Chapter 5 05 The artist's wife translated from Portuguese

Alfonso Alfonso, the freest citizen in Lisbon, the capital city.Zinzaga is a young novelist, but in terms of fame, he is the only one who knows; in terms of great future, he is the only one who counts on it.On one occasion he came home, exhausted and as hungry as the hungriest dog, after a whole day of running about on the sidewalks here and there, in and out of the editorial offices.He lived in room one hundred and forty-seven in a hotel which, in one of his novels, he had aliased the poisonous swan.He walked into Room 147, took a look at his small, low-rise residence, wrinkled his nose, lit a candle, and a gripping picture unfolded before his eyes.Among the piles of papers, books, last year's newspapers, worn chairs, boots, pajamas, knives and hats lay his beautiful wife, Amaranda, lying on a small chaise longue with a gray-blue cover. , fast asleep.The tender Zinzaga walked up to her, pondered for a while, and took her hand.She didn't wake up.He took her other hand again.

She sighed deeply, but did not wake up.He just patted her on the shoulder, tapped her marble forehead with his fingers, touched her leather shoes, pulled at her dress, sneezed audibly throughout the hotel, and she didn't even move. I slept soundly!Zinzaga thought to himself, how did this happen?Could it be that she took poison?The failure of my latest novel may have had a strong effect on her Zinzaga stared wide-eyed and rocked the recliner.A book slid slowly from Amaranta, its pages rustling and clattering to the floor.The novelist picked up the book, opened it, and immediately turned pale.This is not any other book, and it is by no means a random book, but it is written by Earl Don.Balabanda.Alimonda paid for the publication of the novel, and the title of the book was "Forty-four Men of St. Moscow who married twenty wives were tortured by chariots."This novel, readers understand, describes life in Russia, and therefore the most interesting life, but suddenly she fell asleep reading my novel! ? !Zinzaga grunted.

She to Balabanda.Count Arimonda's publishing work, to Alfonso.The fruits of Zinzaga's labor, what a disrespect!And he gave her the honorable name Zinzaga! woman!Zinzaga let go of his Portuguese throat with a yelp and raised his fist to beat the edge of the couch. Amaranda sighed deeply, opened her dark eyes, and smiled. Is that you, Alfonso?She held out her hand to him and said. Yes, it's me!You fell asleep?You fell asleep?Alfonso murmured, Sit down in a rickety chair, what did you do before you fell asleep? I went to my mother's house to borrow money. and after? Read your novel.

Then you fell asleep?Say it!Then you fell asleep? Then fell asleep Why, why are you angry, Alfonso? I'm not angry, but sad: You treat my work so carelessly, even if this kind of work hasn't given me fame yet, it will definitely give it to me in the future!You fell asleep reading my novel!That's how I understand why you fell asleep! Stop it, Alfonso!I read your novel with gusto. Your novel fascinates me.I, I, I was particularly moved by a scene, that is, the young writer Alfonso.Tentega shot himself That scene is not in this novel, but in "A Thousand Fires"! Yeah?So which scene in this novel touched my heart?Oh, by the way, I read about the Russian Marquis Ivan.When Ivanovich jumped out of the window and fell into the river, the Volga, I cried.

Ahhh! When he drowned, he was Viscountess Csenia.I am very touched by Petrovna's blessing If you are really moved, how can you fall asleep? I'm so sleepy!You know I didn't sleep last night.You are so cute, read your excellent new novel to me all night, I can't just sleep, don't listen to your reading, and give up this kind of happiness Ahhh!I see.Bring me something to eat! Haven't you eaten yet? No. But you said to me this morning before you left that you were having dinner with the editor of the "Lisbon Provincial News" today, didn't you? Yeah, I thought my poem would be published in the News, damn it!

