VESPERS
In which Ubertino takes flight, Benno begins to observe the laws, and William makes some reflections on the various types of lust1 encountered that day.
As the monks3 slowly emerged from the chapter house, Michael came over to William, and then both of them were joined by Ubertino. Together we all went out into the open, to confer in the cloister4 under cover of the fog, which showed no sign of thinning out. Indeed, it was made even thicker by the shadows.
“I don’t think it necessary to comment on what has happened,” William said. “Bernard has defeated us. Don’t ask me whether that imbecile Dolcinian is really guilty of all those crimes. As far as I can tell, he isn’t, not at all. The fact is, we are back where we started. John wants you alone in Avignon, Michael, and this meeting hasn’t given you the guarantees we were looking for. On the contrary, it has given you an idea of how every word of yours, up there, could be distorted. Whence we must deduce, it seems to me, that you should not go.”
Michael shook his head. “I will go, on the contrary. I do not want a schism5. You, William, spoke6 very clearly today, and you said what you would like. Well, that is not what I want, and I realize that the decisions of the Perugia chapter have been used by the imperial theolo?gians beyond our intentions. I want the Franciscan order to be accepted by the Pope with its ideal of poverty. And the Pope must understand that unless the order confirms the ideal of poverty, it will never be possible for it to recover the heretical offshoots. I will go to Avignon, and if necessary I will make an act of submission7 to John. I will compromise on everything except the principle of poverty.”
Ubertino spoke up. “You know you are risking your life?”
“So be it,” Michael answered. “Better than risking my soul.”
He did seriously risk his life, and if John was right (as I still do not believe), Michael also lost his soul. As everyone knows by now, Michael went to the Pope a week after the events I am narrating8. He held out against him for four months, until in April of the following year John convened9 a consistory in which he called Michael a madman, a reckless, stubborn, tyranni?cal fomenter10 of heresy11, a viper12 nourished in the very bosom13 of the church. And one might think that, accord?ing to his way of seeing things, John was right, because during those four months Michael had become a friend of my master’s friend, the other William, the one from Occam, and had come to share his ideas—more extreme, but not very different from those my master shared with Marsilius and had expounded14 that morning. The life of these dissidents became precarious15 in Avignon, and at the end of May, Michael, William of Occam, Bonagratia of Bergamo, Francis of Ascoli, and Henri de Talheim took flight, pursued, by the Pope’s men to Nice, then Toulon, Marseilles, and Aigues-Mortes, where they were overtaken by Cardinal16 Pierre de Arrablay, who tried to persuade them to go back but was unable to overcome their resistance, their hatred17 of the Pontiff, their fear. In June they reached Pisa, where they were received in triumph by the imperial forces, and in the following months Michael was to denounce John publicly. Too late, by then. The Emperor’s fortunes were ebbing18; from Avignon John was plotting to give the Minorites a new superior general, and he finally achieved victory. Michael would have done better not to decide that day to go to the Pope: he could have led the Minorites’ resistance more closely, without wasting so many months in his enemy’s power, weakening his own position. ... But perhaps divine omnipotence19 had so ordained20 things?—nor do I know now who among them all was in the right. After so many years even the fire of passion dies, and with it what was believed the light of the truth. Who of us is able to say now whether Hector or Achilles was right, Agamemnon or Priam, when they fought over the beauty of a woman who is now dust and ashes?
But I am straying into melancholy21 digressions. I must tell instead of the end of that sad conversation. Michael had made up his mind, and there was no way of convincing him to desist. But another problem arose, and William announced it without mincing22 words: Ubertino himself was no longer safe. The words Bernard had addressed to him, the hatred the Pope now felt toward him, the fact that, whereas Michael still repre?sented a power with which to negotiate, Ubertino was a party unto himself at this point ...
“John wants Michael at court and Ubertino in hell. If I know Bernard, before tomorrow is over, with the complicity of the fog, Ubertino will have been killed. And if anyone asks who did it, the abbey can easily bear another crime, and they will say it was done by devils summoned by Remigio and his black cats, or by some surviving Dolcinian still lurking23 inside these walls. ...”
Ubertino was worried. “Then—?” he asked.
