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波兰吹号手|Polish trumpeter

第八章　纽扣脸彼得|VIII. PETER OF THE BUTTON FACE

属类： 双语小说 【分类】双语小说 -[作者: 埃里克-凯利] 阅读：[18214]
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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暑去秋来。酷热的天气让维斯瓦河的水位不断降低，逐渐流成了一条细长的丝带，干涸的河床露出了大片的黄色泥沙。树叶渐渐由绿变黄，候鸟已经做好了向南迁徙的准备，一旦出现天气转凉的信号，就立刻出发。大草原上每天都有来来往往的马和车，全国各地的谷仓和棚子里都已经堆满了干草。秋天的果实已经上市，头茬的苹果、金色的小南瓜、晚熟的卷心菜摆满了市场。整个城市，甚至整个国家的天空都是湛蓝而美妙的。初秋之时，全世界任何地方的天空都不及克拉科夫的蓝，任何地方的阳光都不及克拉科夫的灿烂。

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收获石楠的月份过去，又到了收获大麻的时节。此时，约瑟夫已经掌握了《海那圣歌》的整首乐谱，能够用他父亲的铜号吹奏这首短小的颂歌了。他甚至还在圣玛利亚教堂的塔楼上吹奏了一次。那天晚上，他的父亲朝着西面、南面和东面的窗口各吹奏了一次，就把朝着北面窗口吹奏的任务交给了约瑟夫。

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聪明伶俐的埃尔兹别塔比约瑟夫的乐感还好，她早已记住了约瑟夫的乐谱，不仅能哼出《海那圣歌》的曲子，还能在墙上或者羊皮纸上一行不差地把乐谱默写下来。

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这天晚上，埃尔兹别塔又来找安德鲁太太——她现在经常下来，因为她的叔叔忙着和特林进行新的实验。

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约瑟夫突然兴奋地说道：“不久之后，我就能朝着四个方向吹奏《海那圣歌》啦！”

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埃尔兹别塔一只手托着下巴，每一次严肃思考和说话的时候她都是这个样子。“我一定认真地听，”她说道，“现在，当我在夜里听到《海那圣歌》的乐曲，都会比以往更觉得心安——每次半夜醒来的时候，房间里经常空空荡荡的。约瑟夫，”她降低了声调说道，“你知道吗，我觉得我叔叔好像着魔了。”

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约瑟夫被这话一惊，“着魔？着什么魔？”

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“我也不知道，但他完全像变了一个人。他并没有丧失神志，他很正常，和以前一样精明，也像过去一样和蔼，但他的心思都在阁楼里，几乎不关心我了，也不和其他的朋友打交道了。还有那个学生，约翰·特林——”

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“嗯，我知道他。”约瑟夫马上回答道。

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“他和我叔叔每天晚上都在阁楼上，有时候一直待到天亮。他们总是说些奇怪的事情，有几次我还听到我叔叔的叫喊声，好像很痛苦。我让你帮我上楼察看的那晚你也听到过那种声音，一样的声音。”

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“我把那天晚上听到的都告诉我父亲了，”约瑟夫接着说道，“他只是说我们管不着别人的事情，而且你叔叔对我们一直很好，他知道自己在做什么。我父亲还让我不要再去偷听。他说你叔叔是个伟大的学者，现在也许是在进行会让他声名大振的研究。”

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“唉，也许吧，”埃尔兹别塔若有所思地说着，“但我还是更喜欢我叔叔以前的样子。”

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从那时候起，埃尔兹别塔更像是安德鲁先生家中的一员。下午她会带着针线来到楼下，一边干活，一边和安德鲁太太聊天，有时还低声哼着小曲。每天傍晚约瑟夫从学校回来后，两人就结伴到街上散步，看看城里一天发生的新鲜事，看看是不是有新来的商队、露天表演，看看骑士和士兵队伍以及商会的游行。有时候他们也穿过城门，去郊外看看，那里有成片的富饶黑土。每次出去，那只鞑靼人的大狗总是跟着，有时跑在他们身后，有时跟在他们旁边，有时会跑到他们前面。他们也会走到犹太老城卡其米日，穿过横跨在维斯瓦河西边的桥，到达斯加尔卡的老教堂，据说圣人斯坦尼斯拉斯就是在那里的圣坛上被杀害的。他们也会走到能俯瞰城市的高地，老国王克拉库斯就葬在那里。趁天色还不晚，空气还不算寒冷的时候，他们还一起去了许多这样的地方。

