双语小说：牛虻 windows, 英文小说

pady401

Chapter 1


Arthur sat in the library of the theological seminary at Pisa, looking through a pile of manuscript sermons. It was a hot evening in June, and the windows stood wide open, with the shutters half closed for coolness. The Father Director, Canon Montanelli, paused a moment in his writing to glance lovingly at the black head bent over the papers.
"Can't you find it, carino? Never mind; I must rewrite the passage. Possibly it has got torn up, and I have kept you all this time for nothing."
Montanelli's voice was rather low, but full and resonant, with a silvery purity of tone that gave to his speech a peculiar charm. It was the voice of a born orator, rich in possible modulations. When he spoke to Arthur its note was always that of a caress.
"No, Padre, I must find it; I'm sure you put it here. You will never make it the same by rewriting."
Montanelli went on with his work. A sleepy cockchafer hummed drowsily outside the window, and the long, melancholy call of a fruitseller echoed down the street: "Fragola! fragola!"
"'On the Healing of the Leper'; here it is." Arthur came across the room with the velvet tread that always exasperated the good folk at home. He was a slender little creature, more like an Italian in a sixteenth-century portrait than a middle-class English lad of the thirties. From the long eyebrows and sensitive mouth to the small hands and feet, everything about him was too much chiseled, overdelicate. Sitting still, he might have been taken for a very pretty girl masquerading in male attire; but when he moved, his lithe agility suggested a tame panther without the claws.
"Is that really it? What should I do without you, Arthur? I should always be losing my things. No, I am not going to write any more now. Come out into the garden, and I will help you with your work. What is the bit you couldn't understand?"
They went out into the still, shadowy cloister garden. The seminary occupied the buildings of an old Dominican monastery, and two hundred years ago the square courtyard had been stiff and trim, and the rosemary and lavender had grown in close-cut bushes between the straight box edgings. Now the white-robed monks who had tended them were laid away and forgotten; but the scented herbs flowered still in the gracious mid-summer evening, though no man gathered their blossoms for simples any more. Tufts of wild parsley and columbine filled the cracks between the flagged footways, and the well in the middle of the courtyard was given up to ferns and matted stone-crop. The roses had run wild, and their straggling suckers trailed across the paths; in the box borders flared great red poppies; tall foxgloves drooped above the tangled grasses; and the old vine, untrained and barren of fruit, swayed from the branches of the neglected medlar-tree, shaking a leafy head with slow and sad persistence.
In one corner stood a huge summer-flowering magnolia, a tower of dark foliage, splashed here and there with milk-white blossoms. A rough wooden bench had been placed against the trunk; and on this Montanelli sat down. Arthur was studying philosophy at the university; and, coming to a difficulty with a book, had applied to "the Padre" for an explanation of the point. Montanelli was a universal encyclopaedia to him, though he had never been a pupil of the seminary.
"I had better go now," he said when the passage had been cleared up; "unless you want me for anything."
"I don't want to work any more, but I should like you to stay a bit if you have time."
"Oh, yes!" He leaned back against the tree-trunk and looked up through the dusky branches at the first faint stars glimmering in a quiet sky. The dreamy, mystical eyes, deep blue under black lashes, were an inheritance from his Cornish mother, and Montanelli turned his head away, that he might not see them.
"You are looking tired, carino," he said.
"I can't help it." There was a weary sound in Arthur's voice, and the Padre noticed it at once.
"You should not have gone up to college so soon; you were tired out with sick-nursing and being up at night. I ought to have insisted on your taking a thorough rest before you left Leghorn."
"Oh, Padre, what's the use of that? I couldn't stop in that miserable house after mother died. Julia would have driven me mad!"
Julia was his eldest step-brother's wife, and a thorn in his side.
"I should not have wished you to stay with your relatives," Montanelli answered gently. "I am sure it would have been the worst possible thing for you. But I wish you could have accepted the invitation of your English doctor friend; if you had spent a month in his house you would have been more fit to study."
"No, Padre, I shouldn't indeed! The Warrens are very good and kind, but they don't understand; and then they are sorry for me,--I can see it in all their faces,--and they would try to console me, and talk about mother. Gemma wouldn't, of course; she always knew what not to say, even when we were babies; but the others would. And it isn't only that----"
"What is it then, my son?"
Arthur pulled off some blossoms from a drooping foxglove stem and crushed them nervously in his hand.
"I can't bear the town," he began after a moment's pause. "There are the shops where she used to buy me toys when I was a little thing, and the walk along the shore where I used to take her until she got too ill. Wherever I go it's the same thing; every market-girl comes up to me with bunches of flowers--as if I wanted them now! And there's the church-yard--I had to get away; it made me sick to see the place----"
He broke off and sat tearing the foxglove bells to pieces. The silence was so long and deep that he looked up, wondering why the Padre did not speak. It was growing dark under the branches of the magnolia, and everything seemed dim and indistinct; but there was light enough to show the ghastly paleness of Montanelli's face. He was bending his head down, his right hand tightly clenched upon the edge of the bench. Arthur looked away with a sense of awe-struck wonder. It was as though he had stepped unwittingly on to holy ground.
"My God!" he thought; "how small and selfish I am beside him! If my trouble were his own he couldn't feel it more."
Presently Montanelli raised his head and looked round. "I won't press you to go back there; at all events, just now," he said in his most caressing tone; "but you must promise me to take a thorough rest when your vacation begins this summer. I think you had better get a holiday right away from the neighborhood of Leghorn. I can't have you breaking down in health."
"Where shall you go when the seminary closes, Padre?"
"I shall have to take the pupils into the hills, as usual, and see them settled there. But by the middle of August the subdirector will be back from his holiday. I shall try to get up into the Alps for a little change. Will you come with me? I could take you for some long mountain rambles, and you would like to study the Alpine mosses and lichens. But perhaps it would be rather dull for you alone with me?"
"Padre!" Arthur clasped his hands in what Julia called his "demonstrative foreign way." "I would give anything on earth to go away with you. Only--I am not sure----" He stopped.
"You don't think Mr. Burton would allow it?"
"He wouldn't like it, of course, but he could hardly interfere. I am eighteen now and can do what I choose. After all, he's only my step-brother; I don't see that I owe him obedience. He was always unkind to mother."
"But if he seriously objects, I think you had better not defy his wishes; you may find your position at home made much harder if----"
"Not a bit harder!" Arthur broke in passionately. "They always did hate me and always will--it doesn't matter what I do. Besides, how can James seriously object to my going away with you--with my father confessor?"
"He is a Protestant, remember. However, you had better write to him, and we will wait to hear what he thinks. But you must not be impatient, my son; it matters just as much what you do, whether people hate you or love you."
The rebuke was so gently given that Arthur hardly coloured under it. "Yes, I know," he answered, sighing; "but it is so difficult----"
"I was sorry you could not come to me on Tuesday evening," Montanelli said, abruptly introducing a new subject. "The Bishop of Arezzo was here, and I should have liked you to meet him."
"I had promised one of the students to go to a meeting at his lodgings, and they would have been expecting me."
"What sort of meeting?"
Arthur seemed embarrassed by the question. "It--it was n-not a r-regular meeting," he said with a nervous little stammer. "A student had come from Genoa, and he made a speech to us-- a-a sort of--lecture."
"What did he lecture about?"
Arthur hesitated. "You won't ask me his name, Padre, will you? Because I promised----"
"I will ask you no questions at all, and if you have promised secrecy of course you must not tell me; but I think you can almost trust me by this time."
"Padre, of course I can. He spoke about--us and our duty to the people--and to--our own selves; and about--what we might do to help----"
"To help whom?"
"The contadini--and----"
"And?"
"Italy."
There was a long silence.
"Tell me, Arthur," said Montanelli, turning to him and speaking very gravely, "how long have you been thinking about this?"
"Since--last winter."
"Before your mother's death? And did she know of it?"
"N-no. I--I didn't care about it then."
"And now you--care about it?"
Arthur pulled another handful of bells off the foxglove.
"It was this way, Padre," he began, with his eyes on the ground. "When I was preparing for the entrance examination last autumn, I got to know a good many of the students; you remember? Well, some of them began to talk to me about--all these things, and lent me books. But I didn't care much about it; I always wanted to get home quick to mother. You see, she was quite alone among them all in that dungeon of a house; and Julia's tongue was enough to kill her. Then, in the winter, when she got so ill, I forgot all about the students and their books; and then, you know, I left off coming to Pisa altogether. I should have talked to mother if I had thought of it; but it went right out of my head. Then I found out that she was going to die----You know, I was almost constantly with her towards the end; often I would sit up the night, and Gemma Warren would come in the day to let me get to sleep. Well, it was in those long nights; I got thinking about the books and about what the students had said--and wondering-- whether they were right and--what-- Our Lord would have said about it all."
"Did you ask Him?" Montanelli's voice was not quite steady.
"Often, Padre. Sometimes I have prayed to Him to tell me what I must do, or to let me die with mother. But I couldn't find any answer."
"And you never said a word to me. Arthur, I hoped you could have trusted me."
"Padre, you know I trust you! But there are some things you can't talk about to anyone. I--it seemed to me that no one could help me--not even you or mother; I must have my own answer straight from God. You see, it is for all my life and all my soul."
Montanelli turned away and stared into the dusky gloom of the magnolia branches. The twilight was so dim that his figure had a shadowy look, like a dark ghost among the darker boughs.
"And then?" he asked slowly.
"And then--she died. You know, I had been up the last three nights with her----"
He broke off and paused a moment, but Montanelli did not move.
"All those two days before they buried her," Arthur went on in a lower voice, "I couldn't think about anything. Then, after the funeral, I was ill; you remember, I couldn't come to confession."
"Yes; I remember."
"Well, in the night I got up and went into mother's room. It was all empty; there was only the great crucifix in the alcove. And I thought perhaps God would help me. I knelt down and waited--all night. And in the morning when I came to my senses--Padre, it isn't any use; I can't explain. I can't tell you what I saw--I hardly know myself. But I know that God has answered me, and that I dare not disobey Him."
For a moment they sat quite silent in the darkness. Then Montanelli turned and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder.
"My son," he said, "God forbid that I should say He has not spoken to your soul. But remember your condition when this thing happened, and do not take the fancies of grief or illness for His solemn call. And if, indeed, it has been His will to answer you out of the shadow of death, be sure that you put no false construction on His word. What is this thing you have it in your heart to do?"
Arthur stood up and answered slowly, as though repeating a catechism:
"To give up my life to Italy, to help in freeing her from all this slavery and wretchedness, and in driving out the Austrians, that she may be a free republic, with no king but Christ."
"Arthur, think a moment what you are saying! You are not even an Italian."
"That makes no difference; I am myself. I have seen this thing, and I belong to it."
There was silence again.
"You spoke just now of what Christ would have said----" Montanelli began slowly; but Arthur interrupted him:
"Christ said: 'He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.'"
Montanelli leaned his arm against a branch, and shaded his eyes with one hand.
"Sit down a moment, my son," he said at last.
Arthur sat down, and the Padre took both his hands in a strong and steady clasp.
"I cannot argue with you to-night," he said; "this has come upon me so suddenly--I had not thought--I must have time to think it over. Later on we will talk more definitely. But, for just now, I want you to remember one thing. If you get into trouble over this, if you--die, you will break my heart."
"Padre----"
"No; let me finish what I have to say. I told you once that I have no one in the world but you. I think you do not fully understand what that means. It is difficult when one is so young; at your age I should not have understood. Arthur, you are as my--as my--own son to me. Do you see? You are the light of my eyes and the desire of my heart. I would die to keep you from making a false step and ruining your life. But there is nothing I can do. I don't ask you to make any promises to me; I only ask you to remember this, and to be careful. Think well before you take an irrevocable step, for my sake, if not for the sake of your mother in heaven."
"I will think--and--Padre, pray for me, and for Italy."
He knelt down in silence, and in silence Montanelli laid his hand on the bent head. A moment later Arthur rose, kissed the hand, and went softly away across the dewy grass. Montanelli sat alone under the magnolia tree, looking straight before him into the blackness.
"It is the vengeance of God that has fallen upon me," he thought, "as it fell upon David. I, that have defiled His sanctuary, and taken the Body of the Lord into polluted hands,--He has been very patient with me, and now it is come. 'For thou didst it secretly, but I will do this thing before all Israel, and before the sun; THE CHILD THAT IS BORN UNTO THEE SHALL SURELY DIE.'"

