COMPLINE
In which the Aedificium is entered, a mysterious visitor is discovered, a secret message with necromantic1 signs is found, and also a book is found, but then promptly2 vanishes, to be sought through many subsequent chapters; nor is the theft of William’s precious lenses the last of the vicissitudes3.
The supper was joyless and silent. It had been just over twelve ours since the discovery of Venantius’s co r se. All the others stole glimpses at his empty place at table. When it was the hour for compline, the procession that marched into the choir4 seemed a funeral cortège. We followed the office standing5 in the nave6 and keeping an eye on the third chapel7. The light was scant8, and when we saw Malachi emerge from the darkness to reach his stall, we could not tell exactly where he had come from. We moved into the shadows, hiding in the side nave, so that no one would see us stay behind when the office was over. Under my scapular I had the lamp I had purloined9 in the kitchen during supper. We would light it later at the great bronze tripod that burned all night. I had procured10 a new wick and ample oil. We would have light for a long time.
I was too excited about our imminent11 venture to pay attention to the service, which ended almost without my noticing. The monks12 lowered their cowls over their faces and slowly filed out, to go to their cells. The church remained deserted13, illuminated14 by the glow of the tripod.
“Now,” William said, “to work.”
We approached the third chapel. The base of the altar was really like an ossarium, a series of skulls16 with deep hollow eyesockets, which filled those who looked at them with terror, set on a pile of what, in the admirable relief, appeared to be tibias. William repeated in a low voice the words he had heard from Alinardo (fourth skull15 on the right, press the eyes). He stuck his fingers into the sockets17 of that fleshless face, and at once we heard a kind of hoarse19 creak. The altar moved, turning on a hidden pivot20, allowing a glimpse of a dark aperture21. As I shed light on it with my raised lamp, we made out some damp steps. We decided22 to go down them, after debating whether to close off the passage again behind us. Better not, William said; we did not know whether we would be able to reopen it afterward23. And as for the risk of being discovered, if anyone came at that hour to operate the same mechanism24, that meant he knew how to enter, and a closed passage would not deter25 him.
We descended26 perhaps a dozen steps and came into a corridor on whose sides there were some horizontal niches28, such as I was later to see in many catacombs. But now I was entering an ossarium for the first time, and I was very much afraid. The monks’ bones had been collected there over the centuries, dug from the earth and piled in the niches with no attempt to recompose the forms of their bodies. Some niches had only tiny bones, others only skulls, neatly29 arranged in a kind of pyramid, so that one would not roll over another; and it was a truly terrifying sight, especially in the play of shadows the lamp created as we walked on. In one niche27 I saw only hands, many hands, now irrevocably interlaced in a tangle30 of dead fingers. I let out a cry in that place of the dead, for a moment sensing some presence above, a squeaking31, a rapid movement in the dark.
“Mice,” William said, to reassure32 me.
“What are mice doing here?”
“Passing through, like us: because the ossarium leads to the Aedificium, and then to the kitchen. And to the tasty books of the library. And now you understand why Malachi’s face is so austere33. His duties oblige him to come through here twice daily, morning and evening. Truly he has nothing to laugh about.”
“But why doesn’t the Gospel ever say that Christ laughed?” I asked, for no good reason. “Is Jorge right?”
“Legions of scholars have wondered whether Christ laughed. The question doesn’t interest me much. I believe he never laughed, because, omniscient34 as the son of God had to be, he knew how we Christians35 would behave. But here we are.”
And, in fact, the corridor was ending, thank God; new steps began. After climbing them, we would have only to push an ironclad wooden door and we would find ourselves behind the fireplace of the kitchen, just below the circular staircase leading to the scriptorium. As we went up, we thought we heard a noise above us.
We remained a moment in silence; then I said, “It’s impossible. No one came in before us. ...”
“Assuming this is the only way into the Aedificium. In centuries past this was a fortress36, and it must have more secret entrances than we know of. We’ll go up slowly. But we have little choice. If we put out the light we can’t see where we are going; if we leave it burning we. give anyone upstairs the alarm. Our only hope is that if someone really is there, he will be afraid of us.”