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一天黄昏，他们一起来到圣玛利亚教堂。守门人让他们从塔楼下面的小门进入，然后他们爬上了塔楼号手的房间。白天的吹号手正在值班，安德鲁先生晚上接替的就是这个人。有埃尔兹别塔这么年轻的姑娘来塔楼参观，让他倍感荣幸。他兴奋地讲了许多关于圣玛利亚教堂的传奇故事，这些故事都是从教堂建立的时候传下来的。

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约瑟夫从桌子上拿起了他父亲的铜号，对埃尔兹别塔说道：“等我第一次吹奏四次《海那圣歌》的时候，你一定要听啊，看看我有没有吹错哪个音符。”

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“我一定好好听。”

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“如果我吹错了一个音符，就把我的帽子给你；要是吹错了两个，‘狼’就归你了。”约瑟夫微笑着，然后说出了一个孩子气的想法，“如果我完整地吹出《海那圣歌》，而没有突然的停顿，你就去找扬·康迪神父，让他召集卫兵，因为那肯定是我出意外了。”

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“你是什么意思？”埃尔兹别塔满脸严肃地看着笑嘻嘻的约瑟夫。

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“你知道这首曲子《海那圣歌》的故事吗？”

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“知道。”埃尔兹别塔回答。

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“那你一定知道鞑靼人放火烧城的时候，当时值班的号手一直坚守岗位，在生命的最后一刻依旧坚守誓言，按时吹响号角吧。”

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“嗯……是个非常勇敢的故事。”

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“那么，”约瑟夫欣喜地看到埃尔兹别塔睁大了蓝色的眼睛，“如果有一天晚上，鞑靼人或者十字军再次攻城，我在塔楼上就能远远地看到他们，透过火与烟，我肯定还能听到战争的喧嚣和马蹄声。那天晚上，我孤身一人在塔楼上守望，既没有我父亲，也没有其他人的陪伴。当我意识到敌军来临的时候，我必须发出信号，因为我不能离开塔楼，便只能发出一个好让城里的某人替我发出警报的信号。我将吹响《海那圣歌》，但我不会像往常一样在中断的音符处停下来，我会继续吹奏出剩下的几个音符，完成整个乐曲。”

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“太棒了！”埃尔兹别塔大声说道，脸颊兴奋地红润起来，“如果我听到你完整地吹奏《海那圣歌》，我就立刻去找扬·康迪神父。”

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“好了，到这儿来看看这座城市。”约瑟夫中断了这个话题，他心中有一丝歉疚，因为他完全没有想到埃尔兹别塔会如此严肃地对待他所说的话。他本来只是把号角信号的话当成玩笑而已，但她却像是得知了亲密朋友分享的秘密一样，兴奋不已。而且，约瑟夫确实在她生命中占有重要地位，这不仅是因为他在吹号方面能力出众，或者是他在学校里表现优异，而是因为他比同龄的男孩子更加成熟稳重。

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他们站在一扇小窗前面，向外望去。右侧是圣弗洛里安街，这条街一直通向城门和城外的教堂。这一年城墙内正在建造新的塔楼，其中两座靠近弗洛里安城门，从圣玛利亚教堂的塔内就能看见。城里的每个商会都掌管着一座塔楼，负责塔楼的维修以及在外敌进攻的时候召集人手。靠近这座城门的两座塔楼分配给了工匠商会和裁缝商会。教堂和这些塔楼之间的空地上还建着许多宫殿，每个宫殿的中间都有一个巨大的露天围场，里面的卫兵有的在执勤，有的在等待任务，还有一些在自娱自乐，要么用铁头木棒敲打对方的头，要么练习击剑，要么就瞄准绑在高杆顶上的鸽子练习射箭。

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虽然已经将近傍晚，圣玛利亚大教堂正下方的市场依然很热闹，这时农民们都开始甩卖剩下的货物准备回家了；布楼的拱廊下面，人们依然逐个摊位地逛着，挑选花边布、刺绣和丝绸，这些可都是从东部和南部的地区运来的；老布楼的后面可以看到市政大厅的高塔，有两个不幸的人正在被当街示众，他们戴着枷锁挣扎着，一群调皮的小孩正捡起地上的烂菜叶子和泥巴往他们身上扔。从窗户的左侧可以看到圣方济各教堂的塔顶——之后，他们转到南面的窗口，那里能够看见圣安德鲁教堂的双子塔，再远处，宏大的石头城堡瓦维尔城堡在傍晚的阳光下金碧辉煌。

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他们从教堂的塔楼下来时，暗蓝色的影子已经拉长，覆盖了市集广场。那些位于开放空间的宫殿也投射出重重叠叠的影子，身穿黑袍的学生和教师们像是行走的影子，悠闲地走在房屋的阴影下。这些人都朝着同一个方向，约瑟夫和埃尔兹别塔也被卷到了人群中，他们跟随着人流，猜想学生广场上肯定发生了什么事情。

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越来越多穿黑袍的人围到一起，最后，约瑟夫和埃尔兹别塔停下脚步，费力地冲出左右推搡的人群，才到了圣安街的宿舍前面的一个有利位置。这个宿舍楼向内缩在路的一边，楼前是一片长满青草的开阔空地，草地的正中央竖立着一座卡济米尔大帝的雕像，是他创办了克拉科夫大学。就在这座雕像的底座上面，一个人穿着文学硕士长袍，正斜靠在支撑着卡济米尔雕像的王座上，用拉丁语向聚集起来的学生演讲。

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“我今天正好听人讲到他了，”约瑟夫悄悄地告诉埃尔兹别塔，“他是个著名的学者，来自意大利，来这里给大家念诵大师的作品和他自己写的诗。他提到了但丁和彼特拉克之类的诗人，他说终有一天新学会成为主流。他还说人们已经被黑暗和无知蒙蔽太久了，只有当人们能够用母语书写并自我思考的时候，罗马败落后所盛行的野蛮才会结束。”

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“你真的能听得懂他说的是什么？”

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“勉强可以听懂。他说的是拉丁语，我们学校的所有老师、牧师和学者都说拉丁语。我八岁的时候，父亲就给我请了老师，从那时候起，我就经常使用拉丁语。刚开始学的时候，我并不感兴趣，主要是它的语法规则太烦琐了，但当我知道拉丁语能够让我了解世界上最为高贵的社会时，就慢慢喜欢上它了。来这里上学这几个月，所有的课程都是用拉丁语讲的，我真希望自己也能流利地讲拉丁语。好在，大部分内容我都能听懂，虽然不是全部。”

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“那为什么这个意大利诗人不在大学里演讲呢？”

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“他可能，也许是——在一定程度上，他的演讲会引起人们的争执，因为很多老师不喜欢所谓的‘新学’。现在学校的教学方法都是从伟大的亚里士多德那里传下来的，可我们却从没有在最原汁原味的希腊文章中对他进行过了解，因为我们学的所有内容都是用拉丁语写的。老师们借鉴的都是几百年来积累下来的教学经验和相关文献，大多数人都不愿意改变他们的教学方式。”

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此时，这位意大利学者开始用拉丁语念他自己写的诗歌。他刚刚念完，在人群的欢呼中，一名波兰学者就登上雕像底座，开始用波兰语朗诵自己写的作品。

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“为什么他们不全都说波兰语呢？”埃尔兹别塔问道，“那样的话，人们就能听懂他们的话了。如果我是个诗人，我才不会用那种只有少数学者会用的语言写诗呢。我就描写波兰和这里的鲜花，我就写塔楼里的号手，还有瓦维尔山上的城堡背后的蓝天。说真的，我喜欢你所说的新学。”

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约瑟夫微笑着，不知道怎么接话。

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“而且，”她继续说道，“为什么女人不能像男人一样学习呢？为什么只有男人才能读到这些诗人和学者的作品呢？我也想读。”

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她的一字一句说得很严肃，而且不无道理。约瑟夫开始只想一笑了之，但看到埃尔兹别塔一脸严肃，也正经起来。

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“是啊，”他最后说道，“我也不知道你为什么不能像男人那样读书，但我从没见过女人上大学的。”

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当约瑟夫和埃尔兹别塔穿过小巷从圣安街返回鸽子街的时候，他们并没有注意到，有两个人正躲在远处的一座房子后面，悄悄地谈论着。这两人的身材都不高，其中一人驼着背——说话的时候，把细长的手指放到嘴边，“嘘……那就是那个男孩。”

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另一个人心里咯噔一声，迅速转过头来，疑惑地问道：“你说他是什么时候来的？”

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那个驼背男人正是斯塔斯，看院子的妇人的儿子，他说了一个日期。

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“一定是他，”另一个人激动地说，“那天见他的时候，他是一幅乡下年轻人的打扮，衣服也脏兮兮的，满身尘土。现在他穿上了天鹅绒，戴着学生的帽子，还挺像个贵族；不过我还能认出他的身形。你说他就住在你们楼上？”

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“是的，姓科沃斯基。”

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“哼……据我所知，他们应该姓恰尔涅茨基……现在，听我说——看见这块金子了吧？这可是真金，够你买不少佳肴美酒了。这就是给你的，你一个人的。”

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当陌生人把金币放到他手里的时候，斯塔斯几乎要高兴地尖叫出来。

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“不过，不要和任何人说起这件事，这是你和我之间的交易。我告诉你，等事成了，你还将得到更多金子。现在给我带路，告诉我他们住在哪里。”

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他们一直跟踪着约瑟夫和埃尔兹别塔，直到他们进了院门。

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“就是这里。”斯塔斯指着大门说道。

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“太好了。现在，给我盯紧了，有什么事情及时向我汇报。每天下午三点我都在金象旅馆，不过，不要和那里的任何人说你要找我，你掌握的消息只能告诉我一个人。记住，今晚用灯笼照亮那个男人的脸。你会得到更多金子。懂吗？”

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斯塔斯完全明白，只要一想到有大笔奖赏，他的肩膀似乎都要笑起来了。他走进院里，立刻回了自己的房间。

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与此同时，另外一个人也迅速返回了旅馆。他在一张桌子前坐了下来，头脑中思绪飞舞，能够成功找到安德鲁先生一家真是超级幸运啊。这的确是幸运，因为就算在大街上和约瑟夫撞了个正着，他也绝不可能认出来。要不是斯塔斯说这个男孩的父亲只有夜里才出门，他根本就不会联想到许多个礼拜前的早上，在泥地里把他的马踹跑的那个男孩。而他自己就是那个自称斯蒂芬·奥斯特洛夫斯基的人。

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那天他们发生冲突之后，这一家人就消失了——他坐在旅店思考着——无处可寻，好像是突然裂开了一道地缝，把他们一家吞没了。克拉科夫也有一些其他的姓恰尔涅茨基的人家，但都不符合这家人的情况——我差不多都要放弃找他们了，也就是要放弃一座城堡和无数黄金。当时伊凡亲口许诺过会有回报。我还回了一趟乌克兰，也没听到他们的音信。我的手下直到现在还骑行在各个城市搜索他们，也一无所获。同时，我收到了从某处传来的一些微小的明智的线索，就又回到这里。

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他突然重重一拳打在桌子上，“人们叫我博格丹·格罗兹尼——恶人博格丹，”他恶狠狠地说道，“不过，恶人总得有头脑。既然我在一开始的时候就走了运，那最后也会圆满收场。等我拿到了我要找的东西，一定让那个白脸波兰人付出代价，以报那日在克拉科夫城门外的羞辱之仇。”他心里想到当时的情形，眼中浮现出恨意。

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此时，他的注意力转移到一个脸上绑着脏兮兮的绷带的乞丐身上，这个乞丐正哀号着挨桌乞讨。

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当乞丐靠近时，男人在乞丐伸出的手里扔了一枚硬币，低声说道：“你今天来晚了。”

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“请原谅，主人。我以为我能打探到点什么消息呢。”

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乞丐好像已经做好了挨揍的准备，做出防御的姿态，但男人只是微笑了一下。

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“没关系，任务已经完成了。”他低声说着，“今晚，你就快马加鞭，赶到塔尔诺夫，召集你的弟兄们，让他们带上正在进行搜捕的人手。这大概得用三个礼拜时间——不过，一定要在初雪之前赶回来。”

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乞丐收到命令，就又佯装着镇定的样子，如同进来的时候一样，缓缓走出了旅馆，蹒跚地向前走，直到拐进了市场西边的街道。他突然躲到一座房子的扶壁后面，扯掉脸上的绷带，全速向莫吉列夫路的城门跑去，以便在夜间换岗前顺利通过城门。

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他出了城门，然后便悠闲地顺着路慢走，直到来到一户小农舍。农舍后面有一座马厩，他在那里找到了自己来克拉科夫时所骑的马。他跟农舍的主人只说了一个词，而对方似乎能全然明白他的行动，然后他便纵马飞驰向远处那座通往塔尔诺夫的桥。

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旅馆里的那个男人继续思考着，“那个叫斯塔斯的驼背杂种简直就是我的福星。以前经常见他在这里和那些乞丐谈天说地，看见他的第一眼，我就知道他有一天能派上用场。所以，我让店家给他送上一杯酒，以示友好，然后和他攀谈起来，他就谈到了那个新来的吹号手白天从不出门！虽然那个男孩换上了天鹅绒的衣服，但我敢肯定他就是那家的孩子，他们一家人到达的日期也都能对上。今天晚上那个号手出门的时候，斯塔斯会用灯笼照亮他的脸，我会躲在附近，一探究竟——不过，这也没什么必要了，事情已经很清楚了。我的人一两个星期之内就进城了，然后一切就会很快结束了。”

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想到这里，他的脸就兴奋得有些发白，脸上那块纽扣形状的疤像血块一样更加显眼。

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“到时候看看那个尊贵的安德鲁先生会怎么说！”他想着想着，笑出了声——“他会知道在他的眼前是博格丹·格罗尼兹吗？因为，他，以及乌克兰的每个人，都认识纽扣脸彼得。我跟他们说我姓奥斯特洛夫斯基，这是个有身份的姓氏啊，是曾经在海乌姆把我当奴隶使唤的人家的姓氏。”

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确实，纽扣脸彼得是乌克兰人人谈及色变的名字。波兰人都这么叫他，其实他的真名叫博格丹，哥萨克人都叫他格罗尼兹或者恶人。这个亡命之徒的父亲是哥萨克人，母亲是鞑靼人。过去的十年中，他参与了边境发生的所有阴谋事件，烧毁了大量的房屋，残忍地杀害了无数百姓。他在乌克兰还有一帮随叫随到的手下，随时受他的指使杀人放火。

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甚至一些大人物也会找上门来，有波兰的，也有莫斯科的，他们委托他完成一些非法的勾当，一些贵族会雇佣他处理一些自己不敢亲自出面解决的事务，鞑靼的大汗甚至派他到金帐汗国执行一项秘密任务。他的名字在两国边境地区都很响亮，甚至波兰还有专门听他差遣的同伙。

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如今，乌克兰这个伟大的国家——一百多年前，立陶宛的亚盖洛大公和波兰女王雅德维加的结合将乌克兰纳入了波兰的版图——而现在，这片广阔的土地在波兰和俄国的争夺下充满了阴谋和算计。莫斯科的伊凡大公早就开始觊觎这块地盘，因为在拜占庭时期，这里曾经是俄国的中心，基辅就是它的首都，他现在正计划着趁机从波兰手里把它夺走。就是在这种政治背景下，无数像安德鲁·恰尔涅茨基先生这样的无辜百姓一夜之间家破人亡，因为有许多像恶人博格丹——也就是波兰人所称的纽扣脸彼得——这样的人，为了赏钱时刻准备着烧杀抢掠。

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然而此时，安德鲁先生一家正安静地享受着晚餐，他们完全不知道危险即将到来。

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Summer burned itself into fall. The Vistula, which had been growing ever lower and lower with the heat, was now but a narrow ribbon of water, and the banks along it were parched and dried and yellow. Leaves were changing from green to brown, and the birds were making ready to leave for southern lands as soon as the first suggestion of cold should appear. Across the meadows now the horses and wagons were marching daily, and the dry hay was filling barn and shelter in all the country about. The fruits of the autumn were already appearing in the market, the apples of the first bearing, the golden squashes, and the late cabbage. And over the city and country hung a sky of deep, exquisite blue, for in all the world there is no sky so blue as is the Krakow sky, and no sun is so gold as is the sun of early autumn.

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When the Month of the Heather had passed by and the Month of Hemp Beating was at hand, Joseph had learned all the notes of the Heynal and could play the little hymn upon his father’s trumpet. Once, even, he had played it in the tower; on that night his father had played it toward the west, south, and east, and then had allowed the boy to play it at the north window.

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The girl, Elzbietka, a little quicker of ear than Joseph, had long since mastered the air and quickly memorized Joseph’s notes, so that she could not only hum the music, but reproduce it in writing upon awall or piece of parchment.

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One evening when Elzbietka was visiting Joseph’s mother—and she came more and more frequently now, since the alchemist had began to carry on new experiments with Tring—Joseph exclaimed suddenly:

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Before long I shall play all four Heynals.

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She let her chin rest upon one hand, as she did often when she thought and when she spoke seriously. "I shall listen," she said. "It comforts me more than ever now when I hear the hymn played in the nighttime—since there is seldom anyone in our rooms when I awake. Joseph," she spoke in a very low tone, "do you know I think that my uncle is possessed?"

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He gave a great start. "Possessed—and by whom?"

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I don’t know. But he isn’t himself. It isn’t that he is out of his wits—no, not that at all. He is just as intelligent and just as kind as he ever was, but he has become so interested in something that he is doing in the loft that he thinks but little of me or of his friends in the world. There is that student, Johann Tring—

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Yes, I know, he answered quickly.

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He and my uncle are together in the loft every night. Sometimes they stay there until it is light. They say queer things, and sometimes my uncle cries out as if he were in pain. You heard them the night that I told you to go up the stair-case. It is always like that.

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I told Father what I heard that night, said Joseph, "and he only said that it was none of our affair, that your uncle is a man who has been very kind to us, and who knows what he is about. Also he forbade me ever to spy upon your uncle again. Father said that youruncle is a great scholar and that he is now probably working upon something that will win him fame."

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Aye—perhaps, she meditated, "but I loved him better as he was."

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From that time on Elzbietka became more and more a part of Pan Andrew’s family. In the afternoons she used to bring her sewing downstairs into the front room and sit there for hours working and chatting or humming little tunes under her breath. When Joseph returned from his studies in the afternoon the two were accustomed to walk out into the city and see its changing wonders, its new caravans, its pageants, its companies of knights and soldiers, its processions of guilds. Often they walked out through the gates into the country, where there was rich black earth, and behind them or alongside or ahead ran the great Tartar dog. The walks took them to the old Jewish city of the Kazimierz, across the fortified bridge on the west arm of the Vistula, to the old church on the Skalka where the holy Stanislas was murdered at his altar, to the high mound above the city where it was said that old King Krakus was buried; to these and to many other places had they wandered while the sun was bright and the air not too cool.

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Once they went to visit the towers of the Church of Our Lady Mary in the late afternoon. The watchman let them in at the little gate at the base of the tower and they climbed up to the room where the day trumpeter was on duty. He was the man that Pan Andrew relieved at night, and he thought it a great honor to have a visit from such a little lady as Elzbietka, and he told her many of the legends which have come down from old days, when the church tower was being built.

