave Candide get
them ready; madame has money, jewels; let us therefore mount quickly on horseback, though I can sit
only on one buttock; let us set out for Cadiz, it is the finest weather in the world, and there is great
pleasure in travelling in the cool of the night."
Immediately Candide saddled the three horses, and Cunegonde, the old woman and he, travelled thirty
miles at a stretch. While they were journeying, the Holy Brotherhood entered the house; my lord the
Inquisitor was interred in a handsome church, and Issachar's body was thrown upon a dunghill.
Candide, Cunegonde, and the old woman, had now reached the little town of Avacena in the midst of
the mountains of the Sierra Morena, and were speaking as follows in a public inn.[Pg 38]
X
IN WHAT DISTRESS CANDIDE, CUNEGONDE, AND THE OLD WOMAN
ARRIVED AT CADIZ; AND OF THEIR EMBARKATION.
"Who was it that robbed me of my money and jewels?" said Cunegonde, all bathed in tears. "How shall
we live? What shall we do? Where find Inquisitors or Jews who will give me more?"
"Alas!" said the old woman, "I have a shrewd suspicion of a reverend Grey Friar, who stayed last night
in the same inn with us at Badajos. God preserve me from judging rashly, but he came into our room
twice, and he set out upon his journey long before us."
"Alas!" said Candide, "dear Pangloss has often demonstrated to me that the goods of this world are
common to all men, and that each has an equal right to them. But according to these principles the Grey
Friar ought to have left us enough to carry us through our journey. Have you nothing at all left, my dear
Cunegonde?"
"Not a farthing," said she.
"What then must we do?" said Candide.
"Sell one of the horses," replied the old[Pg 39] woman. "I will ride behind Miss Cunegonde, though I
can hold myself only on one buttock, and we shall reach Cadiz."
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123
In the same inn there was a Benedictine prior who bought the horse for a cheap price. Candide,
Cunegonde, and the old woman, having passed through Lucena, Chillas, and Lebrixa, arrived at length
at Cadiz. A fleet was there getting ready, and troops assembling to bring to reason the reverend Jesuit
Fathers of Paraguay, accused of having made one of the native tribes in the neighborhood of San
Sacrament revolt against the Kings of Spain and Portugal. Candide having been in the Bulgarian
service, performed the military exercise before the general of this little army with so graceful an
address, with so intrepid an air, and with such agility and expedition, that he was given the command of
a company of foot. Now, he was a captain! He set sail with Miss Cunegonde, the old woman, two
valets, and the two Andalusian horses, which had belonged to the grand Inquisitor of Portugal.
During their voyage they reasoned a good deal on the philosophy of poor Pangloss.
"We are going into another world," said Candide; "and surely it must be there that all is for the best. For
I must confess there is reason to complain a little of what passeth in[Pg 40] our world in regard to both
natural and moral philosophy."
"I love you with all my heart," said Cunegonde; "but my soul is still full of fright at that which I have
seen and experienced."
"All will be well," replied Candide; "the sea of this new world is already better than our European sea;
it is calmer, the winds more regular. It is certainly the New World which is the best of all possible
worlds."
"God grant it," said Cunegonde; "but I have been so horribly unhappy there that my heart is almost
closed to hope."
"You complain," said the old woman; "alas! you have not known such misfortunes as mine."
Cunegonde almost broke out laughing, finding the good woman very amusing, for pretending to have
been as unfortunate as she.
"Alas!" said Cunegonde, "my good mother, unless you have been ravished by two Bulgarians, have
received two deep wounds in your belly, have had two castles demolished, have had two mothers cut to
pieces before your eyes, and two of your lovers whipped at an auto-da-fé, I do not conceive how you
could be more unfortunate than I. Add that I was born a baroness of seventy-two quarterings—and have
been a cook!"
"Miss," replied the old woman, "you do not[Pg 41] know my birth; and were I to show you my
backside, you would not talk in that manner, but would suspend your judgment."
This speech having raised extreme curiosity in the minds of Cunegonde and Candide, the old woman
spoke to them as follows.[Pg 42]
(To be continued)
FOOTNOTES:
[1] P. 2. The name Pangloss is derived from two Greek words signifying "all" and "language."
