SECOND DAY
MATINS
In which a few hours of mystic happiness are interrupted by a most bloody1 occurrence.
Symbol sometimes of the Devil, sometimes of the Risen Christ, no animal is more untrustworthy than the cock. Our order knew some slothful ones who never crowed at sunrise. On the other hand, especially in winter, the office of matins takes place when night is still total and all nature is asleep, for the monk2 must rise in darkness and pray at length in darkness, waiting for day and illuminating3 the shadows with the flame of devotion. Therefore, custom wisely provided for some wakers, who were not to go to bed when their brothers did, but would spend the night reciting in cadence4 the exact number of psalms5 that would allow them to measure the time passed, so that, at the conclusion of the hours of sleep granted the others, they would give the signal to wake.
So that night we were waked by those who moved through the dormitory and the pilgrims’ house ringing a bell, as one monk went from cell to cell shouting, “Benedicamus Domino,” to which each answered, “Deo gratias.”
William and I followed the Benedictine custom: in less than half an hour we prepared to greet the new day, then we went down into the choir7, where the monks8, prostrate9 on the floor, reciting the first fifteen psalms, were waiting until the novices10 entered led by their master. Then each sat in his regular stall and the choir chanted, “Domine labia mea aperies et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam.” The cry rose toward the vaulted11 ceiling of the church like a child’s plea. Two monks climbed to the pulpit and intoned the ninety-fourth psalm6, “Venite exultemus,” which was followed by the others prescribed. And I felt the warmth of re?newed faith.
The monks were in the stalls, sixty figures made indistinguishable by their habits and cowls, sixty shad?ows barely illuminated12 by the fire from the great tripod, sixty voices joined in praise of the Almighty13. And, hearing this moving harmony, vestibule of the delights of paradise, I asked myself whether the abbey were truly a place of concealed14 mysteries, of illicit15 attempts to reveal them, and of grim threats. Because it now seemed to me, on the contrary, the dwelling16 of sainted men, cenacle of virtue17, vessel18 of learning, ark of prudence19, tower of wisdom, domain20 of meekness21, bastion of strength, thurible of sanctity.
After six psalms, the reading of Holy Scripture22 began. Some monks were nodding with sleepiness, and one of the night wakers wandered among the stalls with a little lamp to wake any who had dozed23 off again. If a monk succumbed24 to drowsiness25, as penance26 he would take the lamp and continue the round. The chanting of another six psalms continued. Then the abbot gave his benedic?tion, the hebdomadary said the prayers, all bowed toward the altar in a moment of meditation28 whose sweetness no-one can comprehend who has not experi?enced those hours of mystic ardor29 and intense inner peace. Finally, cowls again over their faces, all sat and solemnly intoned the “Te Deum.” I, too, praised the Lord because He had released me from my doubts and freed me from the feeling of uneasiness with which my first day at the abbey had filled me. We are fragile creatures, I said to myself; even among these learned and devout30 monks the Evil One spreads petty envies, foments31 subtle hostilities32, but all these are as smoke then dispersed33 by the strong wind of faith, the moment all gather in the name of the Father, and Christ de?scends into their midst.
Between matins and lauds34 the monk does not return to his cell, even if the night is still dark. The novices followed their master into the chapter house to study the psalms; some of the monks remained in church to tend to the church ornaments35, but the majority strolled in the cloister36 in silent meditation, as did William and I. The servants were asleep and they went on sleeping when, the sky still dark, we returned to the choir for lauds.