Could it be that they didn't publish it? No That's bad luck!I've hated editors with all my heart since I was your wife!Are you hungry then? hungry. Poor Alfonso!So you have no money? Humph, do you even need to ask? !Don't you have anything to eat? No, my friend!My mother just asked me to eat a meal without giving me any money. Um The chair clicked.Zinzaga stood up and began to walk up and down. He walked for a while, thought for a while, and gave birth to an extremely strong desire, intending to convince himself that hunger is a sign of cowardice, and that life is to fight against nature, not just to use Bread fills the stomach, no one is an artist if he is not hungry, and so on.He might have really convinced himself, but it happened that in his thinking he thought of his neighbor next door, the Italian genre painter Francesco in Room 148 of the Poisonous Swan.Boutronza, a man of talent and a little fame, remembered that he had the ability to get food every day, which is by no means unimportant in the world, but Zinzaga never learned it.

Then I'll go to him!Zinzaga decided, and went out to find the neighbor. Zinzaga walked into Room 148, and saw a scene that he admired as a novelist, and at the same time made him nervous as a hungry man.The novelist saw his friend Francesco in the midst of many picture frames, canvas frames, mannequins with missing arms, easels, and chairs covered with faded garments of different kinds and eras.Butronza, at this moment his hopes of having dinner with friends were dashed. It turned out that Francesco.Chaxuewan Butron.Dike [Note: Dutch painter.In his portrait, he wears a large black hat with a wide brim askew. 】Looks crooked wearing a hat, wearing Peter.Aminsji [Note: An ascetic monk in medieval France who participated in the Crusades. ] style clothing, standing on a stool, frantically shaking the wrist rod for painting, and screaming.He looked terrible.He had one foot on the stool and the other on the table.His face was flushed, his eyes were shining, his beard was trembling, his hair stood on end, and he seemed to throw his hat into the air at any moment.On the corner stands Apollo [Note: The god of the sun and light in ancient Greek mythology, the protector of art. ], with no arms, no nose, and a large triangular slit in the chest.Francesco.Butronca was throwing a tantrum, and his wife stood next to the statue.Her name was Carolina, she was a German woman, and she looked at the lamp with trepidation.She was pale and trembling.

barbarian!You don't love art, you kill art, to hell with you, shouted Butronca!How did I marry you, a cold-blooded German woman? !How could I, a fool, who was free as the wind, an eagle, an antelope, an artist in short, be united with such a small piece of ice made of prejudice and superficiality diabolo [Note: Italian] ;devil. 】! ! !You are ice!You are like a piece of beef!You you idiot!Cry, you wretched, overcooked bratwurst!Your husband is an artist, not a small businessman!Cry, you beer bottle!Zinzaga, is that you?you don't go!wait a minute!I'm so glad you're here to see this woman!

Boutronza stretched his left foot towards the woman.Carolina was crying. never mind!Zinzaga said, What are you arguing about, Mr. Butronca?Madame Butronza, what can I do to you?Why do you make her cry with anger?Remember your great country, Monsieur Butronza, a country where the worship of beauty and the worship of women are closely combined!You have to remember! I'm pissed off!cried Butronza, put yourself in my shoes!You know, I have listened to Balabanda.At the suggestion of Count Alimonda, he started to paint a large painting.The Count asked me to paint Susanna from the Old Testament 】.I begged her, here, this fat German woman, undressed, to be my model, I've been begging her since early in the morning, sometimes kneeling before her, sometimes losing her temper, but she won't!Put yourself in my shoes and think about it!Can I draw without a model?

I can't do it!Carolina cried and said, you know this is not like it! Did you see it?Have you seen?This can be regarded as a reason, to hell with her! I can't do it!Honestly, I can't do it!He told me to undress and stand by the window I need this!The woman I was going to draw was in the moonlight!The moonlight shone on her chest, and the Philistines ran together, holding torches, and the fire shone on her back, so colorful!I can't help drawing like this! For art, madam, said Zinzaga, you must forget not only shame, but all emotion! But I can't stand it, Mr. Zinzaga!I can't stand in front of the window for everyone to see!