“Then,” William said, “go and speak with the abbot. Ask him for a mount, some provisions, and a letter to some distant abbey, beyond the Alps. And take advan?tage of the darkness and the fog to leave at once.”
“But are the archers24 not still guarding the gates?”
“The abbey has other exits, and the abbot knows them. A servant has only to be waiting for you at one of the lower curves with a horse; and after slipping through some passage in the walls, you will have only to go through a stretch of woods. You must act immediately, before Bernard recovers from the ecstasy25 of his triumph. I must concern myself with something else. I had two missions: one has failed, at least the other must succeed. I want to get my hands on a book, and on a man. If all goes well, you will be out of here before I seek you again. So farewell, then.” He opened his arms. Moved, Ubertino held him in a close embrace: “Farewell, William. You are a mad and arrogant26 Englishman, but you have a great heart. Will we meet again?”
“We will meet again,” William assured him. “God will wish it.”
God, however, did not wish it. As I have already said, Ubertino died, mysteriously killed, two years later. A hard and adventurous27 life, the life of this mettlesome28 and ardent29 old man. Perhaps he was not a saint, but I hope God rewarded his adamantine certainty of being one. The older I grow and the more I abandon myself to God’s will, the less I value intelligence that wants to know and will that wants to do; and as the only element of salvation30 I recognize faith, which can wait patiently, without asking too many questions. And Ubertino sure?ly had great faith in the blood and agony of our Lord Crucified.
Perhaps I was thinking these things even then, and the old mystic realized it, or guessed that I would think them one day. He smiled at me sweetly and embraced me, without the intensity31 with which he had sometimes gripped me in the preceding days. He embraced me as a grandfather embraces his grandson, and in the same spirit I returned the embrace. Then he went off with Michael to seek the abbot.
“And now?” I asked William.
“And now, back to our crimes.”
“Master,” I said, “today many things happened, grave things for Christianity, and our mission has failed. And yet you seem more interested in solving this mystery than in the conflict between the Pope and the Emperor.”
“Madmen and children always speak the truth, Adso. It may be that, as imperial adviser32, my friend Marsilius is better than I, but as inquisitor I am better. Even better than Bernard Gui, God forgive me. Because Bernard is interested, not in discovering the guilty, but in burning the accused. And I, on the contrary, find the most joyful33 delight in unraveling a nice, complicated knot. And it must also be because, at a time when as philosopher, I doubt the world has an order, I am consoled to discover, if not an order, at least a series of connections in small areas of the world’s affairs. Finally, there is probably another reason: in this story things greater and more important than the battle between John and Louis may be at stake. ...”
“But it is a story of theft and vengeance34 among monks of scant35 virtue36!” I cried, dubiously37.
“Because of a forbidden book, Adso. A forbidden book!” William replied.
By now the monks were heading for supper. Our meal was half over when Michael of Cesena sat down beside us and told us Ubertino had left. William heaved a sigh of relief.
At the end of the meal, we avoided the abbot, who was conversing38 with Bernard, and noted39 Benno, who greeted us with a half smile as he tried to follow the door. William overtook him and forced him to follow us to a corner of the kitchen.
“Benno,” William asked him, “where is the book?”
“What book?”
“Benno, neither of us is a fool. I am speaking of the book we were hunting for today in Severinus’s laboratory, which I did not recognize. But you recognized it very well and went back to get it. …”
“What makes you think I took it?”
“I think you did, and you think the same. Where is it?”
“I cannot tell.”
“Benno, if you refuse to tell me, I will speak with the abbot.”
“I cannot tell by order of the abbot,” Benno said, with a virtuous40 air. “Today, after we saw each other, something happened that you should know about. On Berengar’s death there was no assistant librarian. This afternoon Malachi proposed me for the position. Just half an hour ago the abbot agreed, and tomorrow morning, I hope, I will be initiated41 into the secrets of the library. True, I did take the book this morning, and I hid it in the pallet in my cell without even looking at it, because I knew Malachi was keeping an eye on me. Eventually Malachi made me the proposal I told you. And then I did what an assistant librarian must do: I handed the book over to him.”
I could not refrain from speaking out, and violently.
