A FEW days later, the Gadfly, still rather pale and limping more than usual, entered the reading room of the public library and asked for Cardinal1 Montanelli's sermons. Riccardo, who was reading at a table near him, looked up. He liked the Gadfly very much, but could not digest this one trait in him--this curious personal maliciousness2.
"Are you preparing another volley against that unlucky Cardinal?" he asked half irritably3.
"My dear fellow, why do you a-a-always attribute evil m-m-motives to people? It's m-most unchristian. I am preparing an essay on contemporary theology for the n-n-new paper."
"What new paper?" Riccardo frowned. It was perhaps an open secret that a new press-law was expected and that the Opposition4 was preparing to astonish the town with a radical5 newspaper; but still it was, formally, a secret.
"The Swindlers' Gazette, of course, or the Church Calendar."
"Sh-sh! Rivarez, we are disturbing the other readers."
"Well then, stick to your surgery, if that's your subject, and l-l-leave me to th-theology-- that's mine. I d-d-don't interfere6 with your treatment of broken bones, though I know a p-p-precious lot more about them than you do."
He sat down to his volume of sermons with an intent and preoccupied7 face. One of the librarians came up to him.
"Signor Rivarez! I think you were in the Duprez expedition, exploring the tributaries8 of the Amazon? Perhaps you will kindly9 help us in a difficulty. A lady has been inquiring for the records of the expedition, and they are at the binder's."
"What does she want to know?"
"Only in what year the expedition started and when it passed through Ecuador."
"It started from Paris in the autumn of 1837, and passed through Quito in April, 1838. We were three years in Brazil; then went down to Rio and got back to Paris in the summer of 1841. Does the lady want the dates of the separate discoveries?"
"No, thank you; only these. I have written them down. Beppo, take this paper to Signora Bolla, please. Many thanks, Signor Rivarez. I am sorry to have troubled you."
The Gadfly leaned back in his chair with a perplexed10 frown. What did she want the dates for? When they passed through Ecuador----
Gemma went home with the slip of paper in her hand. April, 1838--and Arthur had died in May, 1833. Five years--
She began pacing up and down her room. She had slept badly the last few nights, and there were dark shadows under her eyes.
Five years;--and an "overluxurious home"-- and "someone he had trusted had deceived him" --had deceived him--and he had found it out----
She stopped and put up both hands to her head. Oh, this was utterly11 mad--it was not possible--it was absurd----
And yet, how they had dragged that harbour!
Five years--and he was "not twenty-one" when the Lascar---- Then he must have been nineteen when he ran away from home. Had he not said: "A year and a half----" Where did he get those blue eyes from, and that nervous restlessness of the fingers? And why was he so bitter against Montanelli? Five years--five years------
If she could but know that he was drowned--if she could but have seen the body; some day, surely, the old wound would have left off aching, the old memory would have lost its terrors. Perhaps in another twenty years she would have learned to look back without shrinking.
All her youth had been poisoned by the thought of what she had done. Resolutely12, day after day and year after year, she had fought against the demon13 of remorse14. Always she had remembered that her work lay in the future; always had shut her eyes and ears to the haunting spectre of the past. And day after day, year after year, the image of the drowned body drifting out to sea had never left her, and the bitter cry that she could not silence had risen in her heart: "I have killed Arthur! Arthur is dead!" Sometimes it had seemed to her that her burden was too heavy to be borne.
Now she would have given half her life to have that burden back again. If she had killed him-- that was a familiar grief; she had endured it too long to sink under it now. But if she had driven him, not into the water but into------ She sat down, covering her eyes with both hands. And her life had been darkened for his sake, because he was dead! If she had brought upon him nothing worse than death----
Steadily15, pitilessly she went back, step by step, through the hell of his past life. It was as vivid to her as though she had seen and felt it all; the helpless shivering of the naked soul, the mockery that was bitterer than death, the horror of loneliness, the slow, grinding, relentless16 agony. It was as vivid as if she had sat beside him in the filthy17 Indian hut; as if she had suffered with him in the silver-mines, the coffee fields, the horrible variety show--
The variety show---- No, she must shut out that image, at least; it was enough to drive one mad to sit and think of it.
She opened a little drawer in her writing-desk. It contained the few personal relics18 which she could not bring herself to destroy. She was not given to the hoarding19 up of sentimental20 trifles; and the preservation21 of these keepsakes was a concession22 to that weaker side of her nature which she kept under with so steady a hand. She very seldom allowed herself to look at them.
Now she took them out, one after another: Giovanni's first letter to her, and the flowers that had lain in his dead hand; a lock of her baby's hair and a withered23 leaf from her father's grave. At the back of the drawer was a miniature portrait of Arthur at ten years old--the only existing likeness24 of him.
She sat down with it in her hands and looked at the beautiful childish head, till the face of the real Arthur rose up afresh before her. How clear it was in every detail! The sensitive lines of the mouth, the wide, earnest eyes, the seraphic purity of expression--they were graven in upon her memory, as though he had died yesterday. Slowly the blinding tears welled up and hid the portrait.
Oh, how could she have thought such a thing! It was like sacrilege even to dream of this bright, far-off spirit, bound to the sordid25 miseries26 of life. Surely the gods had loved him a little, and had let him die young! Better a thousand times that he should pass into utter nothingness than that he should live and be the Gadfly--the Gadfly, with his faultless neckties and his doubtful witticisms27, his bitter tongue and his ballet girl! No, no! It was all a horrible, senseless fancy; and she had vexed28 her heart with vain imaginings. Arthur was dead.
"May I come in?" asked a soft voice at the door.
She started so that the portrait fell from her hand, and the Gadfly, limping across the room, picked it up and handed it to her.
"How you startled me!" she said.
"I am s-so sorry. Perhaps I am disturbing you?"
"No. I was only turning over some old things."
She hesitated for a moment; then handed him back the miniature.
"What do you think of that head?"
While he looked at it she watched his face as though her life depended upon its expression; but it was merely negative and critical.
"You have set me a difficult task," he said. "The portrait is faded, and a child's face is always hard to read. But I should think that child would grow into an unlucky man, and the wisest thing he could do would be to abstain30 from growing into a man at all."
"Why?"
"Look at the line of the under-lip. Th-th-that is the sort of nature that feels pain as pain and wrong as wrong; and the world has no r-r-room for such people; it needs people who feel nothing but their work."
"Is it at all like anyone you know?"
He looked at the portrait more closely.
"Yes. What a curious thing! Of course it is; very like."
"Like whom?"
"C-c-cardinal Montan-nelli. I wonder whether his irreproachable31 Eminence32 has any nephews, by the way? Who is it, if I may ask?"
"It is a portrait, taken in childhood, of the friend I told you about the other day----"
"Whom you killed?"
She winced33 in spite of herself. How lightly, how cruelly he used that dreadful word!
"Yes, whom I killed--if he is really dead."
"If?"
She kept her eyes on his face.
"I have sometimes doubted," she said. "The body was never found. He may have run away from home, like you, and gone to South America."
"Let us hope not. That would be a bad memory to carry about with you. I have d-d-done some hard fighting in my t-time, and have sent m-more than one man to Hades, perhaps; but if I had it on my conscience that I had sent any l-living thing to South America, I should sleep badly----"
"Then do you believe," she interrupted, coming nearer to him with clasped hands, "that if he were not drowned,--if he had been through your experience instead,--he would never come back and let the past go? Do you believe he would NEVER forget? Remember, it has cost me something, too. Look!"
She pushed back the heavy waves of hair from her forehead. Through the black locks ran a broad white streak35.
There was a long silence.
"I think," the Gadfly said slowly, "that the dead are better dead. Forgetting some things is a difficult matter. And if I were in the place of your dead friend, I would s-s-stay dead. The REVENANT is an ugly spectre."
She put the portrait back into its drawer and locked the desk.
"That is hard doctrine," she said. "And now we will talk about something else."
"I came to have a little business talk with you, if I may--a private one, about a plan that I have in my head."
She drew a chair to the table and sat down. "What do you think of the projected press-law?" he began, without a trace of his usual stammer36.
"What I think of it? I think it will not be of much value, but half a loaf is better than no bread."
"Undoubtedly37. Then do you intend to work on one of the new papers these good folk here are preparing to start?"
"I thought of doing so. There is always a great deal of practical work to be done in starting any paper--printing and circulation arrangements and----"
"How long are you going to waste your mental gifts in that fashion?"
"Why 'waste'?"
"Because it is waste. You know quite well that you have a far better head than most of the men you are working with, and you let them make a regular drudge38 and Johannes factotum39 of you. Intellectually you are as far ahead of Grassini and Galli as if they were schoolboys; yet you sit correcting their proofs like a printer's devil."
"In the first place, I don't spend all my time in correcting proofs; and moreover it seems to me that you exaggerate my mental capacities. They are by no means so brilliant as you think."
"I don't think them brilliant at all," he answered quietly; "but I do think them sound and solid, which is of much more importance. At those dreary40 committee meetings it is always you who put your finger on the weak spot in everybody's logic41."
"You are not fair to the others. Martini, for instance, has a very logical head, and there is no doubt about the capacities of Fabrizi and Lega. Then Grassini has a sounder knowledge of Italian economic statistics than any official in the country, perhaps."
"Well, that's not saying much; but let us lay them and their capacities aside. The fact remains42 that you, with such gifts as you possess, might do more important work and fill a more responsible post than at present."
"I am quite satisfied with my position. The work I am doing is not of very much value, perhaps, but we all do what we can."
"Signora Bolla, you and I have gone too far to play at compliments and modest denials now. Tell me honestly, do you recognize that you are using up your brain on work which persons inferior to you could do as well?"
"Since you press me for an answer--yes, to some extent."
"Then why do you let that go on?"
No answer.
"Why do you let it go on?"
"Because--I can't help it."
"Why?"
She looked up reproachfully. "That is unkind --it's not fair to press me so."
"But all the same you are going to tell me why."
"If you must have it, then--because my life has been smashed into pieces, and I have not the energy to start anything REAL, now. I am about fit to be a revolutionary cab-horse, and do the party's drudge-work. At least I do it conscientiously43, and it must be done by somebody."
"Certainly it must be done by somebody; but not always by the same person."
"It's about all I'm fit for."
He looked at her with half-shut eyes, inscrutably. Presently she raised her head.
"We are returning to the old subject; and this was to be a business talk. It is quite useless, I assure you, to tell me I might have done all sorts of things. I shall never do them now. But I may be able to help you in thinking out your plan. What is it?"
"You begin by telling me that it is useless for me to suggest anything, and then ask what I want to suggest. My plan requires your help in action, not only in thinking out."
"Let me hear it and then we will discuss."
"Tell me first whether you have heard anything about schemes for a rising in Venetia."
"I have heard of nothing but schemes for risings and Sanfedist plots ever since the amnesty, and I fear I am as sceptical about the one as about the other."
"So am I, in most cases; but I am speaking of really serious preparations for a rising of the whole province against the Austrians. A good many young fellows in the Papal States--particularly in the Four Legations--are secretly preparing to get across there and join as volunteers. And I hear from my friends in the Romagna----"
"Tell me," she interrupted, "are you quite sure that these friends of yours can be trusted?"
"Quite sure. I know them personally, and have worked with them."
"That is, they are members of the 'sect44' to which you belong? Forgive my scepticism, but I am always a little doubtful as to the accuracy of information received from secret societies. It seems to me that the habit----"
"Who told you I belonged to a 'sect'?" he interrupted sharply.
"No one; I guessed it."
"Ah!" He leaned back in his chair and looked at her, frowning. "Do you always guess people's private affairs?" he said after a moment.
"Very often. I am rather observant, and have a habit of putting things together. I tell you that so that you may be careful when you don't want me to know a thing."
"I don't mind your knowing anything so long as it goes no further. I suppose this has not----"
She lifted her head with a gesture of half-offended surprise. "Surely that is an unnecessary question!" she said.
"Of course I know you would not speak of anything to outsiders; but I thought that perhaps, to the members of your party----"
"The party's business is with facts, not with my personal conjectures45 and fancies. Of course I have never mentioned the subject to anyone."
"Thank you. Do you happen to have guessed which sect I belong to?"
"I hope--you must not take offence at my frankness; it was you who started this talk, you know---- I do hope it is not the 'Knifers.'"
"Why do you hope that?"
"Because you are fit for better things."
"We are all fit for better things than we ever do. There is your own answer back again. However, it is not the 'Knifers' that I belong to, but the 'Red Girdles.' They are a steadier lot, and take their work more seriously."
"Do you mean the work of knifing?"
"That, among other things. Knives are very useful in their way; but only when you have a good, organized propaganda behind them. That is what I dislike in the other sect. They think a knife can settle all the world's difficulties; and that's a mistake. It can settle a good many, but not all."
"Do you honestly believe that it settles any?"
He looked at her in surprise.
"Of course," she went on, "it eliminates, for the moment, the practical difficulty caused by the presence of a clever spy or objectionable official; but whether it does not create worse difficulties in place of the one removed is another question. It seems to me like the parable46 of the swept and garnished47 house and the seven devils. Every assassination48 only makes the police more vicious and the people more accustomed to violence and brutality49, and the last state of the community may be worse than the first."
"What do you think will happen when the revolution comes? Do you suppose the people won't have to get accustomed to violence then? War is war."
"Yes, but open revolution is another matter. It is one moment in the people's life, and it is the price we have to pay for all our progress. No doubt fearful things will happen; they must in every revolution. But they will be isolated50 facts--exceptional features of an exceptional moment. The horrible thing about this promiscuous51 knifing is that it becomes a habit. The people get to look upon it as an every-day occurrence, and their sense of the sacredness of human life gets blunted. I have not been much in the Romagna, but what little I have seen of the people has given me the impression that they have got, or are getting, into a mechanical habit of violence."
"Surely even that is better than a mechanical habit of obedience52 and submission53."
"I don't think so. All mechanical habits are bad and slavish, and this one is ferocious54 as well. Of course, if you look upon the work of the revolutionist as the mere29 wresting55 of certain definite concessions56 from the government, then the secret sect and the knife must seem to you the best weapons, for there is nothing else which all governments so dread34. But if you think, as I do, that to force the government's hand is not an end in itself, but only a means to an end, and that what we really need to reform is the relation between man and man, then you must go differently to work. Accustoming57 ignorant people to the sight of blood is not the way to raise the value they put on human life."
"And the value they put on religion?"
"I don't understand."
He smiled.
"I think we differ as to where the root of the mischief58 lies. You place it in a lack of appreciation59 of the value of human life."
"Rather of the sacredness of human personality."
"Put it as you like. To me the great cause of our muddles60 and mistakes seems to lie in the mental disease called religion."
"Do you mean any religion in particular?"
"Oh, no! That is a mere question of external symptoms. The disease itself is what is called a religious attitude of mind. It is the morbid61 desire to set up a fetich and adore it, to fall down and worship something. It makes little difference whether the something be Jesus or Buddha62 or a tum-tum tree. You don't agree with me, of course. You may be atheist63 or agnostic or anything you like, but I could feel the religious temperament64 in you at five yards. However, it is of no use for us to discuss that. But you are quite mistaken in thinking that I, for one, look upon the knifing as merely a means of removing objectionable officials--it is, above all, a means, and I think the best means, of undermining the prestige of the Church and of accustoming people to look upon clerical agents as upon any other vermin."
"And when you have accomplished65 that; when you have roused the wild beast that sleeps in the people and set it on the Church; then----"
"Then I shall have done the work that makes it worth my while to live."
"Is THAT the work you spoke66 of the other day?"
"Yes, just that."
She shivered and turned away.
"You are disappointed in me?" he said, looking up with a smile.
"No; not exactly that. I am--I think--a little afraid of you."
She turned round after a moment and said in her ordinary business voice:
"This is an unprofitable discussion. Our standpoints are too different. For my part, I believe in propaganda, propaganda, and propaganda; and when you can get it, open insurrection."
"Then let us come back to the question of my plan; it has something to do with propaganda and more with insurrection."
"Yes?"
"As I tell you, a good many volunteers are going from the Romagna to join the Venetians. We do not know yet how soon the insurrection will break out. It may not be till the autumn or winter; but the volunteers in the Apennines must be armed and ready, so that they may be able to start for the plains directly they are sent for. I have undertaken to smuggle67 the firearms and ammunition68 on to Papal territory for them----"
"Wait a minute. How do you come to be working with that set? The revolutionists in Lombardy and Venetia are all in favour of the new Pope. They are going in for liberal reforms, hand in hand with the progressive movement in the Church. How can a 'no-compromise' anti-clerical like you get on with them?"
He shrugged69 his shoulders. "What is it to me if they like to amuse themselves with a rag-doll, so long as they do their work? Of course they will take the Pope for a figurehead. What have I to do with that, if only the insurrection gets under way somehow? Any stick will do to beat a dog with, I suppose, and any cry to set the people on the Austrians."
"What is it you want me to do?"
"Chiefly to help me get the firearms across."
"But how could I do that?"
"You are just the person who could do it best. I think of buying the arms in England, and there is a good deal of difficulty about bringing them over. It's impossible to get them through any of the Pontifical70 sea-ports; they must come by Tuscany, and go across the Apennines."
"That makes two frontiers to cross instead of one."
"Yes; but the other way is hopeless; you can't smuggle a big transport in at a harbour where there is no trade, and you know the whole shipping71 of Civita Vecchia amounts to about three row-boats and a fishing smack72. If we once get the things across Tuscany, I can manage the Papal frontier; my men know every path in the mountains, and we have plenty of hiding-places. The transport must come by sea to Leghorn, and that is my great difficulty; I am not in with the smugglers there, and I believe you are."
"Give me five minutes to think."
She leaned forward, resting one elbow on her knee, and supporting the chin on the raised hand. After a few moments' silence she looked up.
"It is possible that I might be of some use in that part of the work," she said; "but before we go any further, I want to ask you a question. Can you give me your word that this business is not connected with any stabbing or secret violence of any kind?"
"Certainly. It goes without saying that I should not have asked you to join in a thing of which I know you disapprove73."
"When do you want a definite answer from me?"
"There is not much time to lose; but I can give you a few days to decide in."
"Are you free next Saturday evening?"
"Let me see--to-day is Thursday; yes."
"Then come here. I will think the matter over and give you a final answer."
. . . . .
On the following Sunday Gemma sent in to the committee of the Florentine branch of the Mazzinian party a statement that she wished to undertake a special work of a political nature, which would for a few months prevent her from performing the functions for which she had up till now been responsible to the party.
Some surprise was felt at this announcement, but the committee raised no objection; she had been known in the party for several years as a person whose judgment74 might be trusted; and the members agreed that if Signora Bolla took an unexpected step, she probably had good reasons for it.
To Martini she said frankly75 that she had undertaken to help the Gadfly with some "frontier work." She had stipulated76 for the right to tell her old friend this much, in order that there might be no misunderstanding or painful sense of doubt and mystery between them. It seemed to her that she owed him this proof of confidence. He made no comment when she told him; but she saw, without knowing why, that the news had wounded him deeply.
They were sitting on the terrace of her lodging77, looking out over the red roofs to Fiesole. After a long silence, Martini rose and began tramping up and down with his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself--a sure sign with him of mental agitation78. She sat looking at him for a little while.
"Cesare, you are worried about this affair," she said at last. "I am very sorry you feel so despondent79 over it; but I could decide only as seemed right to me."
"It is not the affair," he answered, sullenly80; "I know nothing about it, and it probably is all right, once you have consented to go into it. It's the MAN I distrust."
"I think you misunderstand him; I did till I got to know him better. He is far from perfect, but there is much more good in him than you think."
"Very likely." For a moment he tramped to and fro in silence, then suddenly stopped beside her.
"Gemma, give it up! Give it up before it is too late! Don't let that man drag you into things you will repent81 afterwards."
"Cesare," she said gently, "you are not thinking what you are saying. No one is dragging me into anything. I have made this decision of my own will, after thinking the matter well over alone. You have a personal dislike to Rivarez, I know; but we are talking of politics now, not of persons."
"Madonna! Give it up! That man is dangerous; he is secret, and cruel, and unscrupulous-- and he is in love with you!"
She drew back.
"Cesare, how can you get such fancies into your head?"
"He is in love with you," Martini repeated. "Keep clear of him, Madonna!"
"Dear Cesare, I can't keep clear of him; and I can't explain to you why. We are tied together-- not by any wish or doing of our own."
"If you are tied, there is nothing more to say," Martini answered wearily.
He went away, saying that he was busy, and tramped for hours up and down the muddy streets. The world looked very black to him that evening. One poor ewe-lamb--and this slippery creature had stepped in and stolen it away.
几天以后，牛虻走进了公共图书馆的阅览室。他的脸仍然相当苍白，脚也比平常更瘸。正在附近一张桌子旁边看书的里卡尔多抬起了头。他非常喜欢牛虻，但是无法理解他身上的这种特性——奇特的私人怨恨。
“你是否准备再次抨击那位不幸的红衣主教吗？”他略带恼怒地问道。
“我亲爱的朋友，你为什么总、总、总是觉得人家有什么不良的动、动、动机呢？这可没、没有一点基督教精神。我正在准备为那家新报纸撰写一篇有关当代神学的文章。”
“哪家报纸？”里卡尔多皱起了眉头。新的出版法将要出台，反对派正在筹备一份将要震惊全城的激进报纸，这也许是一个公开的秘密。但是尽管这样，从形式上来说它还是一个秘密。
“当然是《骗子报》，或者是《教会历报》。”
“嘘——嘘！里瓦雷兹，我们打扰了别的读者了。”
“那好，你去钻研你的外科学吧，如果那就是你的科目，让、让、让我钻研神、神学——那是我的科目。我并不、不、不干涉你治疗跌打损伤，尽管对此我知道的比你多、多、多出许多。”
他坐了下来阅读那卷布道书，脸上露出聚精会神的表情。
图书馆的一位管理员走到他跟前。
“里瓦雷兹先生！我想你曾在考察亚马逊河支流的杜普雷兹探险队里吧？也许你能帮助我们解决一个难题。有位女士查询探险记录，可是记录正在装订。”
“她想知道什么？”
“只是探险队出发和经过厄瓜多尔的年代。”
“探险队是在１８３７年４月从巴黎出发，１８３８年４月经过基多。我们在巴西呆了三年，然后去了里约热内卢，并于１８４１年复回到巴黎。那位女士想要知道每次重大发现的具体日期吗？”
“不，谢谢你。就想知道这些。我已经把它们记下来了。贝波，请把这张纸条送给波拉夫人。多谢，里瓦雷兹先生。对不起，麻烦你了。”
牛虻靠到椅背上，迷惑不解地皱起了眉头。她想知道这些日期干什么？当他们经过厄瓜多尔时……
琼玛拿着那张纸条回到家中。１８３８年４月——亚瑟死于１８３３年５月。五年——
她开始在屋里踱来踱去。过去几个晚上，她睡得很不安宁，她的眼睛下面出现了阴影。
五年——一个“过分奢华的家庭”？——“某个他曾信任的人欺骗了他”——欺骗了他——他发现了……
她停了下来，抬起双手捂住了头。噢，这简直是在发疯——这是不可能的——这真荒唐……
可是，他们是怎么在港口打捞的？
五年——在那个拉斯加人打他时，他“还不到二十一岁”——那么他从家中逃走时一定是十九岁。他不是说过：“一年半——”他从哪儿得到那双蓝眼睛？手指为何也是那样神经质地好动呢？他为什么那么痛恨蒙泰尼里？五年——五年……
如果她能知道他是淹死了——如果她能看见尸体，那么会有一天，那个旧伤当然就不会作痛，往日的回忆就会失去恐怖。也许再过二十年，她就可以无所畏惧地回首过去。
她的全部青春毁于反思她所做过的事情。日复一日，年复一年，她毅然决然地与悔恨的恶魔进行斗争。她总是想记住她的工作是在未来。她总是闭上眼睛，捂上耳朵，躲避阴魂不散的昔日幽灵。日复一日，年复一年，溺死的尸体漂向大海的情景从来也没有离她而去，她无法遏制的那声痛叫会在她的心头响起：“我杀死了亚瑟！亚瑟已经死了。”有时她觉得她的负担太重，重得她无法承受。
现在她情愿付出半生索回那种负担。如果她杀死了他——那种悲伤是熟悉的，她已经忍受了太多的时间，现在不会被它压倒。但是如果她不是把他赶到水里，而是把他赶到——她坐了下来，双手捂住了眼睛。就是因为他的缘故，她的生活变得暗无天日，因为他死了！如果她没有使他招致比死亡更糟的东西……
她一步接着一步，沉着而坚强地走过他已往生活的地狱。
那些情景真切地展现在她的面前，仿佛她曾经看见过，仿佛她曾经体验过。赤裸的灵魂之无助的颤抖，比死亡更加苦涩的嘲笑，孤独的恐惧，缓慢、难熬、无情的痛楚。那些情景是那样的真切，仿佛她曾在那间肮脏的印第安棚屋里坐在他的身边，仿佛她曾同他一起在银矿、咖啡地、可怕的杂耍班子里受尽折磨……
杂耍班子——不，她至少必须赶走那一幕。坐在这儿想起这事足以让人发疯。
她打开写字台的小抽屉。里面放着她不忍心销毁的几件私人纪念品。她并不热衷于收藏使人感伤的小物件。保存这些纪念品是屈从于她性格中较为脆弱的一面，她一直坚定地克制住这一面。她很少允许自己看上它们一眼。
现在她把它们拿了出来，一件接着一件：乔万尼写给她的第一封信，他死时拿在手里的花儿，她那个婴儿的一束头发，还有她父亲墓上一片枯萎的树叶。抽屉的里头是亚瑟十岁的一张小照——仅存的他的一张肖像。
她把它捧在手里，坐下来望着那个漂亮孩童的头像，直到真正的亚瑟的脸庞清晰地浮现在她的面前。那么栩栩如生！
嘴唇敏感的线条、那双诚挚的大眼睛、天使般纯真的表情——
它们铭刻在她的记忆之中，仿佛他昨天才死去似的。泪水慢慢地涌了出来，模糊了她的视线，遮住了那张照片。
噢，她怎么想起了这样一件事呢！就是幻想这个业已远去的光辉灵魂受缚于生活的污秽和艰辛，那也像是亵渎啊。神灵当然还是有点爱他，让他那么年轻就死去了！他进入了虚无缥缈之中，要比他像牛虻那样生活强一千倍——牛虻，有着无可挑剔的领带和可疑的诙谐，还有犀利的舌头和那位跳芭蕾舞的姑娘！不，不！这简直是一种可怕而又愚蠢的幻想，这样沉湎于枉然的想象，她是自寻烦恼。亚瑟已经死了。
“我可以进来吗？”一个柔和的声音在门外问道。
她吃了一惊，照片遂从手中掉了下去。牛虻一瘸一拐地走进房间，把它捡了起来，然后递给了她。
“你吓了我一跳！”她说。
“对、对不起。也许我打扰了你？”
“没有。我只是在翻检一些旧东西。”
她犹豫了一会儿，然后把那张小照递回到他手里。
“你看这人的相貌如何？”
“你这是给我出了一个难题，”他说，“这张照片已经退色了，而且一个小孩的面貌总是很难判断的。但是我倒认为这个孩子长大后将是一个不幸的人，对他来说最明智的事情就是轻生，不要长大成人。”
“为什么？”
“看看唇下的线条。他这、这、这种性格的人过于敏感，觉得痛苦就是痛苦，冤屈就是冤屈。这个世界容、容、容不下这样的人，它需要的是除了工作什么也感觉不到的人。”
“他像你知道的什么人吗？”
他更加仔细地端详那张照片。
“对。真是一件怪事！当然像了，很像。”
“像谁？”
“蒙泰尼、尼里红衣主教。顺便说一下，我就纳闷无可非议的主教阁下是否有个侄子？可以问一下他是谁吗？”
“这是我的朋友小时拍的照片，我那天告诉过你——”
“就是你害死的那个人吗？”
她不由自主地哆嗦了一下。他把这个可怕的词说得多么轻松，多么残忍！
“是的，就是我害死的那个人——如果他真的死了。”
“如果？”
她盯着他的脸。
“我有时表示怀疑，”她说，“从没发现过尸体。他也许从家里逃走了，就像你一样，逃到了南美。”
“我们希望他不是吧。那样你就会噩梦缠身了。我这一生进、进、进行过几、几次艰难的战斗，也许把不只一个人打发到冥王那里去了。如果我感到内疚的是我曾把一个人打发到南美去了，那么我是睡不好觉的——”
“那么你相信，”她打断了他的话，握紧双手向他走近几步，“如果他没有淹死——如果他经历了你那些磨难——他永远都不会回来，并且不咎既往吗？你相信他永远都不会忘记吗？记住，我也为此付出了一些代价。看！”
她把浓密的黑发从额头往后掠去。黑发之中夹着一大块白发。
一阵长久的沉默。
“我认为，”牛虻缓慢地说，“死去的人最好还是死去。忘记某些事情是很难的。如果我是你那位死去的朋友，我就会做、做、做个死人。还魂的鬼是丑鬼。”
她把那张照片放回到抽屉里，然后锁上了写字台。
“这是一个冷酷的理论，”她说，“现在我们还是谈点别的东西吧。”
“我来是和你谈点小事，如果我可以——是件私事，我的脑子里有个计划。”
她把一张椅子拉到桌旁，然后坐了下来。
“你对草拟之中的新闻出版法有什么看法？”他开口说道，一点也看不出他平时结巴。
“我对它有什么看法？我看它不会有多大的价值，但是半块面包要比没有面包好。”
“那是毫无疑问的。这儿有些好人正在筹备创办新的报纸，你想为其中的一份工作吗？”
“这事我想过。创办一份报纸总是要做大量的实际工作——印刷，安排发行，以及——”
“你这样浪费你的才智要到什么时候为止？”
“为什么是‘浪费’呢？”
“因为就是浪费。你知道得十分清楚，你远比与你一起工作的大多数人聪明，你让他们把你当成一个常年苦工，整天打杂。从智力上来说，你强于格拉西尼和加利，他们仿佛就是小学生。可是你却像印刷厂的徒工一样，替他们校改清样。”
“首先我并没把我的全部时间用于校改清样，此外我觉得你夸大了我的智力。我根本就不像你想的那么精明。”
“我并不认为你有什么精明之处，”他平静地回答，“但是我确实认为你的智力是健全而又可靠的，这一点有着非常重要的意义。在委员会召开的那些沉闷的会议上，总是你指出每个人逻辑上的缺陷。”
“你这样说对别人就不公平了。比方说马尔蒂尼吧，他的逻辑能力就很强。法布里齐和莱嘉的才能也是毋庸置疑的。还有格拉西尼，对意大利经济统计数字的了解，他也许比这个国家任何一位官员都要全面。”
“呃，这并不说明什么。我们还是不去谈论他们及其才能吧。鉴于你拥有这样的天赋，你可以做些更加重要的工作，担任一个比目前更加重要的职务。”
“我对我的处境感到十分满意。我所做的工作也许没有多大的价值，但是我们都是尽力而为。”
“波拉夫人，你我已经非常熟悉了，现在不必玩弄这套恭维和谦逊的把戏。坦率地告诉我，你承认你费力所做的工作，能力比你低的人也能做吗？”
“既然你逼我回答——对，在某种程度上是吧。”
“那么为什么你还要继续下去呢？”
没有回答。
“为什么你还要继续下去呢？”
“因为——我无能为力。”
“为什么？”
她带着责备的神情抬头望着他。“这么逼我也太不客气了——这不公平。”
“但是你要告诉我为什么。”
“如果你一定要我回答，那么——因为我的生活已经支离破碎，我现在没有精力开始从事真正的工作。我大概只配当个革命的老黄牛，为党打点杂。至少我是诚心诚意的，而且必须有人来做这事。”
“当然必须有人来做这事，但是不能老是让同一人来做。”
“大概我适合吧。”
他眯着眼睛望着她，神情令人费解。她很快也抬起头来。
“我们又回到了老话题，本来是要谈正事的。告诉你，所有这些工作我也做过，我敢说一点用也没有。现在我永远都不会再做这些事情。但是也许我能帮你构思你的计划。你有什么打算？”
“你开始对我说我做什么都没有用，然后又问我想做什么。我的计划要求在付诸行动时你要帮助我，而不仅是在构思的时候。”
“让我听听，然后我们再来讨论。”
“先告诉我有关威尼斯的起义，你都听到了什么。”
“自从大赦以后，我就听到了起义的计划和圣信会的阴谋。恐怕我对这两件事都表示怀疑。”
“大多数情况下，我也是表示怀疑。但是我所说的是为了反抗奥地利人，全省真的是在认真地进行起义的准备工作。教皇领地——特别是在四大教省里——有许多年轻人暗自准备越过边境，以志愿兵的身份加入这次起义。我从我在罗马尼阿的朋友那里听说——”
“告诉我，”她打断了他的话，“你十分肯定你的那些朋友可靠吗？”
“十分肯定。我本人就认识他们，而且还同他们共过事。”
“这就是说他们是你所属的那个‘团体’的成员了？请原谅我的怀疑，但是对来自秘密团体的情报，我总是有点怀疑其准确性。在我看来——”
“谁告诉你我属于一个‘团体’？”他厉声地打断了她的话。
“没有人告诉过我，我猜的。”
“啊！”他靠在椅背上，皱着眉头望着她。“你总是猜测人家的私事吗？”他在片刻之后说道。
“经常这样。我爱好观察，而且习惯把事情凑在一起。我告诉你，要是你不想让我知道什么，你还是谨慎一些。”
“我并不介意你知道什么，只要不传出去。我想这——”
她抬起头来，惊讶之余有些生气。“确实是个没有必要的问题！”她说。
“我当然知道你不会向外人说些什么，但是我以为你也许会对别的党员——”
“党务处理的是事实，而不是私人的推测和幻想。我当然从来没有把这事跟任何人提过。”
“谢谢你。你碰巧猜出我属于哪个团体吗？”
“我希望——你不要因为我说话直率而生气。这话是你先说起的，你知道——我的确希望不是‘短刀会’。”
“你为什么这样希望？”
“因为你适合从事更好的工作。”
“我们都适合从事更好的工作。你原该这么回答。我并不属于‘短刀会’，而是属于‘红带会’。他们更加坚定，工作更加认真。”
“你指的是暗杀工作吗？”
“这是其中的一项工作吧。就其本身来说，刀子挺有用的。但是必须有组织良好的宣传作后盾。这也是我不喜欢另一个团体之处。他们认为刀子能够解决世上所有的难题。这是错误的。它能解决许多难题，但是并不能解决所有的难题。”
“你真的相信它能解决什么难题吗？”
他诧异地望着她。
“当然了，”她接着说道，“就目前来说，它能解决某个狡猾的暗探或者某个讨厌的官员所引起的实际难题，但是除去一个难题以后，它是否制造更加糟糕的难题则是另外一个问题。在我看来就像是那则寓言一样，把房子打扫装饰一新，却招来了七个魔鬼。每一次暗杀只会使警察变得更加凶狠，并使人们更加习惯于暴力和兽行，最后的情况也许会比原来更糟。”
“你认为在革命到来之时将会发生什么呢？你想那时人们就不会习惯于暴力？战争就是战争。”
“是的，但是公开的革命则是另外一回事。它是人们生活中的一个瞬间，它是我们为了一切的进步必须付出的代价。无疑将会发生可怕的事情，每一次革命都会发生这些事情。但是它们将是孤立的事实——一个非常时期的非常现象。乱动刀子之所以可怕是因为它成了一种习惯。人们把它当成每天都会发生的事情，他们对生命的神圣感变得麻木。我没去过罗马尼阿，但是从我的点滴见闻中，我得出的印象是人们已经或者正在沾染上行暴的机械习惯。”
“就是这也比顺从和屈服的机械习惯要好。”
“我并不这么认为。所有的机械习惯都是不好的、奴性的。而且这个习惯还是残忍的。当然了，如果你认为革命党人的工作只是从政府那里争取某些明确而又具体的让步，那么秘密团体和刀子在你看来一定是最好的武器，因为一切政府害怕的莫过于这些东西。但是如果你像我一样认为胁迫政府本身不是目的，仅是达到目的的一个手段，我们真正需要改革的是人与人之间的关系，那么你一定会以不同的方式去工作。让无知的人们习惯见到流血，这不是提升他们赋予生命价值的方式。”
“他们赋予宗教的价值呢？”
“我不明白。”
他微微一笑。
“我认为对于祸根的所在，我们有着不同的看法。你认为是对生命的价值重视不够。”
“而是对人性的神圣重视不够。”
“随你怎么说吧。我们的混乱和错误在我看来，主要原因在于叫做宗教的那种神经病。”
“你是指特定的一种宗教吗？”
“噢，不！这不过是个外部症状的问题。这病本身叫做宗教心理态度。它是一种病态的欲望，想要树立并且崇拜一个偶像，跪下身来尊崇某个东西。不管是基督或是佛陀，这都没有多大关系！你当然不同意我的观点。你也许是无神论者，或者是不可知论者，或者是你愿意成为的任何一种人，但是距离五码我就可以感到你的宗教气质。可是我们谈论这个是没有用的。如果你以为我把动刀子只看作是结果讨厌官员的一种手段，那你就大错特错了——它确实是一种手段，可我认为最好的手段是破坏教会的名誉，要使人们习惯于把教会的代理人看作是毒虫。”
“等你达到了这个目的，等你唤起安眠在人们心中的野兽，把它放出去攻击教会，那么——”
“那么我就完成了不虚此生的工作。”
“这就是你那天谈到的工作吗？”
“是的，就是这个。”
她浑身颤抖，然后转过身去。
“你对我感到失望吗？”他说，抬头微微一笑。
“不，并不完全是这个。我是——我想是吧——有点怕你。”
过了一会儿，她转过身来，带着平常那种谈论正事的口气说道：“这是无益的讨论。我们的立场迥然不同。就我来说，我相信宣传、宣传和宣传。等到时机成熟就举行公开的暴动。”
“那么还是让我们再来谈谈我的计划吧，它与宣传有关，更与暴动有关。”
“是吗？”
“正如我所说的那样，许多志愿人员正从罗马尼阿进入威尼斯。我们还不知道暴动多快就会举行，也许不到秋天或者冬天。但是亚平宁山区的志愿人员必须武装起来，并且作好准备，这样他们听到召唤以后就能直接开往平原。我已经着手帮他们把武器和弹药私运进教皇领地——”
“等一等。你怎么和那个团体一起共事呢？伦巴第和威尼斯的革命党人全都拥护新教皇。他们正与教会中的进步势力携手推进自由改良。像你这样一个‘毫不妥协’的反教会人士怎么能和他们相处呢？”
他耸了耸肩膀。“只要他们别忘了自己的工作，他们找个破布娃娃自得其乐与我又有什么关系呢？他们当然会把教皇当成一个傀儡。如果暴动正在筹备之中，我为什么要去管这个呢？棍子能够打狗就行，口号能够唤起人们反抗奥利地人就行，管它是什么口号。”
“你想让我做什么？”
“主要是帮我把武器私运过去。”
“但是我怎么才能做到呢？”
“你恰是这项工作的最佳人选。我想过要在英国购买武器，把它们带过来困难很大。运进教皇领地的任何一个港口都是不可能的。必须通过托斯卡纳，然后运过亚平宁山区。”
“这样就要两次越过边境，而不是一次。”
“对，但是另一条路毫无希望。你无法把大批的货物运进没有贸易的港口，而且你也知道契维塔韦基亚的全部船只是三条划艇和一条渔船。如果我们一旦把东西运过托斯卡纳，我就可以设法把它们运过教皇领地的边境。我手下的人熟悉山里每一条道路，而且我们有许多藏匿的地点。货物必须通过海上运到里窝那，这是我面临的最大困难。我与那里的私贩子没有来往，我相信你与他们有来往。”
“让我考虑五分钟。”
她倾身向前，胳膊肘支在膝上，一只手托着下巴。沉默了几分钟以后，她抬起头来。
“这方面的工作我也许能派上一些用场，”她说，“但是在我们进一步讨论之前，我想向你提出一个问题。你能向我保证，这事与任何行刺或者任何秘密暴力没有关系吗？”
“那当然了。我不会请你参加你所不赞成的事情，这一点无须赘言。”
“什么时候你想从我这里得到一个明确的答复？”
“没有多少时间了，但是我可以给你几天时间作出决定。”
“这个星期六晚上你有空吗？”
“让我看看——今天是星期四。有空。”
“那么就到这儿来吧，这事我会再三考虑，然后给你一个最终的答复。”
随后的那个星期天里，琼玛给玛志尼党的佛罗伦萨支部送去一份声明，表示她想去执行一项特殊的政治工作，这样在今后的几个月里，她无法履行她一直从事的党内工作。
有人对于这份声明感到惊讶，但是委员会没有表示反对。
这几年以来，党内的人都知道可以依赖她的判断。委员们认为如果波拉夫人采取了一个意外的举措，那么她很可能是有充足的理由。
对于马尔蒂尼，她就直截了当。她说自己决定帮助牛虻做些“边境工作”。她已和牛虻讲好，她有权把这么多的情况告诉给她这位老朋友，以免他们之间产生误解，或者因为怀疑和迷惑而觉得痛苦。她觉得应该这样做，借以证明对他的信任。当她把情况告诉他时，他未作评论。但是她看得出来，也不知道为什么，反正这个消息使他受到了很大的伤害。
他们坐在她的寓所阳台上，眺望菲耶索尔那边的红色屋顶。沉默良久以后，马尔蒂尼站了起来，开始踱来踱去，双手插在口袋里，嘴里吹着口哨——显然这是心绪烦躁的确切迹象。她坐在那儿，看了他一会儿。
“塞萨雷，你对这事放心不下，”她最后说道，“真是对不起，你竟然感到这样不高兴。但是我可以决定在我看来是正确的事情。”
“不是这事，”他生气地回答，“对此我一无所知，一旦你同意去做这事，那么它可能就是对的。我只是信不过那个人。”
“我看你是误解他了，我在深入了解他之前也信不过他。他远不是一个完美的人，但是他的优点比你想的要多。”
“很有可能。”有一段时间，他默不做声地踱着步，然后停下脚步站在她的身边。
“琼玛，放弃这件事吧！趁早放弃这件事吧！别让那个家伙把你拖进你会后悔的事中。”
“塞萨雷，”她温柔地说道，“你都没有想想你在说些什么。没有人把我拖进任何事中。我是独自作出这个决定，独自反复考虑了这件事。我知道你个人讨厌里瓦雷兹，但是我们现在讨论的是政治，而不是个人。”
“夫人！放弃它吧！那个家伙很危险，他既阴险又残酷，而且肆无忌惮——他爱上你了！”
她身体往后一缩。“塞萨雷，你怎么这样胡思乱想呢？”
“他爱上你了，”马尔蒂尼重复说道，“离开他吧，夫人！”
“亲爱的塞萨雷，我无法离开他，我无法向你解释这是为什么。我们已被绑在了一起——既不是出于任何的希望，也不是出于任何的行动。”
“如果你们已被绑在了一起，那就没有什么可说的了。”马尔蒂尼无精打采地答道。
他说要忙着办事去，随后就走开了。他在泥泞的街上走了几个小时。在他看来，那天傍晚世界是那么黑暗。最心爱的人——可是那个滑头的家伙闯了进来，把她偷走了。
收听单词发音 |
1
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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maliciousness
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| [法] 恶意 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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tributaries
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| n. 支流 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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23
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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witticisms
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| n.妙语，俏皮话( witticism的名词复数 ) | |
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28
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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abstain
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| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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factotum
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| n.杂役；听差 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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52
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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53
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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54
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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55
wresting
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| 动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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56
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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57
accustoming
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| v.（使）习惯于( accustom的现在分词 ) | |
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58
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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59
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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60
muddles
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| v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的第三人称单数 )；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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61
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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62
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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63
atheist
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| n.无神论者 | |
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64
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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65
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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66
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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smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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68
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pontifical
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| adj.自以为是的，武断的 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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72
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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74
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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76
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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77
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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