Well done to everyone, let us think, Mrs. Butronca, that you are afraid of the eyes of crowds, and the so-called crowds, if you look at them.The point of art and reason, ma'am, is that Zinzaga said things that a wise man couldn't say and couldn't put in his pen, that is, very decent things that were extremely hard to understand. Carolina shook her hands and ran up and down the room, as if afraid that she would be forced to strip her naked. I wash his brushes, palettes, rags, my clothes get dirty from his paintings, I tutor him to feed him, I sew his clothes, I suffer the smell of hemp seed oil, How many days have I stood and modeled for him, I've done everything, and now call me naked?Naked?Then I can't do it! ! ! I'm divorcing you, red-haired shrew!exclaimed Butronca. Where am I going then?Carolina exclaimed, you give me money first, let me go back to Berlin where you brought me out, and then divorce me! All right!When I finish painting Susanna, I will send you to your Prussia, to that country full of cockroaches, smelly sausages, and trichinella!exclaimed Butronza, accidentally banging her elbow on her chest, "If you can't sacrifice yourself for art, you don't deserve to be my wife!"Savage devil! Carolina burst into tears, put her head in her arms, and sat down in a chair. what are you doing? !Butronza yells, you're sitting on my palette! ! Carolina stood up.Sure enough, there was a palette of freshly mixed paints under her body, God!Why am I not a painter?If I were a painter, I would dedicate a great painting to Portugal!Zinzaga shook his hand and slipped out of Room 148, thankful that he was not a painter, but also saddened that although he was a novelist, he had not been able to eat with painters. At the door of Room 147, he met a woman with pale face, flustered expression, and trembling all over.She is the tenant of Room 113, the future Royal Theater actor Peter.Petruchica.Petrulio's wife. what's wrong with youZinzaga asked her. Ouch, Mr. Zinzaga!We got into trouble!This is how to do?My Peter is hurt! How did you get hurt? He was practicing jumping from the top, but he bumped his head on the box. Unlucky man! He is dying!This is how to do? Go to the doctor, madam! But he didn't want to find a doctor!He doesn't believe in medicine, and besides, he is in debt to all the doctors. That being the case, then you go to the pharmacy and buy a salt solution.This potion is very effective in healing wounds. How much is a bottle of this medicine? Cheap, very cheap, ma'am. thank you.You will always be a good friend to my Peter!We still have a little money left, and that was when he was in Balabanda.I don't know if the money earned by Count Alimonda's theater is enough.Can you lend me some money to buy that sauce? Sour salt, madam. We will return it to you shortly. I can't do it, madam.I bought three reams of paper and spent my money until there was nothing left. Goodbye then! I wish you good health!Zinzaga said, bowing. Before the wife of the future actress of the Royal Theater could leave him, he saw approaching him the tenant of room No. 101. Finbach [Note: French composer, master of classical operetta. ], cello and flute player Ferginanda.Rai. What do you want?he asked her. Mr Zinzaga, said the opera singer-musician's wife, wringing her hands, please take the trouble to take care of my rambunctious fellow!You are his friend and maybe you can stop him.This shameless person wakes up early in the morning and sings so loudly that I can't live!The little one couldn't sleep, and I was torn apart by his baritone voice!For God's sake, Mr. Zinzaga!It's all because of him that I'm even ashamed to meet my neighbors, believe it or not?Even the neighbor's children can't sleep because of him.Excuse me, come with me!Maybe you can manage him somehow. Yes, ma'am! Zinzaga offered an arm to the opera singer-musician's wife, and she took it as she walked toward room one hundred and one.Room No. 101 had a queen-size bed that took up half the place, a cradle that took up a quarter, and a music stand between the bed and the cradle.There are yellow sheet music on the music stand, Portugal's future Offenbach is looking at the sheet music and singing.It was hard to understand what he was singing for a while.Only by his perspiring red face, by the effect he had on his own and other people's ears, could one infer that he sang badly, laboriously, like mad.It seems that he is living a life of suffering by singing.He beat time with his right foot and fist, and at the same time he held his arms and legs high, knocking off the music on the music stand.He craned his neck, squinted his eyes, twisted his mouth, stretched out his fists and beat his stomach. In the cradle lay a little living creature, shouting and howling, screaming strangely, to accompany his hoarse father. Mr. Rai, should you rest now?Zinzaga came in and asked Ray. Rai didn't hear it. Mr. Rai, should you rest now?Zinzaga asked again. Take him away!Rai sang, jerking his chin toward the cradle at the same time. What song are you practicing?Zinzaga asked aloud, trying to drown out Rai's voice, what song are you practicing? Ray couldn't catch his breath, so he stopped talking and stared blankly at Zinzaga. What do you want?he asks. I?Oh I mean it's time for you to rest now, right? But what does it matter to you? But you are tired, Monsieur Ray!What song are you practicing? Dedicated to Balabanda.Ode to Count Alimonda.But what does it matter to you? But now it's nighttime and now, in a sense, it's time for sleep I must sing until ten o'clock tomorrow morning.Sleeping doesn't do us any good.Let anyone who likes to sleep sleep, and I, for the good of Portugal, and perhaps for the good of the whole world, should not sleep. But, my friend, his wife interjected, me and our baby are going to bed!You yell so loudly, take it easy that other people can't sleep, not even sitting in this room! If you want to sleep, you sleep well! After saying this, Ray beat the time with his feet and began to sing. Zinzaga plugged his ears and escaped from Room 101 like a madman.When he returned to his room, he saw an exciting scene.His Amaranda was sitting at the table, copying out his novella.Big tears fell from her big eyes and dripped on the draft pad. Amaranda!He seized his wife by the hand, and cried, Has the poor hero of my poor novella moved you to tears?Is that so, Amaranda? no i'm not crying for your hero Then why are you crying?asked a disappointed Zinzaga. My girlfriend Sophia.Feldrabanjero.Neila Cruz.Rozja, the wife of your friend the sculptor, has her husband already made up and ready to be dedicated to Balabanda.The statue of Earl Alimonda was smashed. Seeing her husband's sadness, she couldn't stand it, so she swallowed a match and killed herself! Poor statue!Oh, wives, I wish the devil would take you, and your long dresses that knock everything down!She committed suicide by taking poison?Hell, this is the subject of a novel! ! !However, this topic is not very interesting!In this world, everyone is going to die either today or tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, and your girlfriend will die anyway. Wipe away your tears, instead of crying, you might as well listen to what I say Speak the outline of a new novel?Amaranda asked in a low voice. correct Wouldn't it be better if I listened to you tomorrow morning, my friend?Clear your mind in the morning No, you listen to it today.I have no time tomorrow.Russian writer Terzavin [Note: Russian poet, representative of classicism. ] Arrived in Lisbon, I have to visit him tomorrow morning.With him, and your favorite, sorry to say, and your favorite Victor.Hugo. Yeah? Yes, then listen to me! Zinzaga sat down across from Amaranda, threw his head back, and began to talk: the plot took place in Portugal, Spain, France, Russia, Brazil, etc. all over the world.The hero reads in a Lisbon newspaper that the heroine has met with misfortune in New York.he went.He was captured by pirates who were bought by Bismarck's spies.The heroine is a French spy.Newspaper hints at Brits.Polish pies in Austria and gypsies in India.conspiracy.The hero goes to prison.They planned to buy him off.have you understood?Next, Zinzaga spoke movingly and passionately, shaking his hands, his eyes sparkled, and he talked for a long, long, long time! Twice Amaranda fell asleep and woke up twice, the street lights went out and the sun came up, but he was still talking.The clock struck six and Amaranta felt sick to her stomach and wanted to drink her morning tea, but he kept on talking. Bismarck tendered his resignation.The hero didn't want to remain anonymous, so he gave his name, Alfonso.Zong Zujia, died in great pain.The quiet angel sent his quiet soul to the blue sky and waited until the clock struck seven before Zinzaga was finished. how?He asked Amaranda, what do you think?Do you think that scene between Alfonso and Maria would pass the censors?ah? No, that scene was moving! Overall, is the novel any good?You tell the truth.You are a woman, and most of my readers are women, so I must know your opinion. How should I tell you?I feel as if I have met you, the hero, somewhere, but I just can't remember exactly where This is impossible! real.I met your hero in a novel, and, it must be said, a very boring novel!When I first read that novel, I wondered how such nonsense could ever be published.I read it and concluded that the author must at least be as stupid as a piece of wood. The absurd things are printed upside down, but your work is rarely printed.What a strange thing! You should at least remember the name of the novel, right? I can't remember the title of the book, but I do remember the name of the heroine. I remember this name very well, because it has four characters in a row. What a ridiculous name Carl Erlo! Could it be in the book "The Female Sleepwalker in the Sea"? Yes, yes, yes, in that book.How well do you remember our literature!It's that book where your hero is a lot like Carl Herro, but, of course, your characters are much smarter.What's the matter with you, Alfonso? Alfonso jumped up. "The Female Sleepwalker in the Sea" is the novel I wrote! ! !he cried. Amaranda blushed. So my novels, my works, are boring?He yelled so loudly that Amaranta's throat ached. Oh, you stupid duck!Is that how you, madam, view my work?So that's it, donkey?You accidentally spoke the truth, didn't you?From now on you will never see me again!goodbye!Humph idiot!Is my novel boring? !Balabanda.Count Alimonda knew what book he was publishing? Zinzaga cast a contemptuous glance at his wife, pulled his hat low over his eyes, and walked out of Room 147, slamming the door behind him. Amaranda sighed, but she didn't cry, and she didn't pass out on the spot.She knew Alfonso.No matter how angry Zinzaga was, he would always return to Room 147. For the novelist, leaving Room 147 for good was tantamount to starting a life in the Portuguese cerulean. To live under the sky, and thus to write on the sidewalks of Lisbon, with an unpaid female copyist.Amaranda knew this, and she was not much worried when her husband left.She just sighed and started to comfort herself.As a rule, after such frequent quarrels between husband and wife, she comforted herself with the reading of an old newspaper. The old newspapers were stored in the tin box where she used to hold candy, together with the small empty bottle of perfume.In addition to advertisements, telecommunications, politics, current affairs and other human affairs, the old newspaper also has a pearl, which is the so-called miscellaneous column in the newspaper.There are several stories in the miscellaneous column, some describe how an American used tricks to win another American, and some describe the famous singer Duba Dora.How Miss Svester ate up a vat of oysters and crossed the Andes without getting her boots wet, and there is another little story well suited to comfort Amaranda and other artists' wives.I will now reproduce the story as follows: Attention the Portuguese and their daughters.in Christopher.In one of the cities of America discovered by Columbus, a man of great energy and courage, lived the physician Tennell.This Tanner is not so much a scientist as an idiosyncratic artist, and therefore he is known on Earth and in Portugal not as a scientist but as an idiosyncratic artist.He is an American and an ordinary person at the same time, and since he is an ordinary person, sooner or later he is bound to fall in love, and once he did.He fell in love with a beautiful American woman, and fell in love with him as much as an artist, so much so that he once prescribed aquae distillatae [Note: Latin; distilled water. 】And actually written as agentum nitricum 【Note: Latin; silver nitrate. ] Yes, and then he proposed and finally got married.At first he lived very happily with the beautiful American woman, but ended up violating the essence of the honeymoon and making the honeymoon [Note: The honeymoon is shorter than usual.The honeymoon is only twenty days and five hours, fifteen minutes and sixteen seconds.Chekhov's Note] The extension is not one month but six months [Note: Impossible.Annotation by Chekhov].There is no doubt that Tennell was a learned man, and therefore the easiest man to live with, and they would have lived happily ever after if he had not discovered a terrible vice in his wife.Mrs. Tennell's vice was that she ate like the common people.This vice of his wife pained Tennell.I want to re-educate her!He set himself the task, and began to enlighten Mrs. Tennell.First he taught her not to eat breakfast and supper, and secondly to drink tea.After a year of marriage, Mrs. Tennell's lunch was no longer four courses, but only one.After two years of marriage, she has been limited to a surprisingly small amount of food.The amounts of nutrients she ate and drank throughout the day and night are listed below: Salt 1 gel [Note: 1 gel is equal to 0.062 grams. 