From：英文小说网

pady401

亚瑟坐在比萨神学院的图书馆里，浏览着一堆布道手稿。

这是六月的一个炎热的晚上，窗户全都散开，百叶窗却是半掩着，为的是有些凉意。神学院院长蒙泰尼里神父停下笔来，慈祥地望着埋在手稿里的那一头黑发。

“Carino［意大利语：亲爱的］，找不到吗？没关系的，那一节我就重写一遍。可能是被撕掉了，让你白忙了这么长的时间。”

蒙泰尼里的声音低沉而浑厚，悦耳的音色给他的话语增添了一种特殊的魅力。一位天生的演说家才会具备这种抑扬顿挫的声音。他在跟亚瑟说话时，语调中总是含着一种爱意。

“不，Padre［意大利语：神父，天主教徒对教士的称呼。这个词也可指父亲。亚瑟一直称蒙泰尼里为“Padre”，可见他对蒙泰尼里怀有很深的感情。］，我一定要找到它。我敢肯定您是放在这里的。再写一遍，不可能和以前的一模一样。”

蒙泰尼里继续伏案工作。一只昏昏欲睡的金龟子停在窗外，正在那里无精打采地鸣叫。“草莓！草莓！”水果小贩的叫卖声从街道那头传来，悠长而又凄凉。

“《麻风病人的治疗》，就在这里。”亚瑟从房间那边走过来，他那轻盈的步伐总让他的家人感到恼火。他长得又瘦又小，不像是三十年代的一位英国中产阶级青年，更像是一幅十六世纪肖像画中的一位意大利人。从长长的眉毛、敏感的嘴唇到小巧的手脚，他身上的每一个部位都显得过于精致，太弱不禁风了。要是安静地坐在那里，别人会误以为他是一个身着男装的女孩，长得楚楚动人。但是在他走动的时候，他那轻盈而又敏捷的体态使人想到一只驯服的豹子，已经没有了利爪。

“真的找到了吗？亚瑟，没有了你，我该怎么办呢？我肯定会老是丢三落四的。算了，我现在就不写了。到花园去吧，我来帮你温习功课。哪个小地方你有什么不懂的？”

他们走进修道院的花园，这里很幽静，绿树成荫。神学院所占的建筑曾是多明我会的一座修道院。两百多年以前，这个四四方方的院落曾被收拾得整整齐齐。笔直的黄杨树之间长着丛丛的迷迭香和薰衣草，被剪得短短的。现在，那些曾经栽种过它们的白袍修士全都入土为安，没有人再去想起他们。但是幽香的药草仍在静谧的仲夏夜晚开花吐艳，尽管再也没有人去采集花蕊炮制草药了。丛生的野荷兰芹和耧斗菜填满了石板路的裂缝，院中央的水井已经让位给了羊齿叶和纵横交错的景天草。玫瑰花蓬蓬，纷披的根伸出条蔓越过了小径；黄杨树篱闪耀着硕大的红霉粟花；高高的毛地黄在杂草的上面低垂下了头；无人照看的老葡萄藤也不结果，藤条从一棵已为人们遗忘的枸杞树枝上垂挂下来，摇晃着叶茂的枝头，慢悠悠的，却不停下来，带着一种哀怨。