We reached the scriptorium, emerging from the south tower. Venantius’s desk was directly opposite. The room was so vast that, as we moved, we illuminated only a few yards of wall at a time. We hoped no one was in the court, to see the light through the windows. The desk appeared to be in order, but William bent37 at once to examine the pages on the shelf below, and he cried out in dismay.
“Is something missing?” I asked.
“Today I saw two books here, one of them in Greek. And that’s the one missing. Somebody has taken it, and in great haste, because one page fell on the floor here.”
“But the desk was watched. …”
“Of course. Perhaps somebody grabbed it just a short while ago. Perhaps he’s still here.” He turned toward the shadows and his voice echoed among the columns. “If you are here, beware!” It seemed to me a good idea as William had said before, it is always better when the person who frightens us is also afraid of us.
William set down the page he had found under the desk and bent his face toward it. He asked me for more light. I held the lamp closer and saw a page, the first half of it blank, the second covered with tiny characters whose origin I recognized with some difficulty.
“Is it Greek?” I asked.
“Yes, but I don’t understand clearly.” He took his lenses from his habit and set them firmly astride his nose, then bent his head again.
“It’s Greek, written in a very fine hand, and yet in a disorderly way. Even with my lenses I have trouble reading it. I need still more light. Come closer. ...”
He had picked up the sheet of parchment, holding it to his face; and instead of stepping behind him and holding the lamp high over his head, I foolishly stood directly in front of him. He asked me to move aside, and as I did, I grazed the back of the page with the flame. William pushed me away, asking me whether I wanted to burn the manuscript for him. Then he cried out. I saw clearly that some vague signs, in a yellow?-brown color, had appeared on the upper part of the page. William made me give him the lamp and moved it behind the page, holding the flame fairly close to the surface of the parchment, which he heated without setting it afire. Slowly, as if an invisible hand were writing “Mane, Tekel, Peres,” I saw some marks emerge one by one on the white side of the sheet as William moved the lamp, and as the smoke that rose from the top of the flame blackened the recto; the marks did not resemble those of any alphabet, except that of nec?romancers.
“Fantastic!” William said. “More and more interesting!” He looked around. “But it would be better not to expose this discovery to the tricks of our mysterious companion, if he is still here. ...” He took off his lenses, set them on the desk, then carefully rolled up the parchment and hid it inside his habit. Still amazed by this sequence of events, which were nothing if not miraculous38, I was about to ask further explanations when all of a sudden a sharp sound distracted us. It came from the foot of the east stairway, leading to the library.
“Our man is there! After him!” William shouted, and we flung ourselves in that direction, he moving faster, I more slowly, for I was carrying the lamp. I heard the clatter39 of someone stumbling and falling. I ran, and found William at the foot of the steps, observing a heavy volume, its binding40 reinforced with metal studs. At that same moment we heard another noise, in the direction from which we had come. “Fool that I am!” William cried. “Hurry! To Venantius’s desk!”
I understood: somebody, from the shadows behind us, had thrown the volume to send us far away.
Once again William was faster than I and reached the desk first. Following him, I glimpsed among the columns a fleeing shadow, taking the stairway of the west tower.
Seized with warlike ardor41, I thrust the lamp into William’s hand and dashed blindly off toward the stairs where the fugitive42 had descended. At that moment I felt like a soldier of Christ fighting all the legions of hell, and I burned with the desire to lay my hands on the stranger, to turn him over to my master. I tumbled down almost the whole stairway, tripping over the hem18 of my habit (that was the only moment of my life, I swear, when I regretted having entered a monastic order!); but at that same instant—and it was the thought of an instant—I consoled myself with the idea that my adversary43 was suffering the same impediment. And, further, if he had taken the book, he would have his hands full. From behind the bread oven I almost dived into the kitchen, and in the starry44 light that faintly illuminated the vast entrance, I saw the shadow I was pursuing as it slipped past the refectory door, then pulled this shut. I rushed toward the door, I labored45 a few seconds opening it, entered, looked around, and saw no one. The outside door was still barred. I turned. Shadows and silence. I noticed a glow advancing from the kitchen and I flattened46 myself against a wall. On the threshold of the passage between the two rooms a figure appeared, illuminated by a lamp. I cried out. It was William.
