印第安杂耍艺人

William Hazlitt，1778—1830，was born in Maidstone，England.Hazlitt is thought to have treated his contemporaries with an unjust severity；but his genial appreciation of the English classics，and the thorough and loving manner in which he discusses their merits，make his essays the delight of every lover of those perpetual wellsprings of intellectual pleasure.His “Table Talk，”“Characters of Shakespeare's Plays，”“Lectures on the English Poets，”and “Lectures on the Literature of the Elizabethan Age，”are the works that exhibit his style and general merits in their most favorable light.

Coming forward and seating himself on the ground，in his white dress and tightened turban，the chief of the Indian jugglers begins with tossing up two brass balls，which is what any of us could do，and concludes by keeping up four at the same time，which is what none of us could do to save our lives，not if we were to take our whole lives to do it in.

Is it then a trifling power we see at work，or is it not something next to miraculous？It is the utmost stretch of human ingenuity，which nothing but the bending the faculties of body and mind to it from the tenderest infancy with incessant，ever-anxious application up to manhood，can accomplish or make even a slight approach to.Man，thou art a wonderful animal，and thy ways past finding out！Thou canst do strange things，but thou turnest them to small account！

To conceive of this extraordinary dexterity，distracts the imagination and makes admiration breathless.Yet it costs nothing to the performer，any more than if it were a mere mechanical deception with which he had nothing to do，but to watch and laugh at the astonishment of the spectators.A single error of a hair's breadth，of the smallest conceivable portion of time，would be fatal；the precision of the movements must be like a mathematical truth；their rapidity is like lightning.

To catch four balls in succession，in less than a second of time，and deliver them back so as to return with seeming consciousness to the hand again；to make them revolve around him at certain intervals，like the planets in their spheres；to make them chase each other like sparkles of fire，or shoot up like flowers or meteors；to throw them behind his back，and twine them round his neck like ribbons，or like serpents；to do what appears an impossibility，and to do it with all the ease，the grace，the carelessness imaginable；to laugh at，to play with the glittering mockeries，to follow them with his eye as if he could fascinate them with its lambent fire，or as if he had only to see that they kept time with the music on the stage—there is something in all this which he who does not admire may be quite sure he never really admired anything in the whole course of his life.It is skill surmounting difficulty，and beauty triumphing over skill.It seems as if the difficulty，once mastered，naturally resolved itself into ease and grace，and as if，to be overcome at all，it must be overcome without an effort.The smallest awkwardness or want of pliancy or self-possession would stop the whole process.It is the work of witchcraft，and yet sport for children.

Some of the other feats are quite as curious and wonderful—such as the balancing the artificial tree，and shooting a bird from each branch through a quill—though none of them have the elegance or facility of the keeping up of the brass balls.You are in pain for the result，and glad when the experiment is over；they are not accompanied with the same unmixed，unchecked delight as the former；and I would not give much to be merely astonished without being pleased at the same time.As to the swallowing of the sword，the police ought to interfere to prevent it.

When I saw the Indian juggler do the same things before，his feet were bare，and he had large rings on his toes，which he kept turning round all the time of the performance，as if they moved of themselves.

The hearing a speech in Parliament drawled or stammered out by the honorable member or the noble lord，the ringing the changes on their commonplaces，which anyone could repeat after them as well as they，stirs me not a jot，—shakes not my good opinion of myself.I ask what there is that I can do as well as this.Nothing.What have I been doing all my life？Have I been idle，or have I nothing to show for all my labor and pains？Or have I passed my time in pouring words like water into empty sieves，rolling a stone up a hill and then down again，trying to prove an argument in the teeth of facts，and looking for causes in the dark，and not finding them？Is there no one thing in which I can challenge competition，that I can bring as an instance of exact perfection，in which others can not find a flaw？

The utmost I can pretend to is to write a description of what this fellow can do.I can write a book: so can many others who have not even learned to spell.What abortions are these essays！What errors，what ill-pieced transitions，what crooked reasons，what lame conclusions！How little is made out，and that little how ill！Yet they are the best I can do.

I endeavor to recollect all I have ever heard or thought upon a subject，and to express it as neatly as I can.Instead of writing on four subjects at a time，it is as much as I can manage，to keep the thread of one discourse clear and unentangled.I have also time on my hands to correct my opinions and polish my periods；but the one I can not，and the other I will not，do.I am fond of arguing；yet，with a good deal of pains and practice，it is often much as I can do to beat my man，though he may be a very indifferent hand.A common fencer would disarm his adversary in the twinkling of an eye，unless he were a professor like himself.A stroke of wit will sometimes produce this effect，but there is no such power or superiority in sense or reasoning.There is no complete mastery of execution to be shown there；and you hardly know the professor from the impudent pretender or the mere clown.