一棵夏季开花的木兰树挺立在院落的一角，高大的树干像是一座由茂密的树叶堆成的巨塔，四下探出乳白色的花朵。

一只做工粗糙的木凳挨着树干，蒙泰尼里就坐在上面。亚瑟在大学里主修哲学，因为他在书上遇到了一道难题，所以就来找他的“Padre”解惑答疑。他并不是神学院的学生，但是蒙泰尼里对他来说却是一本百科全书。

“这会儿我该走了。”等那一个章节讲解完了以后，亚瑟说道，“要是没有别的事情，我就走了。”

“我不想接着去工作，但是如果你有时间的话，我希望你能待上一会儿。”

“那好！”他靠在树干上，抬头透过影影绰绰的树叶，遥望寂静的天空。第一批暗淡的星星已经在那里闪烁。黑色的睫毛下面长着一双深蓝色的眼睛，梦幻一般神秘。这双眼睛遗传自他那位出生于康沃尔郡的母亲。蒙泰尼里转过头去，避免看见那双眼睛。

“你看上去挺累，Carino。”蒙泰尼里说道。

“没办法。”亚瑟的声音带着倦意，Padre立即就注意到了。

“你不应该这么早就上大学，那会儿照料病人整夜都睡不了觉，身体都给拖垮了。你在离开里窝那之前，我应该坚持让你好好休息一段时间。”

“不，Padre，那有什么用呢？母亲去世以后，那个鬼家我就待不下去了。朱丽亚会把我逼疯的！”

朱丽亚是他同父异母兄长的妻子，对他来说她是一根毒刺。

“我不应该让你和家人住在一起，”蒙泰尼里轻声地说道，“我清楚那样对你一点好处都没有。但是我希望你能接受你那位做医生的英国朋友的邀请，如果你在他家住上一个月，回头再去上学，你的身体会好得多。”

“不，Padre，我不该那样做啊！华伦一家人都非常好，和气得很，但是他们就是不明白。而且他们还觉得我可怜，我从他们的脸上能够看出来。他们会设法安慰我，谈起母亲。琼玛当然不会那样，她总是知道不该说些什么，甚至在我们很小的时候她就这样。但是其他的人会说的。还有——”

“还有什么，我的孩子？”

亚瑟从一根低垂的毛地黄枝条上捋下了几朵花来，神经质地用手揉碎它们。

“那个小镇我待不下去了。”他在片刻之后说道。

“那里的几家店铺，在我小时她常去给我买玩具；沿河的道路，她在病重以前我常扶她去散步。不管我走到哪里，总是让我触景生情。每一位卖花的姑娘都会向我走来，手里捧着鲜花——好像我现在还需要它们似的！还有教堂——我必须离开那里，看见那个地方就让我伤心不已——”

他打住了话头，坐下来把毛地黄撕成了碎片。悠长而又深沉的寂静，以至于他抬起头来，纳闷神父为什么不说话。木兰树下，天色渐渐地暗了下来，一切都显得若隐若现。但是还有一丝余光，可以看见蒙泰尼里脸色煞白，怪吓人的。他正低着头，右手紧紧地抓住木凳的边角。亚瑟转过头去，心中油然产生一种敬畏之情，惊愕不已。他仿佛是在无意之间踏上了圣地。

“我的上帝！”他想，“在他身边，我显得多么渺小，多么自私！即使是他遇到了我这样的不幸，他也不可能觉得更加伤感。”

蒙泰尼里随即抬起头来，四下看了看。

“我不会强迫你回到那里去，现在无论如何我都不会那么做，”他满含深情地说道，“但是你必须答应我一条，今年放暑假时好好地休息一下。我看你最好还是远离里窝那地区，我可不能眼看着你的身体垮下去。”

“Padre，您在神学院放假时到哪儿去？”

“我会带着学生进山，就像以往那样，照看他们在那里安顿下来。可是到了八月中旬，副院长休完假后就会回来。那时我就会去阿尔卑斯山散散心。你会跟我去吗？我可以带你到山里作长途旅行，而且你会愿意研究一下阿尔卑斯山的苔藓和地衣。可是，只有我一个人在身边，你会觉得十分乏味吗？”

“Padre！”亚瑟拍起手来，朱丽亚说这种动作暴露出“典型的外国派头”。“能和您去，叫我干什么我都愿意。只是——我不知道——”他打住了话头。

“你认为伯顿先生会不同意吗？”

“他当然不会乐意的，但是他也不好对我横加干涉了。我现在都已十八岁了，想干什么就能干什么。话又说回来，他只是我的同父异母兄长，我看不出我就该对他俯首帖耳。他对母亲总是不好。”

“但是他如果当真反对，我看你最好就不要违背他的意愿。不然的话，你会发现在家里的处境会更难——”

“一点也不会更难！”亚瑟怒形于色，打断了他的话。“他们总是恨我，过去恨我，将来还会恨我——这与我做什么没有关系。此外，我是同您、同我的忏悔神父一道外出，杰姆斯还怎么能当真反对呢？”

“可是你要记住，他是一位新教徒。你还是给他写封信吧，我们不妨等一等，看他怎么说。但是你也不要操之过急，我的孩子。不管人家是恨你还是爱你，都要检点你自己的所作所为。”

他委婉地道出责备的话来，一点也不会让亚瑟听了脸红。

“是的，我知道。”他答道，并且叹息了一声。“可这也太难了——”

“星期二晚上你没能过来，当时我觉得很遗憾。”蒙泰尼里说道，突然之间换了一个话题，“阿雷佐主教到这儿来了，我是想让你见见他。”

“我答应了一个学生，要去他的住处开会。当时他们在那儿等我。”

“什么会？”

听到了这个问题，亚瑟好像有些窘迫。“它、它不、不是一次正、正常的会议，”他说道，因为紧张而有点口吃。“有个学生从热那亚来了，他给我们作了一次发言，算是、是——讲演吧。”

“他讲了一些什么？”

亚瑟有些犹豫。“Padre，您不要问他的名字，好吗？因为我答应过——”

“我不会问你什么，而且如果你已经答应过保密，你当然就不该告诉我。但是到了现在，我想你该信任我了吧。”

“Padre，我当然信任你。他讲到了——我们，以及我们对人民的责任——还有，对我们自己的责任，还讲到了——我们可以做些什么，以便帮助——”

“帮助谁？”

“帮助农民——和——”

“和什么？”

“意大利。”

一阵长久的沉默。

“告诉我，亚瑟，”蒙泰尼里说罢转身看着他，语调非常庄重。“这事你考虑了多长时间？”

“自从——去年冬天。”

“是在你母亲去世之前？她知道这事吗？”

“不、不知道。我、我那时对此并不关心。”

“那么现在你——关心这事吗？”

亚瑟又揪下了一把毛地黄花冠。

“是这样的，神父，”他开口说道，眼睛看着地上。“在我去年准备入学考试时，我结识了许多学生。你还记得吗？呃，有些学生开始对我谈论——所有这些事情，并且借书给我看。

但是我对这事漠不关心。当时我只想早点回家去看母亲。你知道的，在那所地牢一般的房子里，和他们低头不见抬头见，她十分孤单。朱丽亚那张嘴能把她给气死。后来到了冬天，她病得非常厉害，我就把那些学生和他们那些书全给忘了。后来，你知道的，我就根本不到比萨来了。如果我想到了这事，我当时肯定会跟母亲说的。但是我就是没有想起来。后来我发现她要死了——你知道的，我几乎是一直陪着她，直到她死去。我经常整夜不睡，琼玛·华伦白天会来换我睡觉。呃，就是在那些漫漫长夜里，我这才想起了那些书来，以及那些学生所说的话——并且思考他们说的对不对，以及我们的主对这事会怎么说。”