“Nobody around? I foresaw that. He didn’t go out through a door? He didn’t take the passage through the ossarium?”
“No, he went out through here, but I don’t know where!”
“I told you: there are other passages, and it’s useless for us to look for them. Perhaps our man is emerging at some distant spot. And with him my lenses.”
“Your lenses?”
“Yes. Our friend could not take the page away from me, but with great presence of mind, as he rushed past, he snatched my glasses from the desk.”
“Why?”
“Because he is no fool. He heard me speak of these notes, he realized they were important, he assumed that without my lenses I would be unable to decipher them, and he knows for sure that I would not entrust47 them to anyone else. In fact, now it’s as if I didn’t have them.”
“But how did he know about your lenses?”
“Come, come. Apart from the fact that we spoke48 about them yesterday with the master glazier, this morning in the scriptorium I put them on to search among Venantius’s papers. So there are many people who could know how valuable those objects are to me. Actually, I could read a normal manuscript, but not this one.” And he was again unrolling the mysterious parchment. “The part in Greek is written too fine and the upper part is too hazy49. …”
He showed me the mysterious signs that had appeared as if by magic in the heat of the flame. “Venantius wanted to conceal50 an important secret, and he used one of those inks that leave no trace when written but reappear when warmed. Or else he used lemon juice. But since I don’t know what substance he used and the signs could disappear again: quickly, you who have good eyes, copy them at once as faithfully as you can, perhaps enlarging them a bit.” And so I did, without knowing what I was copying. It was a series of four or five lines, really necromantic, and I will reproduce only the very first signs, to give the reader an idea of the puzzle I had before my eyes:
When I had finished copying, William looked, unfortunately without lenses, holding my tablet at some distance from his nose. “It is unquestionably a secret alphabet that will have to be deciphered,” he said. “The signs are badly drawn51, and perhaps you copied them worse, but it is certainly a zodiacal alphabet. You see? In the first line we have”—he held the page away from him again and narrowed his eyes with an effort of concentration—“Sagittarius, Sun, Mercury, Scorpio. …”
“And what do they mean?”
“If Venantius had been ingenuous52 he would have used the most common zodiacal alphabet: A equals Sun, B equals Jupiter. … The first line would then read ... Try transcribing53 this: RACQASVL. …” He broke off. “No, it means nothing, and Venantius was not ingen?uous. He reformulated the alphabet according to an?other key. I shall have to discover it.”
“Is it possible?” I asked, awed54.
“Yes, if you know a bit of the learning of the Arabs. The best treatises55 on cryptography are the work of infidel scholars, and at Oxford56 I was able to have some read to me. Bacon was right in saying that the conquest of learning is achieved through the knowledge of languages. Abu Bakr Ahmad ben Ali ben Washiyya an-Nabati wrote centuries ago a Book of the Frenzied57 Desire of the Devout58 to Learn the Riddles59 of Ancient Writings, and he expounded60 many rules for composing and deciphering mysterious alphabets, useful for magic practices but also for the correspondence between armies, or between a king and his envoys61. I have seen other Arab books that list a series of quite ingenious devices. For example, you can substitute one letter for another, you can write a word backward, you can put the letters to reverse order, using only every other one; and then starting over again, you can, as in this case, replace letters with zodiacal signs, but attributing to the hidden letters their numerical value, and then, according to another alphabet, convert the numbers into other letters. …”
“And which of these systems can Venantius have used?”
“We would have to test them all, and others besides. But the first rule in deciphering a message is to guess what it means.”
“But then it’s unnecessary to decipher it!” I laughed.