The chanting of the psalms resumed, and one in particular, among those prescribed for Mondays, plunged37 me again into my earlier fears: “The transgression38 of the wicked saith within my heart, that there is no fear of God before his eyes. The words of his mouth are iniquity39.” It seemed to me an ill omen27 that the Rule should have set for that very day such a terrible admonition. Nor were my pangs40 of uneasiness eased, after the psalms of praise, by the usual reading of the Apocalypse; the figures of the doorway41 returned to my mind, the carvings42 that had so overwhelmed my heart and eyes the day before. But after the responsory, the hymn43, and the versicle, as the chanting of the Gospel began, I glimpsed just above the altar, beyond the windows of the choir, a pale glow that was already making the panes44 shine in their various colors, sub?dued till then by the darkness. It was not yet dawn, which would triumph during Prime, just as we would be singing “Deus qui est sanctorum splendor45 mirabilis” and “Iam lucis orto sidere.” It was barely the first faint herald46 of a winter daybreak, but it was enough, and the dim penumbra47 now replacing the night’s darkness in the nave48 was enough to relieve my heart.
We sang the words of the divine book and, as we were bearing witness to the Word come to enlighten all peoples, it was as if the daystar in all its splendor were invading the temple. The light, still absent, seemed to me to shine in the words of the canticle, mystic, scented49 lily that opened among the arches of the vaults50. “I thank Thee, O Lord, for this moment of ineffable51 joy,” I prayed silently, and said to my heart, “Foolish heart, what do you fear?”
Suddenly some noises were heard from the direction of the north door. I wondered why the servants, prepar?ing for their work, disturbed the sacred functions in this way. At that moment three swineherds came in, terror on their faces; they went to the abbot and whispered something to him. The abbot first calmed them with a gesture, as if he did not want to interrupt the office; but other servants entered, and the shouts became louder. “A man! A dead man!” some were saying. And others: “A monk. You saw the sandals?”
Prayers stopped, and the abbot rushed out, motioning the cellarer to follow him. William went after them, but by now the other monks were also leaving heir stalls and hurrying outside.
The sky was now light, and the snow on the round made the compound even more luminous53. Behind the choir, in front of the pens, where the day before had stood the great jar with the pigs’ blood, a strange object, almost cruciform, protruded54 above the edge of the vessel, as if two stakes had been driven into the ground, to be covered with rags for scaring off birds.
But they were human legs, the legs of a man thrust head down into the vessel of blood.
The abbot ordered the corpse55 (For no living person could have remained in that obscene position) to be extracted from the ghastly liquid. The hesitant swine?herds52 approached the edge and, staining themselves with blood, drew out the poor, bloody thing. As had been explained to me, the blood, having been property stirred immediately after it was shed, and then left out in the cold, had not clotted56, but the layer covering the corpse was now beginning to solidify57; it soaked the habit, made the face unrecognizable. A servant came over with a bucket of water and threw some on the face of those wretched remains58. Another bent59 down with a cloth to wipe the features. And before our eyes appeared the white face of Venantius of Salvemec, the Greek scholar with whom we had talked that afternoon by Adelmo’s codices.
The abbot came over. “Brother William, as you see, something is afoot in this abbey, something that de?mands all your wisdom. But I beseech60 you: act quickly!”
“Was he present in choir during the office?” William asked, pointing to the corpse.
“No,” the abbot said. “I saw his stall was empty.”
“No one else was absent?”
“It did not seem so. I noticed nothing.”
William hesitated before asking the next question, and he did so in a whisper, taking care that the others could not hear: “Berengar was in his stall?”
The abbot looked at him with uneasy amazement61, as if to signify that he was struck to see my master harbor a suspicion that he himself had briefly62 harbored, for more comprehensible reasons. He said then rapidly, “He was there. He sits in the first row, almost at my right hand.”
“Naturally,” William said, “all this means nothing. I don’t believe anyone entering the choir passed behind the apse, and therefore the corpse could have been here for several hours, at least since the time when everyone had gone to bed.”
“To be sure, the first servants rise at dawn, and that is why they discovered him only now.”
William bent over the corpse, as if he were used to dealing63 with dead bodies. He dipped the cloth lying nearby into the water of the bucket and further cleanse64 Venantius’s face. Meanwhile, the other monks crowded around, frightened, forming a talkative circle on which the abbot imposed silence. Among the others, now making his way forward, came Severinus, who saw to matters of physical health in the abbey; and he bent down next to my master. To hear their dialogue, and to help William, who needed a new clean cloth soaked in the water, I joined them, overcoming my terror and my revulsion.