“But, Benno, yesterday and the day before you ... you said you were burning with the curiosity to know, you didn’t want the library to conceal42 mysteries any longer, you said a scholar must know. …”
Benno was silent, blushing; but William stopped me: “Adso, a few hours ago Benno joined the other side. Now he is the guardian43 of those secrets he wanted to know, and while he guards them he will have all the time he wants to learn them.”
“But the others?” I asked. “Benno was speaking also in the name of all men of learning!”
“Before,” William said. And he drew me away, leav?ing Benno the prey44 of confusion.
“Benno,” William then said to me, “is the victim of a great lust, which is not that of Berengar or that of the cellarer. Like many scholars, he has a lust for knowledge. Knowledge for its own sake. Barred from a part of this knowledge, he wanted to seize it. Now he has it. Malachi knew his man: he used the best means to recover the book and seal Benno’s lips. You will ask me what is the good of controlling such a hoard45 of learning if one has agreed not to put it at the disposal of everyone else. But this is exactly why I speak of lust. Roger Bacon’s thirst for knowledge was not lust: he wanted to employ his learning to make God’s people happier, and so he did not seek knowledge for its own sake. Benno’s is merely insatiable curiosity, intellectual pride, another way for a monk2 to transform and allay46 the desires of his loins, or the ardor47 that makes another man a warrior48 of the faith or of heresy. There is lust not only of the flesh. Bernard Gui is lustful49; his is a distorted lust for justice that becomes identified with a lust for power. Our holy and no longer Roman Pontiff lusts50 for riches. And the cellarer as a youth had a lust to testify and transform and do penance51, and then a lust for death. And Benno’s lust is for books. Like all lusts, including that of Onan, who spilled his seed on the ground, it is sterile52 and has nothing to do with love, not even carnal love. ...”
“I know,” I murmured, despite myself. William pre?tended not to hear. Continuing his observations, he said, “True love wants the good of the beloved.”
“Can it be that Benno wants the good of his books (and now they are also his) and thinks their good lies in their being kept far from grasping hands?” I asked.
“The good of a book lies in its being read. A book is made up of signs that speak of other signs, which in their turn speak of things. Without an eye to read them, a book contains signs that produce no concepts; therefore it is dumb. This library was perhaps born to save the books it houses, but now it lives to bury them. This is why it has become a sink of iniquity53. The cellarer says he betrayed. So has Benno. He has betrayed. Oh, what a nasty day, my good Adso! Full of blood and ruination. I have had enough of this day. Let us also go to compline, and then to bed.”
Coming out of the kitchen, we encountered Aymaro. He asked us whether the rumor54 going around was true, that Malachi had proposed Benno as his assistant. We could only confirm it.
“Our Malachi has accomplished55 many fine things today,” Aymaro said, with his usual sneer56 of contempt and indulgence. If justice existed, the Devil would come and take him this very night.”
收听单词发音 |
1
lust
|
|
| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
monk
|
|
| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
monks
|
|
| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
cloister
|
|
| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
schism
|
|
| n.分派，派系，分裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
submission
|
|
| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
narrating
|
|
| v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
convened
|
|
| 召开( convene的过去式 )； 召集； （为正式会议而）聚集； 集合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
fomenter
|
|
| 挑唆者，煽动者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
11
heresy
|
|
| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
viper
|
|
| n.毒蛇；危险的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
expounded
|
|
| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
precarious
|
|
| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
cardinal
|
|
| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
ebbing
|
|
| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
omnipotence
|
|
| n.全能，万能，无限威力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
ordained
|
|
| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
mincing
|
|
| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
archers
|
|
| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
arrogant
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
adventurous
|
|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
mettlesome
|
|
| adj.（通常指马等）精力充沛的，勇猛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
adviser
|
|
| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
scant
|
|
| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
dubiously
|
|
| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
conversing
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
initiated
|
|
| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
guardian
|
|
| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
hoard
|
|
| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
allay
|
|
| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
ardor
|
|
| n.热情，狂热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
warrior
|
|
| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
lustful
|
|
| a.贪婪的；渴望的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
lusts
|
|
| 贪求（lust的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
penance
|
|
| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
sterile
|
|
| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
iniquity
|
|
| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
rumor
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |