SEXT
In which the succession of librarians is reconstructed, and there is further information about the mysterious book.
William decided1 to go back up to the scriptorium, from which he had just come. He asked Benno’s leave to consult the catalogue, and he leafed through it rapidly. “It must be around here,” he said, “I saw it just an hour ago. ...” He stopped at one page. “Here,” he said, “read this title.”
As a single entry there was a group of four titles, indicating that one volume contained several texts. I read:
I. ar. de dictis cuiusdam stulti
II. syr. libellus alchemicus aegypt.
III. Expositio Magistri Alcofribae de coena beati Cypriani Cartaginensis Episcopi
IV. Liber acephalus de stupris virginum et meretri?cum amoribus
“What is it?” I asked.
“It is our book,” William whispered to me. “This is why your dream reminded me of something. Now I am sure this is it. And in fact”—he glanced quickly at the pages immediately preceding and following—“in fact, here are the books I was thinking about, all together. But this isn’t what I wanted to check. See here. Do you have your tablet? Good. We must make a calculation, and try to remember clearly what Alinardo told us the other day as well as what we heard this morning from Nicholas. Now, Nicholas told us he arrived here about thirty years ago, and Abo had already been named abbot. The abbot before him was Paul of Rimini. Is that right? Let’s say this succession took place around 1290, more or less, it doesn’t matter. Nicholas also told us that, when he arrived, Robert of Bobbio was already librarian. Correct? Then Robert died, and the post was given to Malachi, let’s say at the beginning of this century. Write this down. There is a period, however, before Nicholas came, when Paul of Rimini was librarian. How long was he in that post? We weren’t told. We could examine the abbey ledgers2, but I imagine the abbot has them, and for the moment I would prefer not to ask him for them. Let’s suppose Paul was appointed librarian sixty years ago. Write that. Why does Alinardo complain of the fact that, about fifty years ago, he should have been given the post of librarian and in?stead it went to another? Was he referring to Paul of Rimini?”
“Or to Robert of Bobbio!” I said.
“So it would seem. But now look at this catalogue. As you know, the titles are recorded in the order of acquisition. And who writes them in this ledger3? The librarian. Therefore, by the changes of handwriting in these pages we can establish the succession of librarians. Now we will look at the catalogue from the end; the last handwriting is Malachi’s, you see. And it fills only a few pages. The abbey has not acquired many books in these last thirty years. Then, as we work backward, a series of pages begins in a shaky hand. I clearly read the pres?ence of Robert of Bobbio, who was ill. Robert probably did not occupy the position long. And then what do we find? Pages and pages in another hand, straight and confident, a whole series of acquisitions (including the group of books I was examining a moment ago), truly impressive. Paul of Rimini must have worked hard! Too hard, if you recall that Nicholas told us he became abbot while still a young man. But let’s assume that in a few years this voracious4 reader enriched the abbey with so many books. Weren’t we told he was called Abbas agraphicus because of that strange defect, or illness, which made him unable to write? Then who wrote these pages? His assistant librarian, I would say. But if by chance this assistant librarian were then named librarian, he would then have continued writing, and we would have figured out why there are so many pages here in the same hand. So, then, between Paul and Robert we would have another librarian, chosen about fifty years ago, who was the mysterious rival of Alinardo, who was hoping, as an older man, to succeed Paul. Then this man died, and somehow, contrary to Alinardo’s expectations and the expectations of others, Robert was named in his place.”
“But why are you so sure this is the right scansion? Even granting that this handwriting is the nameless librarian’s, why couldn’t Paul also have written the titles of the still earlier pages?”
“Because among the acquisitions they recorded all bulls and decretals, and these are precisely5 dated. I mean, if you find here, as you do, the Firma cautela of Boniface the Seventh, dated 1296, you know that text did not arrive before that year, and you can assume it didn’t arrive much later. I have these milestones6, so to speak, placed along the years, so if I grant that Paul of Rimini became librarian in 1265 and abbot in 1275, and I find that his hand, or the hand of someone else who is not Robert of Bobbio, lasts from 1265 to 1285, then I discover a discrepancy7 of ten years.”
My master was truly very sharp. “But what conclu?sions do you draw from this discrepancy?” I asked.
“None,” he answered. “Only some premises8.”
Then he got up and went to talk with Benno, who was staunchly at his post, but with a very unsure air. He was still behind his old desk and had not dared take over Malachi’s, by the catalogue. William addressed him with some coolness. We had not forgotten the unpleasant scene of the previous evening.
“Even in your new and powerful position, Brother Librarian, I trust you will answer a question. That morning when Adelmo and the others were talking here about witty9 riddles10, and Berengar made the first reference to the finis Africae, did anybody mention the Coena Cypriani?”
“Yes,” Benno said, “didn’t I tell you? Before they talked about the riddles of Symphosius, Venantius him?self mentioned the Coena, and Malachi became furious, saying it was an ignoble11 work and reminding us that the abbot had forbidden anyone to read it. ...”