“Have you ever seen a drowned man?” William asked.
“Many times,” Severinus said. “And if I guess what you imply, they do not have this face: the features are swollen65.”
“Then the man was already dead when someone threw the body into the jar.”
“Why would he have done that?”
“Why would he have killed him? We are dealing with the work of a twisted mind. But now we must see whether there are wounds or bruises67 on the body. I suggest it be carried to the balneary, stripped, washed, and examined. I will join you there at once.”
And while Severinus, receiving permission from the abbot, was having the body carried away by the swineherds, my master asked that the monks be told to return to the choir by the path they had taken before, and that the servants retire in the same way, so the ground would remain deserted68. Thus we remained alone, beside the vessel, from which blood had spilled during the macabre69 operation of the body’s recovery. The snow all around was red, melting in several pud?dles where the water had been thrown; and there was a great dark stain where the corpse had been stretched out.
“A fine mess,” William said, nodding toward the complex pattern of footprints left all around by the monks and the servants. “Snow, dear Adso, is an admi?rable parchment on which men’s bodies leave very legible writing. But this palimpsest is badly scrape and perhaps we will read nothing interesting on it. Between here and the church there has been a great bustle71 of monks, between here and the barn and the stables the servants have moved in droves. The only intact space is between the barns and the Aedificium. Let us see if we can find something of interest.”
“What do you expect to find?” I asked.
“If he didn’t throw himself into the vessel on his own, someone carried him there, already dead, I imagine. And a man carrying another man’s body leaves deep tracks in snow. So look and see if you find around here some prints that seem different to you from the prints of those noisy monks who have ruined our parchment for us.”
And we did. And I will say immediately that I was the one, God preserve me from all vanity, who discovered something between the jar and the Aedificium. They were human footprints, fairly deep, in a zone where no one had yet passed, and, as my master remarked at once, fainter than those left by the monks and the servants, a sign that more snow had fallen and thus they had been made some time before. But what seemed to us most noteworthy was that among those prints there was a more continuous trail, as of something dragged by the one leaving the prints. In short, a spoor that went from the jar to the door of the refectory, on the side of the Aedificium between the south tower and the east tower.
“Refectory, scriptorium, library,” William said. “Once again, the library. Venantius died in the Aedificium, and most probably in the library.”
“And why in the library exactly?”
“I am trying to put myself in the murderer’s place. If Venantius had died, been killed, in the refectory, in the kitchen, or in the scriptorium, why not leave him there? But if he died in the library, then he had to be carried elsewhere, both because in the library the body would never have been discovered (and perhaps the murderer was particularly interested in its being discovered) and because the murderer probably does not want attention to be concentrated on the library.”
“And why should the murderer be interested in the body’s being discovered?”
“I don’t know. I can suggest some hypotheses. How do we know that the murderer killed Venantius because he hated Venantius? He could have killed him, rather than another, to leave a sign, to signify something else.”
“Omnis mundi creatura, quasi fiber72 et scriptura ...” I murmured. “But what would that sign be?”
“This is what I do not know. But let us not forget that there are also signs that seem such and are instead without meaning, like blitiri or bu-ba-baff. …”
“It would be atrocious,” I said, “to kill a man in order to say bu-ba-baff!”
“It would be atrocious,” William remarked, “to kill a man even to say ‘Credo in unum Deum.’ ...”
At that moment Severinus joined us. The corpse had been washed and examined carefully. No wound, no bruise66 on the head.
“Do you have poisons in your laboratory?” William asked, as we headed for the infirmary.
“Among the other things. But that depends on what you mean by poison. There are substances that in small doses are healthful and in excessive doses cause death. Like every good herbalist I keep them, and I use them with discretion73. In my garden I grow, for example, valerian. A few drops in an infusion74 of other herbs calms the heart if it is beating irregularly. An exaggerat?ed dose brings on drowsiness and death.”
“And you noticed no signs of any particular poison on the corpse?”