“你问过他吗？”蒙泰尼里的声音并不十分平静。

“问过，Padre。有时我向他祈祷，求他告诉我该做些什么，或者求他让我同母亲一起死去。但是我得不到任何的答复。”

“你一个字也没有跟我提过。亚瑟，我希望当时你能信任我。”

“Padre，您知道我信任您！但是有些事情您不能随便说。我——在我看来，那时没人能够帮我——甚至连您和母亲都帮不上我。我必须从上帝那里直接得到我自己的答复。您知道的，这关系到我的一生和我整个的灵魂。”

蒙泰尼里转过身去，凝视着枝繁叶茂的木兰树。在暗淡的暮色之中，他的身形变得模糊起来，就像是一个黑暗的鬼魂，潜伏在颜色更暗的树枝之间。

“后来呢？”他慢声细语地同道。

“后来——她就死了。您知道的，最后的三天晚上我一直陪着她——”

他说不下去了，停顿了片刻，但是蒙泰尼里一动也不动。

“在他们把她安葬之前的两天里，”亚瑟继续说道，声音放得更低，“我什么事情都不能想。后来，我在葬礼以后就病倒了。您总记得，我都不能来做忏悔。”

“是的，我记得。”

“呃，那天深夜我起身走进母亲的房间。里面空荡荡的，只有神食里那个巨大的十字架还在那里。我心想也许上帝会给予我帮助。我跪了下来，等着——等了一整夜。到了早晨，我醒悟了过来——Padre，没有用的。我解释不清。我无法告诉您我看见了什么——我自己一点儿都不知道。但是我知道上帝已经回答了我，而且我不敢违抗他的意愿。”

他们默不做声，在黑暗之中坐了一会儿。蒙泰尼里随后转过身来，把手放在亚瑟的肩上。

“我的孩子，”他说，“上帝不许我说他没有跟你讲过话。

但是记住在发生这件事的时候你的处境，不要把悲痛或者患病所产生的幻想当作是他向你发出了庄严的感召。如果他的确是通过死亡的阴影对你作出了答复，那么千万不要曲解他的意思。你的心里到底在想些什么呢？”

亚瑟站起身来。一字一顿地作了回答，好像是在背诵一段教义问答。

“献身于意大利，帮着把她从奴役和苦难中解救出来，并且驱逐奥地利人，使她成为一个共和国，没有国王，只有基督。”

“亚瑟，想想你在说些什么！你甚至都不是意大利人啊。”

“这没有什么区别，我是我自己。既然我已经得到了上帝的启示，那我就要为她而献身。”

又是一阵沉寂。

“刚才你讲的就是基督要说的话——”蒙泰尼里慢条斯理地说道，但是亚瑟打断了他的话。

“基督说：‘凡为我而献身的人都将获得新生。’”

蒙泰尼里把一只胳膊撑着一根树枝，另一只手遮住双眼。

“坐一会儿，我的孩子，”他最终说道。

亚瑟坐了下来，Padre，紧紧地握住双手。

“今晚上我不能跟你展开辩论，”他说，“这件事对我来说太突然了——我没有想过——我必须安排时间仔细考虑一下。然后我们再确切地谈谈。但是现在，我要你记住一件事。

如果你在这件事上遇到了麻烦，如果你——死了，你会让我心碎的。”

“Padre——”

“不，让我把话说完。有一次我告诉过你，在这个世上除了你之外我没有一个人。我并不认为你完全理解这话的意思。

人在年轻的时候很难理解这话的意思。如果我像你这么大，我也理解不了。亚瑟，你就像我的——就像我的——我自己的儿子。你懂吗？你是我眼里的光明，你是我心中的希望。为了不让你走错一步路，毁了你的一生，我情愿去死。但是我无能为力。我不要求你对我作出什么承诺。我只要求你记住这一点，并且事事小心。在你毅然决然地走出这一步时好好想一想，如果不为了你那在天的母亲，那也为了我想一想。”

“我会的——而且——神父，为我祈祷吧，为意大利祈祷吧。”

他默默地跪了下来，蒙泰尼里默默地把手放在他那垂下的头上。过了一会儿，亚瑟抬起头来，亲吻了一下那只手，然后踏着沾满露水的草地，轻轻地离去。蒙泰尼里独自坐在木兰树下，直愣愣地望着眼前的黑暗。

“上帝已经降罪于我了，”他想，“就像降罪于大卫一样。我已经玷污了他的圣所，并用肮脏的手亵渎了圣体——他对我一直都很有耐心，现在终于降罪于我。‘你在暗中行这事，我却要在以色列众人面前、日光之下报应你。故此你所得的孩子必定要死。’［引自《圣经》之《撒母耳记下》］”

pady401

Chapter 2

MR. JAMES BURTON did not at all like the idea of his young step-brother "careering about Switzerland" with Montanelli. But positively to forbid a harmless botanizing tour with an elderly professor of theology would seem to Arthur, who knew nothing of the reason for the prohibition, absurdly tyrannical. He would immediately attribute it to religious or racial prejudice; and the Burtons prided themselves on their enlightened tolerance. The whole family had been staunch Protestants and Conservatives ever since Burton & Sons, ship-owners, of London and Leghorn, had first set up in business, more than a century back. But they held that English gentlemen must deal fairly, even with Papists; and when the head of the house, finding it dull to remain a widower, had married the pretty Catholic governess of his younger children, the two elder sons, James and Thomas, much as they resented the presence of a step-mother hardly older than themselves, had submitted with sulky resignation to the will of Providence. Since the father's death the eldest brother's marriage had further complicated an already difficult position; but both brothers had honestly tried to protect Gladys, as long as she lived, from Julia's merciless tongue, and to do their duty, as they understood it, by Arthur. They did not even pretend to like the lad, and their generosity towards him showed itself chiefly in providing him with lavish supplies of pocket money and allowing him to go his own way.

In answer to his letter, accordingly, Arthur received a cheque to cover his expenses and a cold permission to do as he pleased about his holidays. He expended half his spare cash on botanical books and pressing-cases, and started off with the Padre for his first Alpine ramble.

Montanelli was in lighter spirits than Arthur had seen him in for a long while. After the first shock of the conversation in the garden he had gradually recovered his mental balance, and now looked upon the case more calmly. Arthur was very young and inexperienced; his decision could hardly be, as yet, irrevocable. Surely there was still time to win him back by gentle persuasion and reasoning from the dangerous path upon which he had barely entered.

They had intended to stay a few days at Geneva; but at the first sight of the glaring white streets and dusty, tourist-crammed promenades, a little frown appeared on Arthur's face. Montanelli watched him with quiet amusement.

"You don't like it, carino?"

"I hardly know. It's so different from what I expected. Yes, the lake is beautiful, and I like the shape of those hills." They were standing on Rousseau's Island, and he pointed to the long, severe outlines of the Savoy side. "But the town looks so stiff and tidy, somehow--so Protestant; it has a self-satisfied air. No, I don't like it; it reminds me of Julia."

Montanelli laughed. "Poor boy, what a misfortune! Well, we are here for our own amusement, so there is no reason why we should stop. Suppose we take a sail on the lake to-day, and go up into the mountains to-morrow morning?"

"But, Padre, you wanted to stay here?"

"My dear boy, I have seen all these places a dozen times. My holiday is to see your pleasure. Where would you like to go?"

"If it is really the same to you, I should like to follow the river back to its source."

"The Rhone?"

"No, the Arve; it runs so fast."

"Then we will go to Chamonix."

They spent the afternoon drifting about in a little sailing boat. The beautiful lake produced far less impression upon Arthur than the gray and muddy Arve. He had grown up beside the Mediterranean, and was accustomed to blue ripples; but he had a positive passion for swiftly moving water, and the hurried rushing of the glacier stream delighted him beyond measure. "It is so much in earnest," he said.

Early on the following morning they started for Chamonix. Arthur was in very high spirits while driving through the fertile valley country; but when they entered upon the winding road near Cluses, and the great, jagged hills closed in around them, he became serious and silent. From St. Martin they walked slowly up the valley, stopping to sleep at wayside chalets or tiny mountain villages, and wandering on again as their fancy directed. Arthur was peculiarly sensitive to the influence of scenery, and the first waterfall that they passed threw him into an ecstacy which was delightful to see; but as they drew nearer to the snow-peaks he passed out of this rapturous mood into one of dreamy exaltation that Montanelli had not seen before. There seemed to be a kind of mystical relationship between him and the mountains. He would lie for hours motionless in the dark, secret, echoing pine-forests, looking out between the straight, tall trunks into the sunlit outer world of flashing peaks and barren cliffs. Montanelli watched him with a kind of sad envy.

"I wish you could show me what you see, carino," he said one day as he looked up from his book, and saw Arthur stretched beside him on the moss in the same attitude as an hour before, gazing out with wide, dilated eyes into the glittering expanse of blue and white. They had turned aside from the high-road to sleep at a quiet village near the falls of the Diosaz, and, the sun being already low in a cloudless sky, had mounted a point of pine-clad rock to wait for the Alpine glow over the dome and needles of the Mont Blanc chain. Arthur raised his head with eyes full of wonder and mystery.

"What I see, Padre? I see a great, white being in a blue void that has no beginning and no end. I see it waiting, age after age, for the coming of the Spirit of God. I see it through a glass darkly."

Montanelli sighed.

"I used to see those things once."

"Do you never see them now?"

"Never. I shall not see them any more. They are there, I know; but I have not the eyes to see them. I see quite other things."

"What do you see?"

"I, carino? I see a blue sky and a snow-mountain --that is all when I look up into the heights. But down there it is different."

He pointed to the valley below them. Arthur knelt down and bent over the sheer edge of the precipice. The great pine trees, dusky in the gathering shades of evening, stood like sentinels along the narrow banks confining the river. Presently the sun, red as a glowing coal, dipped behind a jagged mountain peak, and all the life and light deserted the face of nature. Straightway there came upon the valley something dark and threatening --sullen, terrible, full of spectral weapons. The perpendicular cliffs of the barren western mountains seemed like the teeth of a monster lurking to snatch a victim and drag him down into the maw of the deep valley, black with its moaning forests. The pine trees were rows of knife-blades whispering: "Fall upon us!" and in the gathering darkness the torrent roared and howled, beating against its rocky prison walls with the frenzy of an everlasting despair.

"Padre!" Arthur rose, shuddering, and drew back from the precipice. "It is like hell."

"No, my son," Montanelli answered softly, "it is only like a human soul."

"The souls of them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death?"

"The souls of them that pass you day by day in the street."

Arthur shivered, looking down into the shadows. A dim white mist was hovering among the pine trees, clinging faintly about the desperate agony of the torrent, like a miserable ghost that had no consolation to give.

"Look!" Arthur said suddenly. "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light."

Eastwards the snow-peaks burned in the afterglow. When the red light had faded from the summits Montanelli turned and roused Arthur with a touch on the shoulder.

"Come in, carino; all the light is gone. We shall lose our way in the dark if we stay any longer."

"It is like a corpse," Arthur said as he turned away from the spectral face of the great snow-peak glimmering through the twilight.

They descended cautiously among the black trees to the chalet where they were to sleep.

As Montanelli entered the room where Arthur was waiting for him at the supper table, he saw that the lad seemed to have shaken off the ghostly fancies of the dark, and to have changed into quite another creature.

"Oh, Padre, do come and look at this absurd dog! It can dance on its hind legs."

He was as much absorbed in the dog and its accomplishments as he had been in the after-glow. The woman of the chalet, red-faced and white-aproned, with sturdy arms akimbo, stood by smiling, while he put the animal through its tricks. "One can see there's not much on his mind if he can carry on that way," she said in patois to her daughter. "And what a handsome lad!"

Arthur coloured like a schoolgirl, and the woman, seeing that he had understood, went away laughing at his confusion. At supper he talked of nothing but plans for excursions, mountain ascents, and botanizing expeditions. Evidently his dreamy fancies had not interfered with either his spirits or his appetite.

When Montanelli awoke the next morning Arthur had disappeared. He had started before daybreak for the higher pastures "to help Gaspard drive up the goats."

Breakfast had not long been on the table, however, when he came tearing into the room, hatless, with a tiny peasant girl of three years old perched on his shoulder, and a great bunch of wild flowers in his hand.

Montanelli looked up, smiling. This was a curious contrast to the grave and silent Arthur of Pisa or Leghorn.

"Where have you been, you madcap? Scampering all over the mountains without any breakfast?"

"Oh, Padre, it was so jolly! The mountains look perfectly glorious at sunrise; and the dew is so thick! Just look!"

He lifted for inspection a wet and muddy boot.

"We took some bread and cheese with us, and got some goat's milk up there on the pasture; oh, it was nasty! But I'm hungry again, now; and I want something for this little person, too. Annette, won't you have some honey?"

He had sat down with the child on his knee, and was helping her to put the flowers in order.

"No, no!" Montanelli interposed. "I can't have you catching cold. Run and change your wet things. Come to me, Annette. Where did you pick her up?"

"At the top of the village. She belongs to the man we saw yesterday--the man that cobbles the commune's boots. Hasn't she lovely eyes? She's got a tortoise in her pocket, and she calls it 'Caroline.'"

When Arthur had changed his wet socks and came down to breakfast he found the child seated on the Padre's knee, chattering volubly to him about her tortoise, which she was holding upside down in a chubby hand, that "monsieur" might admire the wriggling legs.

"Look, monsieur!" she was saying gravely in her half-intelligible patois: "Look at Caroline's boots!"

Montanelli sat playing with the child, stroking her hair, admiring her darling tortoise, and telling her wonderful stories. The woman of the chalet, coming in to clear the table, stared in amazement at the sight of Annette turning out the pockets of the grave gentleman in clerical dress.

"God teaches the little ones to know a good man," she said. "Annette is always afraid of strangers; and see, she is not shy with his reverence at all. The wonderful thing! Kneel down, Annette, and ask the good monsieur's blessing before he goes; it will bring thee luck."

"I didn't know you could play with children that way, Padre," Arthur said an hour later, as they walked through the sunlit pasture-land. "That child never took her eyes off you all the time. Do you know, I think----"

"Yes?"

"I was only going to say--it seems to me almost a pity that the Church should forbid priests to marry. I cannot quite understand why. You see, the training of children is such a serious thing, and it means so much to them to be surrounded from the very beginning with good influences, that I should have thought the holier a man's vocation and the purer his life, the more fit he is to be a father. I am sure, Padre, if you had not been under a vow,--if you had married,--your children would have been the very----"

"Hush!"

The word was uttered in a hasty whisper that seemed to deepen the ensuing silence.

"Padre," Arthur began again, distressed by the other's sombre look, "do you think there is anything wrong in what I said? Of course I may be mistaken; but I must think as it comes natural to me to think."

"Perhaps," Montanelli answered gently, "you do not quite realize the meaning of what you just said. You will see differently in a few years. Meanwhile we had better talk about something else."

It was the first break in the perfect ease and harmony that reigned between them on this ideal holiday.

From Chamonix they went on by the Tete-Noire to Martigny, where they stopped to rest, as the weather was stiflingly hot. After dinner they sat on the terrace of the hotel, which was sheltered from the sun and commanded a good view of the mountains. Arthur brought out his specimen box and plunged into an earnest botanical discussion in Italian.

Two English artists were sitting on the terrace; one sketching, the other lazily chatting. It did not seem to have occurred to him that the strangers might understand English.