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Joseph picked up his father’s trumpet from the table. "When I first play all the four Heynals you must listen and see if you hear a single note played wrong."

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I will listen.

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If I play a wrong note, I will give you my cap. If I play two, then I will give you Wolf. He smiled then, as a boyish thought came to him. "If I ever play the Heynal through to the end, without stopping at the broken note, then you may run to Jan Kanty and tell him to summon the watch, for then something will have happened to me."

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How do you mean? She was, as ever, serious, though he was smiling.

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You know the story of this hymn, the Heynal?

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Yes, she answered.

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How, when the Tartars burned the city, the trumpeter stayed on duty and played the hours as he had sworn?

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Yes.... A brave story.

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Well—Joseph liked to see the blue eyes widen—"one night the Tartars will attack the city, or perhaps the Knights of the Cross. I shall see them coming from afar, in the midst of fire and smoke, and I shall hear war cries and their horses’ hoofs. And I shall be all alone in the tower that night, for neither my father nor any person will be here. And when I realize that it is an enemy, I must have a signal, since I myself may not leave the tower—a signal to someone in the town who will give the alarm. So I will play the Heynal, but I will not stop on the broken note. That note does not end the measure, you know. I will play on, two or three notes further."

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Excellent, she cried, and her cheeks were red with theexcitement of it. "If I hear you play the Heynal without stopping at the broken note, I will run straight to Jan Kanty."

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Now come look at the city, he broke off conversation on the subject. He was a little ashamed, for he had not expected Elzbietka to take his remarks quite so seriously. She had not taken the trumpet signal as the jest he intended, but had rejoiced at it, as do most young people when they have a secret with some important person. And, to her, Joseph was a person of very great importance, not only because of his prowess with the trumpet and his progress in the collegium but because, indeed, he possessed somehow more than ordinary seriousness for a boy of his age.

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They peered through a little window. Off to the right ran the Street of St. Florian, with the gate and church beyond: new towers were being constructed that very year in the walls that ran about the city, and two of them near the Florian Gate were visible from the tower of the Church of Our Lady Mary. To each city guild was assigned one of these towers, to be kept in repair and to be manned in case of attack on the city. The joiners’ and the tailors’ guilds had watchtowers near this gate. Between these watchtowers and the church were many palaces with large enclosures in the center, open to the sun, where guards and soldiers were working or waiting or disporting themselves, breaking each other’s heads with quarter-staves, or fencing, or shooting with arrows at pigeons tied to the tops of high poles.

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Directly below them the market was still busy, although it was late afternoon, for the peasants were ready to sell at small profit what remained of their stock and go home; under the arches of the Cloth Hall the crowds were still passing from booth to booth, examiningthe laces and embroidery and fine silks that had come in from the east and south; beyond the Cloth Hall rose the tower of the Town House, or Ratusz, and in front of it two luckless wretches struggled in the pillory while a crowd of urchins pelted them with mud and decayed vegetables. To the left rose the peak of the Church of the Franciscans—they passed to the south window and there saw the twin towers of the old Church of St. Andrew, and far beyond it the great rock citadel, the Wawel, with its palace and cathedral glorious in the afternoon sun.

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There were blue shadows already lengthening across the market when they descended from the tower and crossed the market square. Against the palaces that lined the open space there were more shadows, and moving like shadows within these shadows promenaded black-gowned students and masters. They were moving definitely in one direction, and when once caught up in the crowd, Joseph and Elzbietka followed, unresisting, for they knew that some excitement was afoot in the students’ quarter.

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The black figures grew constantly more and more numerous, until at length the two stopped and pushed right and left in an endeavor to reach a position of vantage in front of the dormitory in St. Ann’s Street. The dormitory was set back from the street, and in front was an open court, grassed over, in the center of which was a stone statue of Kazimirthe Great, the founder of the university. Here, upon the pedestal of this statue, leaning back upon the throne which bore Kazimir, stood a man in the gown of a master of arts, speaking to the assembled students in the Latin language.