“None. But many poisons leave no trace.”
We had reached the infirmary. Venantius’s body, washed in the balneary, had been brought there and was lying on the great table in Severinus’s laboratory; alembics and other instruments of glass and earthenware75 made me think of an alchemist’s shop (though I knew of such things only by indirect accounts). On some long shelves against the wall by the door was arrayed a vast series of cruets, ampoules, jugs76, pots, filled with substances of different colors.
“A fine collection of simples,” William said. “All prod77?ucts of your garden?”
“No,” Severinus said, “many substances, rare, or im?possible to grow in this climate, have been brought to me over the years by monks arriving from every part of the world. I have many precious things that cannot be found readily, along with substances easily obtained from the local flora78. You see ... aghalingho pesto comes from Cathay: I received it from a learned Arab. Indian aloe, excellent cicatricizant. Live arient revives the dead, or, rather, wakes those who have lost their senses. Arsenacho: very dangerous, a mortal poison for anyone who swallows it. Borage, a plant good for ailing79 lungs. Betony, good for fractures of the head. Mastic: calms pulmonary fluxions and troublesome catarrhs. Myrrh …”
“The gift of the Magi?” I asked.
The same. But now used to prevent miscarriage80, gathered from a tree called Balsamodendron myrra. And this is mumia, very rare, produced by the decom?position of mummified cadavers81; it is used in the prepa?ration70 of many almost miraculous82 medicines. Mandrag?ora officinalis, good for sleep ...”
“And to stir desires of the flesh,” my master remarked.
“So they say, but here it is not used for that purpose, as you can imagine.” Severinus smiled. “And look at this,” he said, taking down an ampoule. “Tutty, miracu?lous for the eyes.”
“And what is this?” William asked in a bright voice, touching83 a stone lying on a shelf.
“That? It was given to me some time ago. It apparent?ly has therapeutic84 virtues85, but I have not yet discovered what they are. Do you know it?”
“Yes,” William said, “but not as a medicine.” He took from his habit a little knife and slowly held it toward the stone. As the knife, moved by his hand with ex?treme delicacy86, came close to the stone, I saw that the blade made an abrupt87 movement, as if William had shifted his wrist, which was, however, absolutely still. And the blade stuck to the stone, making a faint metallic88 sound.
“You see,” William said to me, “it attracts iron.”
“And what is its use?” I asked.
“It has various uses, of which I will tell you. But for the present I would like to know, Severinus, if there is anything here that could kill a man.”
Severinus reflected a moment—too long, I would have said, considering the clarity of his answer: “Many things. As I said, the line between poison and medicine is very fine; the Greeks used the word ‘pharmacon’ for both.”
“And there is nothing that has been removed recently?”
Severinus reflected again, then, as if weighing his words: “Nothing recently.”
“And in the past?”
“Who knows? I don’t recall. I have been in this abbey thirty years, and twenty-five in the infirmary.”
“Too long for a human memory,” William admitted. Then, abruptly89, he said, “We were speaking yesterday of plants that can induce visions. Which ones are they?”?
Severinus’s actions and the expression on his face indicated an intense desire to avoid that subject. “I would have to think, you know. I have so many miracu?lous substances here. But let us speak, rather, of Venantius’s death. What do you say about it?”
“I would have to think,” William answered.
收听单词发音 |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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foments
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| v.激起，煽动（麻烦等）( foment的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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lauds
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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transgression
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| n.违背；犯规；罪过 | |
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iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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penumbra
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| n.（日蚀）半影部 | |
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nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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solidify
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| v.(使)凝固，(使)固化，(使)团结 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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macabre
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| adj.骇人的，可怖的 | |
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ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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fiber
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| n.纤维，纤维质 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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prod
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| vt.戳，刺；刺激，激励 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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miscarriage
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| n.失败，未达到预期的结果；流产 | |
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cadavers
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| n.尸体( cadaver的名词复数 ) | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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therapeutic
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| adj.治疗的，起治疗作用的；对身心健康有益的 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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