"Leave off daubing at the landscape, Willie," he said; "and draw that glorious Italian boy going into ecstasies over those bits of ferns. Just look at the line of his eyebrows! You only need to put a crucifix for the magnifying-glass and a Roman toga for the jacket and knickerbockers, and there's your Early Christian complete, expression and all."

"Early Christian be hanged! I sat beside that youth at dinner; he was just as ecstatic over the roast fowl as over those grubby little weeds. He's pretty enough; that olive colouring is beautiful; but he's not half so picturesque as his father."

"His--who?"

"His father, sitting there straight in front of you. Do you mean to say you've passed him over? It's a perfectly magnificent face."

"Why, you dunder-headed, go-to-meeting Methodist! Don't you know a Catholic priest when you see one?"

"A priest? By Jove, so he is! Yes, I forgot; vow of chastity, and all that sort of thing. Well then, we'll be charitable and suppose the boy's his nephew."

"What idiotic people!" Arthur whispered, looking up with dancing eyes. "Still, it is kind of them to think me like you; I wish I were really your nephew----Padre, what is the matter? How white you are!"

Montanelli was standing up, pressing one hand to his forehead. "I am a little giddy," he said in a curiously faint, dull tone. "Perhaps I was too much in the sun this morning. I will go and lie down, carino; it's nothing but the heat."

. . . . .

After a fortnight beside the Lake of Lucerne Arthur and Montanelli returned to Italy by the St. Gothard Pass. They had been fortunate as to weather and had made several very pleasant excursions; but the first charm was gone out of their enjoyment. Montanelli was continually haunted by an uneasy thought of the "more definite talk" for which this holiday was to have been the opportunity. In the Arve valley he had purposely put off all reference to the subject of which they had spoken under the magnolia tree; it would be cruel, he thought, to spoil the first delights of Alpine scenery for a nature so artistic as Arthur's by associating them with a conversation which must necessarily be painful. Ever since the day at Martigny he had said to himself each morning; "I will speak to-day," and each evening: "I will speak to-morrow;" and now the holiday was over, and he still repeated again and again: "To-morrow, to-morrow." A chill, indefinable sense of something not quite the same as it had been, of an invisible veil falling between himself and Arthur, kept him silent, until, on the last evening of their holiday, he realized suddenly that he must speak now if he would speak at all. They were stopping for the night at Lugano, and were to start for Pisa next morning. He would at least find out how far his darling had been drawn into the fatal quicksand of Italian politics.

"The rain has stopped, carino," he said after sunset; "and this is the only chance we shall have to see the lake. Come out; I want to have a talk with you."

They walked along the water's edge to a quiet spot and sat down on a low stone wall. Close beside them grew a rose-bush, covered with scarlet hips; one or two belated clusters of creamy blossom still hung from an upper branch, swaying mournfully and heavy with raindrops. On the green surface of the lake a little boat, with white wings faintly fluttering, rocked in the dewy breeze. It looked as light and frail as a tuft of silvery dandelion seed flung upon the water. High up on Monte Salvatore the window of some shepherd's hut opened a golden eye. The roses hung their heads and dreamed under the still September clouds, and the water plashed and murmured softly among the pebbles of the shore.

"This will be my only chance of a quiet talk with you for a long time," Montanelli began. "You will go back to your college work and friends; and I, too, shall be very busy this winter. I want to understand quite clearly what our position as regards each other is to be; and so, if you----" He stopped for a moment and then continued more slowly: "If you feel that you can still trust me as you used to do, I want you to tell me more definitely than that night in the seminary garden, how far you have gone."

Arthur looked out across the water, listened quietly, and said nothing.

"I want to know, if you will tell me," Montanelli went on; "whether you have bound yourself by a vow, or--in any way."

"There is nothing to tell, dear Padre; I have not bound myself, but I am bound."

"I don't understand------"

"What is the use of vows? They are not what binds people. If you feel in a certain way about a thing, that binds you to it; if you don't feel that way, nothing else can bind you."

"Do you mean, then, that this thing--this-- feeling is quite irrevocable? Arthur, have you thought what you are saying?"

Arthur turned round and looked straight into Montanelli's eyes.

"Padre, you asked me if I could trust you. Can you not trust me, too? Indeed, if there were anything to tell, I would tell it to you; but there is no use in talking about these things. I have not forgotten what you said to me that night; I shall never forget it. But I must go my way and follow the light that I see."

Montanelli picked a rose from the bush, pulled off the petals one by one, and tossed them into the water.

"You are right, carino. Yes, we will say no more about these things; it seems there is indeed no help in many words----Well, well, let us go in."

pady401

同父异母的弟弟打算和蒙泰尼里去“漫游瑞士”，杰姆斯·伯顿先生一点儿都不乐意。但是断然拒绝随同一位神学教授去旅行，增长对植物的认识，亚瑟会觉得没有道理，过于专横了。他可不知回绝这件事的理由。他会立即把这归结于宗教偏见或者种族偏见，而伯顿一家素以开明和忍让而自豪。

早在一个世纪以前，自从在伦敦和里窝那建立伯顿父子轮船公司以来，整个家族都是坚定不移的新教徒和保守派人物。但是他们认为甚至在和天主教徒打交道时，英国绅士也必须秉承公正的态度。因此当这家的主人发现鳏夫的生活乏味时，他就娶了教导自己小孩的那位家庭女教师，一位美貌的天主教徒。杰姆斯和托马斯这两个年长的儿子，虽然对比他们大不了多少的继母很反感，但还是含怒不语，顺从了天意。自从父亲死了以后，老大的婚姻使得原本就已难处的局面愈加复杂。但是只要格拉迪丝活着，弟兄俩都还尽量保护她，不让她受到朱丽亚那张毫不留情的嘴巴伤害，并且按照他们所理解的方式照顾亚瑟。他们甚至都不装出喜欢这位少年的样子，他们的慷慨主要表现在拿出大笔的零花钱，而且一切都听他自便。

因此在给亚瑟回信时，他们送了一张支票给他支付花销，并且冷言冷语地同意他在假期里愿做什么就做什么。他把剩下的钱一半用来购买植物学方面的书籍和标本夹，然后随同Padre动身，第一次去游历阿尔卑斯山。

蒙泰尼里心情愉快，亚瑟有很长一段时间没有看到他这样。那次在花园里谈过话，他头一次感到震惊不已，现在他已经逐渐地恢复了平稳的心境，并且更加坦然地看待那件事情。亚瑟还很年轻，没有什么经验；他的决定不大可能已经到了无法挽救的地步。当然还有时间把他争取回来，可以晓之以理，让他离开那条危险的道路，他还不算是已经踏上了那条道路。

他们原来打算在日内瓦待上几天，但是一看到白得刺眼的街道和尘土飞扬、游客如云的湖滨大道时，亚瑟就微微皱起了眉头。蒙泰尼里饶有兴趣地望着他。

“Carino，你不喜欢吗？”

“我说不上来。这与我所想的差距太远。是的，这湖很美，我喜欢那些山的形状。”他们正站在卢梭岛上，他指着萨瓦那边绵延不绝、形如刀削的群山。“但是那个市镇看上去那么拘谨，那么整齐，不知怎的——那么富有新教的气息。它有一种自满的氛围。不，我不喜欢这个地方，它让我想起了朱丽亚。”

蒙泰尼里哈哈大笑。“可怜的孩子，真是不幸之至！嗨，我们来这里可是自娱自乐，所以没有理由停下来。假定我们今天在湖中划船，明天早晨进山，你看呢？”

“但是，Padre，您想要待在这里吗？”

“我亲爱的孩子，所有这些地方我都看过十几次了。我来度假就是要看你玩得高兴。你愿意到哪里去呢？”

“如果您真的不在乎的话，我想溯河而上，探寻它的发源地。”