“The abbot?” William said. “Very interesting. Thank you, Benno.”
“Wait,” Benno said, “I want to talk with you.” He motioned us to follow him out of the scriptorium, onto the stairs going down to the kitchen, so the others could not hear him. His lips were trembling.
“I’m frightened, William,” he said. “They’ve killed Malachi. Now I am the one who knows too many things. Besides, the group of Italians hate me. ... They do not want another foreign librarian. ... I believe the others were murdered for this very reason. ... I’ve never told you about Alinardo’s hatred12 for Malachi, his bitterness.”
“Who was it who took the post from him, years ago?”
“That I don’t know: he always talks about it vaguely13, and anyway it’s ancient history. They must all be dead now. But the group of Italians around Alinardo speaks often ... spoke14 often of Malachi as a straw man ... put here by someone else, with the complicity of the abbot. ... Not realizing it, I ... I have become involved in the conflict of the two hostile factions15. ... I became aware of it only this morning. ... Italy is a land of conspiracies16: they poison popes here, so just imagine a poor boy like me. ... Yesterday I hadn’t understood, I believed that book was responsible for everything, but now I’m no longer sure. That was the pretext17: you’ve seen that the book was found but Malachi died all the same. … I must ... I want to ... I would like to run away. What do you advise me to do?”
“Stay calm. Now you ask advice, do you? Yesterday evening you seemed ruler of the world. Silly youth, if you had helped me yesterday we would have prevented this last crime. You are the one who gave Malachi the book that brought him to his death. But tell me one thing at least. Did you have that book in your hands, did you touch it, read it? Then why are you not dead?”
“I don’t know. I swear I didn’t touch it; or, rather, I touched it when I took it in the laboratory but without opening it; I hid it inside my habit, then went and put it under the pallet in my cell. I knew Malachi was watching me, so I came back at once to the scriptorium. And afterward18, when Malachi offered to make me his assistant, I gave him the book. That’s the whole story.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t even open it.”
“Yes, I did open it before hiding it, to make sure it really was the one you were also looking for. It began with an Arabic manuscript, then I believe one in Syriac, then there was a Latin text, and finally one in Greek. …”
I remembered the abbreviations we had seen in the catalogue. The first two titles were listed as “ar.” and “syr” It was the book! But William persisted: “You touched it and you are not dead. So touching19 it does not kill. And what can you tell me about the Greek text? Did you look at it?”
“Very briefly20. Just long enough to realize it had no title; it began as if a part were missing. …”
“Liber acephalus …” William murmured.
“I tried to read the first page, but the truth is that my Greek is very poor. And then my curiosity was aroused by another detail, connected with those same pages in Greek. I did not leaf through all of them, because I was unable to. The pages were—how can I explain?—damp, stuck together. It was hard to separate one from the other. Because the parchment was odd ... softer than other parchments, and the first page was rotten, and almost crumbling21. It was ... well, strange.”
“ ‘Strange’: the very word Severinus used,” William said.
“The parchment did not seem like parchment. ... It seemed like cloth, but very fine ...” Benno went on.
“Charta lintea, or linen22 paper,” William said. “Had you never seen it?”
“I had heard of it, but I don’t believe I ever saw it before. It is said to be very costly23, and delicate. That’s why it is rarely used. The Arabs make it, don’t they?”
“They were the first. But it is also made here in Italy, at Fabriano. And also ... Why, of course, naturally!” William’s eyes shone. “What a beautiful and interesting revelation! Good for you, Benno! I thank you! Yes, I imagine that here in the library charta lintea must be rare, because no very recent manuscripts have arrived. And besides, many are afraid linen paper will not survive through the centuries like parchment, and per?haps24 that is true. Let us imagine, if they wanted some?thing here that was not more perennial25 than bronze ... Charta lintea, then? Very well. Good-bye. And don’t worry. You’re in no danger.”
We went away from the scriptorium, leaving Benno calmer, if not totally reassured26.
The abbot was in the refectory. William went to him and asked to speak with him. Abo, unable to temporize27, agreed to meet us in a short while at his house.
1 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 ledgers | |
n.分类账( ledger的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 ledger | |
n.总帐,分类帐;帐簿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 voracious | |
adj.狼吞虎咽的,贪婪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 milestones | |
n.重要事件( milestone的名词复数 );重要阶段;转折点;里程碑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 discrepancy | |
n.不同;不符;差异;矛盾 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 riddles | |
n.谜(语)( riddle的名词复数 );猜不透的难题,难解之谜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 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: |
|
|
15 factions | |
组织中的小派别,派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 conspiracies | |
n.阴谋,密谋( conspiracy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 haps | |
n.粗厚毛披巾;偶然,机会,运气( hap的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 perennial | |
adj.终年的;长久的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 temporize | |
v.顺应时势;拖延 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |