《牛虻 The Gadfly》英译中范文报价160

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.'"

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中文译文如下：

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》］”