“罗纳河吗？”

“不，是奥尔韦河。河水流得多快啊。”

“那么我们就到夏蒙尼去吧。”

下午他们坐在一只小帆船里随波荡漾。美丽的湖泊给亚瑟留下的印象，远没有灰暗浑浊的奥尔韦河给他留下的印象深。他是在地中海边上长大的，已经看惯了碧波涟漪。但是他渴望见识一下湍急的河流，因而急流而下的冰河使他感到无比的喜悦。“真是势不可挡啊。”他说。

第二天早晨，他们早早地就动身前往夏蒙尼。乘车经过肥沃的山谷田野时，亚瑟兴致很高。但是当他们上了克鲁西附近的盘山道路，周围是陡峭的大山时，他变得非常严肃，一句话也不说。他们从圣马丁徒步走向山谷，在道旁的牧人小屋或小村里投宿，然后再次信步前行。亚瑟对自然景致的影响特别敏感，经过第一道瀑布时他流露出一种狂喜，那副模样看了真让人高兴。但是当他们走近雪峰时，他没了那股欣喜若狂的劲儿，转而变得如痴如醉。这情景蒙泰尼里以前没有看见过。仿佛他与大山之间存在着某种神秘的联系。他会一动也不动，躺在幽暗、隐秘、松涛呼啸的森林里，透过笔直而又高大的树干，望着那个阳光明媚的世界，那里有闪烁的雪峰和荒芜的悬崖。蒙泰尼里注视着他，带着一种伤感的嫉妒之情。

“我希望你能告诉我看到了什么，Carino。”有一天他这么说道。他从书上抬起头来，看见亚瑟舒展身体躺在苔藓上，姿势还是和一个小时前一样，瞪着一双眼睛，出神地望着光彩夺目的蓝天白云。他们离开了大路，到了迪奥萨兹瀑布附近一个宁静的村子里投宿。太阳低垂在无云的天空，此时已经挂在长满松树的山冈上，等着阿尔卑斯山的晚霞映红勃朗山大大小小的山峰。亚瑟抬起头来，眼里充满了惊叹和好奇。

“Padre，您是问我看到了什么吗？我看到了蓝天里有个巨大的白色之物，没有起始，也没有终结。我看到它经久历年地等在那里，等待着圣灵的到来。我是通过一个玻璃状物模模糊糊地看到它的。”

蒙泰尼里叹息了一声。

“从前我也看到这些东西。”

“您现到从来都看不到它们了吗？”

“从来也没有看到过。我再也不会看到它们了。它们就在那里，这我知道。但是我没有能够看到它们的慧眼。我看到的是截然不同的东西。”

“您看到了什么东西？”

“亲爱的，你是说我吗？我看到蔚蓝的天空，白雪皑皑的山峰——这就是我抬头仰望所看到的东西。但是在这下面，景物就不同了。”

他指着下面的山谷。亚瑟跪了下来，俯身探过陡峭的悬崖。高大的松树，在夜色渐浓的傍晚显得凝重，就像哨兵一样耸立在小河的两岸。红红的太阳犹如一块燃烧的煤，不一会儿就落到刀削斧劈的群山后面，所有的生命和光明全都远离了大自然的表层世界。随即就有某种黑暗和可怕的东西降临到了山谷——气势汹汹，张牙舞爪，全副武装，带着奇形怪状的武器。西边的群山光秃秃的，悬崖峭壁就像是怪兽的牙齿，伺机抓住一个可怜的家伙，并且把他拖进山谷深处。那里漆黑一片，森林发出低声的吼叫。松树是一排排的刀刃，轻声说道：“摔到我们这儿来吧！”在越来越为凝重的夜色之中，山泉奔腾呼啸，怀着满腔的绝望，疯狂地拍打着岩石建起的牢房。

“Padre！”亚瑟颤抖着站了起来，抽身离开了悬崖。“它就像是地狱！”

“不，我的孩子。”蒙泰尼里缓缓地说道，“它只像是一个人的灵魂。”

“就是那些坐在黑暗和死亡的阴影之中的灵魂？”

“是那些每天在街上经过你身边的灵魂。”

亚瑟俯身望着那些阴影，浑身抖个不停。一层暗淡的白雾悬挂在松树之间，无力地抓着汹涌澎湃的山泉，就像是一个可怜的幽灵，无法给予任何的安慰。

“瞧！”亚瑟突然说道。“走在黑暗里的人们看见了一道巨大的光亮。”

东边的雪峰在夕阳的反射下被映得通亮。在那道红光从山顶上消失以后，蒙泰尼里转过身来，轻轻地拍了一下亚瑟的肩膀。

“回去吧，亲爱的。天都暗下来了。如果我们再待在这里，我们就得在暗中走路，并会迷失方向的。”

“就像是一具僵尸。”亚瑟说道。他已转过身来，不再去看在暮色之中闪耀的偌大山峰那副狰狞的面目。

他们穿过黑漆漆的树林，前往他们投宿的牧人小屋。

亚瑟正坐在屋里的餐桌边等着。当蒙泰尼里走进去的时候，他看见这个小伙子已从阴暗的幻梦中摆脱了出来，完全变成了另外一个人。

“噢，Padre，快来看看这只滑稽的小狗！它能踮起后腿跳舞呢。”

他忘情地望着小狗，并且逗它表演，就像他沉湎于落日的余辉之中一样。这家女主人的脸红扑扑的，身上系着围巾，粗壮的胳膊叉在腰间。她站在一旁，笑盈盈地望着他扯着小狗玩耍。“如果他老是这样，别人会说他无忧无虑。”她用方言对她女儿说道，“这小伙子长得真帅！”

亚瑟脸红了起来，就像是一个上学的女孩子。那个女人这才明白他听懂了她的话，看着他发窘的样子她赶紧走开。吃晚饭的时候，他什么也不说，只是谈论短途旅行、登山和采集植物标本的计划。他那些梦呓般的幻想显然没有妨碍他的情绪和胃口。

当蒙泰尼里在第二天醒来的时候，亚瑟已经不见了。天亮之前，他就去了山上的牧场，“帮着嘉斯帕赶羊”。

没过多久早饭就摆到了桌上，可在这时他一溜小跑奔进屋里。头上没戴帽子，肩上扛着一个三岁大的农村女孩，手中拿着一大把野花。

蒙泰尼里抬起头来，笑容满面。亚瑟在比萨和里窝那时不苟言笑，现在这副模样与那时判若两人，真有意思。

“你这个疯疯癫癫的家伙，你野到哪儿去了？满山遍野地乱跑，连早饭都不吃了？”

“噢，Padre，太有意思了！日出的时候，群山真是蔚为壮观。露水可重了！您瞅瞅！”

他抬起一只靴子，上面湿漉漉的，沾满了泥巴。

“我们带了一些面包和奶酪，又在牧场弄了一些牛奶。噢，那才叫棒呢！可我这会儿又饿了，我还想给这个小家伙一点东西吃。安妮塔，吃点蜂蜜好吗？”

他坐了下来，并把那个孩子放在膝上，然后帮她把鲜花摆好。

“不，不！”蒙泰尼里插嘴说道，“我可不能看你着凉。快去换下湿衣服。过来，安妮塔。你是在哪儿把她给弄来的？”

“是在村头。她的父亲我们昨天见到过的——就是村子的鞋匠。您瞧她的眼睛多美！她的兜里装着一个乌龟，她管它叫‘卡罗琳’。”

当亚瑟换完衣服回来吃饭时，他看见孩子就坐在Padre的膝上，正在津津乐道地对他说起她的那只乌龟。胖胖的小手托着四脚朝天的乌龟，为了好让“先生”欣赏蹬个没完没了的小脚。

“瞧啊，先生！”她用半懂不懂的方言严肃地说道，“瞧瞧卡罗琳的靴子！”