译文　TRANSLATION

威廉·海什力特（1778—1830），出生于英国梅德斯通。海什力特作品很多，除《拿破仑传》之外，主要为文学与艺术批评，收集在《闲谈集》《莎士比亚剧中人物论》《英国诗人论》《伊丽莎白时期的文学》等书中。

一位紧裹着穆斯林头巾、身穿白袍的印度杂耍王走上前来，席地而坐。一开始，他向上抛掷两个铜球，这手我们也会；而最后，他同时向上抛掷四个球，这却是我们使出吃奶的劲儿也做不到的，即使穷尽一生精力怕也是枉然。

雕虫小技还是近乎奇幻？这是人类智巧的极致展现，只有自幼及长将全部身心持之以恒地投入其中，才有可能达到或接近这一程度。人啊，你是那么神奇的造物，你对自己的才华竟茫然无知。你能做那么多奇异的事，而你却不知道。

这出神入化的技巧简直匪夷所思，令人叹为观止。但对表演者而言，却不费吹灰之力，似乎仅是呆板的骗术，表演者不过用它来赏鉴、嘲笑观者的惊诧。然而，瞬时的差之毫厘的失误都会是毁灭性的；杂耍的动作必须像数学一样精准，像闪电一样快。

在不到一秒的时间内，杂耍艺人依次接到球，再把它们抛向空中，并使那些球像有了意识一样回到手里；这些球像在轨道上的行星一样井然有序地绕着他转；像火花一样相互追逐；像娇蕾和流星一样绽放；球被掷向背后，像缎带或蛇一样在他颈上盘旋；将看似难乎其难的事完成得那样自如、优雅、淡定至极；杂耍艺人在与那些流光溢彩的铜球嬉笑玩耍着，用眼睛追踪着它们，似乎在以他眼中幽邃的火吸引着那些铜球，又宛若只是看着它们在舞台上随着音乐起舞——看到这样的表演，那些不知敬佩为何物的人会深信此前的生活中确乎没有什么值得叹赏的。印度杂耍是以艺克难、以美胜艺。仿佛一旦精通技艺，高难就自然地化作自如与优雅；又似乎只能以举重若轻征服高难。略有一点笨拙或稍欠一丝从容、沉着都会功亏一篑。它是魔法也是儿戏。

还有些杂耍尽管不像铜球游戏那样优雅、灵巧，却也精彩而又古怪。譬如，边来回轻摇一株人造树，边用羽管射落枝上的鸟。观看这一杂耍，人们会为射落的鸟难过，而高兴其终于结束。与铜球游戏相比，它们没有前者那种不含杂质、不受压抑的愉悦；对那些只能让人震惊却不能同时给人欣悦的杂耍，我并不赞赏。至于吞剑这一杂耍，我则以为警方应勒令将其禁止。

听着议会中那些体面的议员和高贵的爵爷要么拖着长音要么结结巴巴地发言，那些任谁都说得出的花样翻新的陈词滥调，一点也触动不了我——无法动摇我的自傲。我自问除此之外我还能做什么，什么也做不了。一直以来我都在做什么？我一直无所事事或尽管辛劳却一无所得吗？我是这样度日吗，言语像水流过筛子，像石头滚上山又滚下来？我是这样度日吗，为证明论点却不顾事实，在黑暗中寻找原因却并未找到？可有一件事，我能挑战竞争，做到完美，让他人无可指摘？

我敢于憧憬的最高目标是描绘这种人能做什么。我能写本书，而很多甚至没有学会拼写的人也能写书。我曾有多少无果而终的文章！而写就的文章中又充斥着错误，不当的过渡，迂曲的论证，偏颇的结论！文章那么少，而如此少的文章却又那么差！然而，我所能勉力而为的不过如此。

在讨论一个议题时，我会努力回想自己相关的见闻和思考，然后以尽可能简洁的语言将其表达出来；要保持文章线索的清晰、切勿缠夹不清，不要同时写四个议题，虽然最多时我可以应付那么多议题；若有时间，我会修正自己观点和润色辞章；但我却无力修正也不愿雕琢。我爱辩论；然而，辩论却劳神费力，为击败论敌，哪怕对方只是个平庸的角色，我也要雄狮搏兔尽全力。一个一般的剑术家或可以眨眼间完胜对手，只要对手不是像他一样的方家。机智有时会有这样的效力，但感觉与理性方面的优越却无此力量。如果没有充分展现，人们几乎难以看出饱学之士与滥竽者及小丑的区别。