“Not exactly. Some hypotheses can be formed on the possible first words of the message, and then you see whether the rule you infer from them can apply to the rest of the text. For example, here Venantius has certainly noted62 down the key for penetrating63 the finis Africae. If I try thinking that the message is about this, then I am suddenly enlightened by a rhythm. ... Try looking at the first three words, not considering the letters, but the number of the signs ... IIIIIIII IIIII IIIIIII. ... Now try dividing them into syllables64 of at least two signs each, and recite aloud: ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta-ta. ... Doesn’t anything come to your mind?”
“No.”
“To mine, yes. ‘Secretum finis Africae’ … But if this were correct, then the last word should have the same first and sixth letter, and so it does, in fact: the symbol of the Earth is there twice. And the first letter of the first word, the S, should be the same as the last of the second: and, sure enough, the sign of the Virgin65 is repeated. Perhaps this is the right track. But it could also be just a series of coincidences. A rule of correspon?dence has to be found. ...”
“Found where?”
“In our heads. Invent it. And then see whether it is the right one. But with one test and another, the game could cost me a whole day. No more than that because?—remember this—there is no secret writing that cannot be deciphered with a bit of patience. But now we risk losing time, and we want to visit the library. Especially since, without lenses, I will never be able to read the second part of the message, and you cannot help me because these signs, to your eyes ...”
“Graecum est, non legitur,” I finished his sentence, humiliated66. “It is Greek to me.”
“Exactly; and you see that Bacon was right. Study! But we must not lose heart. We’ll put away the parchment and your notes, and we’ll go up to the library. Because tonight not even ten infernal legions will succeed in keeping us out.”
I blessed myself. “But who can he have been, the man who was here ahead of us? Benno?”
“Benno was burning with the desire to know what there was among Venantius’s papers, but I can’t see him as one with the courage to enter the Aedificium at night.”
“Berengar, then? Or Malachi?”
“Berengar seems to me to have the courage to do such things. And, after all, he shares responsibility for the library. He is consumed by remorse67 at having betrayed some secret of it; he thought Venantius had taken that book, and perhaps he wanted to return it to the place from which it comes. He wasn’t able to go upstairs, and now he is hiding the volume some?where.”
“But it could also be Malachi, for the same motives68.”
“I would say no. Malachi had all the time he wanted to search Venantius’s desk when he remained alone to shut up the Aedificium. I knew that very well, but there was no way to avoid it. Now we know he didn’t do it. And if you think carefully, we have no reason to think Malachi knows Venantius had entered the library and removed something. Berengar and Benno know this, and you and I know it. After Adelmo’s confession69, Jorge may know it, but he was surely not the man who was rushing so furiously down the circular stair?case. …”
“Then either Berengar or Benno ...”
“And why not Pacificus of Tivoli or another of the monks we saw here today? Or Nicholas the glazier, who knows about my glasses? Or that odd character Salvatore, who they have told us roams around at night on God knows what errands? We must take care not to restrict the field of suspects just because Benno’s revelations have oriented us in a single direction; perhaps Benno wanted to mislead us.”
“But he seemed sincere to you.”
“Certainly. But remember that the first duty of a good inquisitor is to suspect especially those who seem sincere to him.”
“A nasty job, being an inquisitor.”
“That’s why I gave it up. And as you say, I am forced to resume it. But come now: to the library.”
收听单词发音 |
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necromantic
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| 降神术的，妖术的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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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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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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purloined
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| v.偷窃( purloin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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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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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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hem
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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afterward
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mechanism
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deter
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descended
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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omniscient
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| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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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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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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transcribing
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| （用不同的录音手段）转录( transcribe的现在分词 )； 改编（乐曲）（以适应他种乐器或声部）； 抄写； 用音标标出（声音） | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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treatises
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| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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57
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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58
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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59
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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60
expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
envoys
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| 使节( envoy的名词复数 )； 公使； 谈判代表； 使节身份 | |
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62
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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63
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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64
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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65
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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66
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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67
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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68
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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