蒙泰尼里坐在那儿逗着孩子玩，抚摸着她的头发，赞美着她的宝贝乌龟，并给她讲着美妙的故事。那家的女主人进来准备收拾桌子，望着安妮塔乱翻这位一脸严肃、教士装束的绅士口袋，她吃了一惊。

“上帝教导小孩子家辨别好人。”她说道，“安妮塔总是怕和生人打交道。您瞧，她见着教士一点也不扭扭捏捏的。真是怪极了！跪下来，安妮塔，快请这位好先生在走前为你祈福，这会给你带来好运的。”

“我不知道您能这么逗着孩子玩，Padre。”一个小时以后，在他们走过阳光明媚的牧场时亚瑟说道。“那个孩子老是看着您。您知道，我想——”

“你想什么？”

“我只是想说——在我看来，教会禁止神职人员结婚几乎是一件憾事。我不大明白这是为什么。您知道，教育孩子是一件极其严肃的事情，对他们来说从一开始就受到良好的熏陶格外重要，所以我认为一个人的职业越高尚，他的生活越纯洁，他就越适合担起父亲的职责。我确信，Padre，如果您不是起过誓，终生不娶——如果您结了婚，那么您的孩子就会很——”

“嘘！”

这一声来得如此突然，以至于随后的寂静显得格外的深沉。

“Padre。”亚瑟再次开口说道。看到对方表情阴郁，他的心中很苦恼。“您认为我说的话有什么不对之处吗？当然我可能说错了，但是我只能认为我是自然而然就想到这件事的。”

“也许，”蒙泰尼里轻声地答道，“你并不十分明白你刚才所说的话是什么意思。再过几年，也许你会改变你的想法。在此期间，我们最好还是谈点别的什么东西吧。”

在这次假日旅行中，他们一直处得非常融洽和谐，这是他们第一次闹了别扭。

他们从夏蒙尼途经泰特努瓦山到了马尔提尼，然后在那里歇脚休息，因为天气热得让人喘不过气来。吃完饭以后，他们坐在旅馆的阳台上。这里晒不到太阳，而且还可以一览群山的景致。亚瑟拿出了他的标本盒，并用意大利语和蒙泰尼里认真地讨论植物学。

两位英国画家正坐在阳台上，一个在写生，另一个在懒洋洋地说着话儿。他没有想到这两位陌生人能够听懂英语。

“你就别在那儿乱画什么风景了，威利。”他说，“你就画画那个妙龄的意大利男孩吧，他正在神魂颠倒地捣鼓那几片羊齿叶呢。你看看他那个眉毛的线条！你只需要把放大镜换成十字架，再把上衣和灯笼裤换成罗马式的宽袍，然后你就能画出一个形神兼备的早期基督徒来。”

“去你的早期基督徒吧！我在吃饭的时候就和那个小伙子坐在一起，他对那只烤鸡和对这些野草一样着迷。他是够漂亮的，橄榄色的肤色确实很美，但是远远没有他的父亲上画。”

“他的——谁啊？”

“他的父亲啊，就是坐在你前面的那位。这么说你是把他给忽略了？那张脸才叫精彩绝伦呢。”

“你这个循规蹈短的卫理公会教徒真是个死脑瓜子！碰上一个天主教的教士你都认不出来吗？”

“教士？我的天啊，他原来竟是教士！对了，我忘了这碴儿了。他们要发誓永保处子之身，诸如此类的名堂。那好吧，我们就行行善事，假定那个男孩是他的侄子。”

“这些人真是愚不可及！”亚瑟小声地说道，两只眼睛扑闪着乱转。“可是，多承他们的美意，认为我长得像您。我希望我真的是您的侄子——Padre，怎么啦？您的脸色可真白啊！”

蒙泰尼里站起身来，一只手扶着前额。“我有点头晕。”他说，奇怪的是他的声音很弱，无精打采。“也许今天上午我待在太阳底下的时间太长了。我要去躺一会儿，亲爱的。没什么，只是天气太热了。”

在吕森湖畔逗留了两个星期以后，亚瑟和蒙泰尼里经过圣·戈塔尔山口回到了意大利。值得庆幸的是天气一直不错，而且他们还作了几次愉快的徒步旅行。但是最初的那种欢愉已经荡然无存。蒙泰尼里老是忐忑不安，想着安排一次“更加正式的谈话”，这次假期就是进行这种谈话的机会。在安尔维山谷，他尽力避免提到他们在木兰树下所谈的话题。他认为亚瑟是个具有艺术气质的人，进行这样的谈话会破坏阿尔卑斯山的景致所带来的那种喜悦的心情，而这次谈话肯定是痛苦的。从在马尔提尼的那天起，他每天早晨都对自己说：“我今天就说。”每天晚上他对自己说：“明天吧，明天吧。”一种无法言喻的冷酷之感使他难以启齿，从来没有这种感觉，这种感觉就像是一张无形的薄纱落在他和亚瑟之间。直到最后的那天晚上，他才突然意识到如果要说的话，他必须现在就说。他们那天晚上是在卢加诺过夜，准备第二天上午返回比萨。至少，他会发现他的宝贝疙瘩陷进性命攸关的意大利政治漩涡有多深。

“雨已经停了，亲爱的。”他在日落以后说道，“这是我们赏湖的唯一机会。来吧，我想和你谈谈。”

他们沿着湖边走到一处僻静的地方，坐在一段低矮的石头墙上。紧挨着他们的旁边长着一丛玫瑰，上面结着猩红的果子。一两簇迟开的乳白色花儿仍然挂在高处的一根花茎上，带着沉重的雨滴在凄凉地摆动。在碧绿的湖面上，一只小船在裹着露水的微风中荡漾，白色的风帆无力地抖动。小船显得轻盈柔弱，就像是一束银白色的蒲公英被扔到了水上。高处的萨尔佛多山上，某个牧人小屋的窗户敞开着，就像是一只金黄色的眼睛。玫瑰花垂下头来，在九月里悠闲的白云下浮想连翩。湖水拍打着岸边的鹅卵石，发出喃喃的低语。

“在很长的一段时间里，唯有这次机会我才能和你平心静气地谈一谈。”蒙泰尼里开口说道，“你将会回去上学，回到你的那些朋友那里。我呢，在今年冬天也会很忙。我想要清楚地了解一下我们应该如何相处。所以，如果你——”他停顿了片刻，然后接着说了下去，说得更慢。“如果你觉得你还能像过去那样信任我，我想让你告诉我，比在神学院花园的那天晚上更加明确，你在那条路上走了多远。”

亚瑟望着湖的那边，静静地听着，一句话也没有说。

“我想知道，如果你告诉我的话，”蒙泰尼里接着说道，“你是否受到誓言的约束，或者——别的什么。”

“没有什么好说的，亲爱的Padre。我并没有约束我自己，但是我确是受到了约束。”

“我不明白——”

“誓言有什么甩？誓言约束不了人。如果你对一件事情有了某种体会，那就会约束你。如果你没有某种体会，什么也不会约束你。”

“那么，你是说这件事情——这种——体会是不可改变的吗？亚瑟，你想过你在说些什么吗？”

亚瑟转过身来，直盯着蒙泰尼里的眼睛。

“Padre，您问我能否信任您。您就不能信任我吗？如果有什么好说的，我肯定会告诉您的。但是谈论这些事件是没有用的。我还没有忘记您在那天晚上对我讲过的话。我永远也忘记不了。但是我必须走我自己的路，跟随着我所看见的那片光明。”

蒙泰尼里从花丛中摘下一朵玫瑰，一片接着一片地扯下花瓣，并把花瓣扔进水里。

“你说得对，亲爱的。好吧，这些事情我们就谈到这里。看来长篇大论也没有什么用的——呃，呃，我们进去吧。”

From：英文小说网