】 protein 5 gel fat 2 curry Water (distilled) 7 gram Hungarian wine 11/23 curry A total of 16 1/23 curry We didn't count gas because science hasn't yet dictated exactly how much gas we need.Tanner was victorious, but not for long.In his fourth year of marriage, the thought began to torment him that Mrs. Tennell was eating too much protein supplements.The more he tried to train her, if he didn't feel that he no longer loved his wife, he might have achieved his goal and reduced the five to one or zero.He is a beauty lover, so he cannot but dislike his wife.Mrs. Tennell, instead of being an American beauty to the end of her old age, turned into something like an American log for no apparent reason, whimsically, and lost all her beauty and intelligence, which showed that, although she was still fit for further training, she was already Not suitable for married life at all.Dr. Tannell asked for a divorce.So learned experts came to his house, examined Mrs. Tannell in every way, persuaded her to go to the spa, do gymnastics, and prescribed her recipes, thinking that the request of their venerable colleague was perfectly legitimate.Dr. Tannell gave his colleagues and specialists a gold dollar each, and treated them to a good breakfast, and from that time the physician lived in one place and his wife in another.Sad story! Women, you are often the source of disaster for great men.Women, is it not your fault that great men often lack offspring?Portuguese, you have a duty on your conscience to educate your daughters!Don't raise your daughters to be destroyers of happy families! !I'm done.Tomorrow is the editor-in-chief's birthday, so this newspaper will suspend publication for one day.Portuguese!Those of you who haven't paid the full subscription fee should pay it quickly! Poor Mrs. Tennell!After reading this little story, Amaranda said softly, poor woman!How unfortunate she is!Ah, how happy I am in comparison with her!how happy i am! Amaranta secretly rejoiced that there were people in the world less unfortunate than herself, so she carefully folded the newspaper and put it back in the box, and then, glad to know that she was not Mrs. Tennell, undressed and lay down to sleep up. She slept until Alfonso.Zinzaga was so hungry that she came to wake her up. I want to eat!Zinzaga said, get dressed, my dear, to your madre [note: Spanish; mother. ] There to ask for money.However, propos [Note: French; by the way. 】: I apologize to you, I was wrong.Just now I went to visit the Russian writer Terchavin, who came with another Russian writer, Lermontov.According to Terchavin, there are two novels with the same title "The Female Sleepwalker in the Sea", but the content is completely different.go, my friend! While Zinzaga was dressing Amaranta, he told her about a story he was going to write, noting in passing that he would require a sacrifice on her part to write this heart-wrenching story. Not much sacrifice, my friend!He said, you have to write down my description according to my dictation, which will cost you seven or eight hours at most, and then you will write it down.By the way, write down your thoughts on all my works on a piece of paper.You are a woman and most of my readers are women Zinzaga lied a bit.Not that most of his readers were women, but that all his readers were one woman, because Amaranta was not many women, but one woman. Do you agree? Well, murmured Amaranta, pale, pouring over a battered, dusty encyclopedia that was always left unattended, what a strange thing these women are in a coma!Zinzaga exclaimed, I was right, I said in "A Thousand Fires": the creature of woman is always a mystery to man, always a wonder!As long as there is a little happy event, she can faint to the ground with joy!O woman's temper! Happy Zinzaga knelt before unhappy Amaranda and kissed her on the forehead, ladies readers, that's how it happened! You must know, girls and widows, that these artists must never be married to you!The Ukrainian said it well: God bless, tell those artists to fuck off! Instead of living in the best room in the poison swan, get Balabanda.The best refuge for the Count of Arimunda, girls and widows, would be better to live in any little tobacco shop, or simply sell geese in the market. Really, it couldn't be better than this!