[2] P. 8. The Abares were a tribe of Tartars settled on the shores of the Danube, who later dwelt in part
of Circassia.
[3] P. 15. Venereal disease was said to have been first brought from Hispaniola, in the West Indies, by
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124
some followers of Columbus who were later employed in the siege of Naples. From this latter
circumstance it was at one time known as the Neapolitan disease.
[4] P. 19. The great earthquake of Lisbon happened on the first of November, 1755.
[5] P. 20. Such was the aversion of the Japanese to the Christian faith that they compelled Europeans
trading with their islands to trample on the cross, renounce all marks of Christianity, and swear that it
was not their religion. See chap. xi. of the voyage to Laputa in Swift's Gulliver's Travels.
[6] P. 23. This auto-da-fé actually took place, some months after the earthquake, on June 20, 1756.
[7] P. 23. The rejection of bacon convicting them, of course, of being Jews, and therefore fitting victims
for an auto-da-fé.
[8] P. 24. The San-benito was a kind of loose over-garment painted with flames, figures of devils, the
victim's own portrait, etc., worn by persons condemned to death by the Inquisition when going to the
stake on the occasion of an auto-da-fé. Those who expressed repentance for their errors wore a garment
of the same kind covered with flames directed downwards, while [Pg 170] that worn by Jews,
sorcerers, and renegades bore a St. Andrew's cross before and behind.
[9] P. 26. "This Notre-Dame is of wood; every year she weeps on the day of her fête, and the people
weep also. One day the preacher, seeing a carpenter with dry eyes, asked him how it was that he did not
dissolve in tears when the Holy Virgin wept. 'Ah, my reverend father,' replied he, 'it is I who refastened
her in her niche yesterday. I drove three great nails through her behind; it is then she would have wept
if she had been able.'"—Voltaire, Mélanges.
(To be continued)
Firmament
125
Fables
Æsop (Sixth century B.C.)
A NEW TRANSLATION BY
S. VERNON JONES
The Sick Lion
A LION, unable from old age and infirmities to provide himself with food by force, resolved to do so
by artifice. He returned to his den, and lying down there, pretended to be sick, taking care that his
sickness should be publicly known. The beasts expressed their sorrow, and came one by one to his den,
where the Lion devoured them. After many of the beasts had thus disappeared, the Fox discovered the
trick and presenting himself to the Lion, stood on the outside of the cave, at a respectful distance, and
asked him how he was. "I am very middling," replied the Lion, "but why do you stand without? Pray
enter within to talk with me." "No, thank you," said the Fox. "I notice that there are many prints of feet
entering your cave, but I see no trace of any returning." He is wise who is warned by the misfortunes of
others. ■
The Horse and Groom
A GROOM used to spend whole days in currycombing and rubbing down his Horse, but at the same
time stole his oats and sold them for his own profit. "Alas!" said the Horse, "if you really wish me to be
in
good
condition,
you
should
groom
me
less,
and
feed
me
more."■
The Ass and the Lapdog
A MAN had an Ass, and a Maltese Lapdog, a very great beauty. The Ass was left in a stable and had
plenty of oats and hay to eat, just as any other Ass would. The Lapdog knew many tricks and was a
great favorite with his master, who often fondled him and seldom went out to dine without bringing
him home some tidbit to eat. The Ass, on the contrary, had much work to do in grinding the corn-mill
and in carrying wood from the forest or burdens from the farm. He often lamented his own hard fate
and contrasted it with the luxury and idleness of the Lapdog, till at last one day he broke his cords and
halter, and galloped into his master's house, kicking up his heels without measure, and frisking and
fawning as well as he could. He next tried to jump about his master as he had seen the Lapdog do, but
he broke the table and smashed all the dishes upon it to atoms. He then attempted to lick his master,
and jumped upon his back. The servants, hearing the strange hubbub and perceiving the danger of their
master, quickly relieved him, and drove out the Ass to his stable with kicks and clubs and cuffs. The
Ass, as he returned to his stall beaten nearly to death, thus lamented: "I have brought it all on myself!
Why could I not have been contented to labor with my companions, and not wish to be idle all the day
like that useless little Lapdog!" ■

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Transcription

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