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I heard of him today, Joseph told Elzbietka. "He is a celebrated Italian scholar who comes here to read the writings of themaster poets and to recite some verses of his own. He talks of poets who bear such names as Dante and Petrarch, and he says that the day will come when a new learning will rule the world. He says that men have been in darkness too long, that the barbarism which fell upon the world after the downfall of Pome will be done away with only when men write in their native tongues and think for themselves."

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And can you really understand him when he speaks?

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After a fashion. He speaks Latin, as do all our masters and priests and scholars. My father had teachers for me when I was eight years old, and since then I have worked much with the Latin tongue. At first it pleased me not at all, for there were rules and tables and grammar, but when I began to understand that Latin would admit me into the proudest society of the world, then I began to like it better. In the months that I have been here my teaching has all been in Latin, and I hope, myself, to be able to speak it fluently sometime. I can understand much, though not all.

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Why does not this Italian poet speak, then, in the university?

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He might, perhaps—but to a certain extent it would stir up strife, since there are those among the masters who do not like the New Learning, as it is called. Our old teachings are all of the great Aristotle, and yet we have never read anything of him in the Greek language—everything that we study is in Latin. We have many treatises upon learning which the masters have used for centuries, and most of them do not desire to change their ways.

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The Italian scholar at that moment began to read his own verses in the Latin tongue. He had scarcely finished, amid much acclaim, when a Polish scholar mounted the pedestal and began to read some of his verses written in the Polish language.

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Why do they not all do that? asked Elzbietka. "One can understand them so much better. If I were a poet, I should not think of writing in an old language that no one speaks except a few scholars. I would write of Poland and its flowers; I would write of the trumpeter in the tower and the blue sky that one sees behind the castle on Wawel Hill. Truly, I like this New Learning as you call it."

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Joseph smiled but knew not what to say.

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And, she continued, "why is not this learning as good for women as it is for men? Why is it that all writings of poets and scholars and men of learning should be read only by men? I would read such writings too."

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It was said with such gravity and such an air of wisdom that at first Joseph was inclined to smile, but as he looked into her face and saw the seriousness there, he desisted.

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Truly, he said finally, "I know not why you should not read as do men, but I know of no woman who ever entered the university."

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As they turned through a short lane from St. Anne’s Street to the Street of the Pigeons they failed to notice a pair of men conversing quietly behind the buttress of a house on the farther side. Both were of short stature, and one was much bent—as he spoke he raised his long, lean fingers close to his mouth:

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Sh-h.... That is the boy.

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The other started and turned quickly, but appeared puzzled. "When did you say he came?"

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The bent-over man, who was no other than Stas, son of the woman who lived in the court, gave the date to a day.

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Then it must be he, exclaimed the other. "On the day that I saw him he was dressed like a country youth and his clothes weredusty from travel. Today he is arrayed in velvet like any prince and has besides the cap of a junior collegian. But his stature is the same. And you say that he lives above you?"

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Yes. Goes by the name of Kovalski.

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H’m—it was Charnetski when I knew him.... Now, you, look at me—do you see this piece of gold? That’s true gold, red gold, an’ will buy many a dainty or many a drink. That is to be yours, for your very own.

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Stas almost shrieked for joy when the stranger put the piece of money in his hand.

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But, look you—no talking about this anywhere else. This is my business, mine and yours, and I tell you that when we are finished there will be more gold pieces for you just like that. Now show me the place where they live.

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They followed along until Joseph and Elzbietka stood before the entrance to the court.

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That is the place, said Stas.

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Well and good. Now keep a close watch and let me know anything that is new. I will be at the Inn of the Golden Elephant every afternoon at the third hour, but do not tell anyone there that you are looking for me. Let your words be only for my ears. And remember, the lantern in the man’s face tonight. There will be much gold for you. You understand?

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The man did. His very shoulders seemed to chuckle at the thought of it. He let himself into the court and went at once to his room.

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In the meantime the other walked briskly to the inn and sat down at a table. His thoughts were dancing in his head, for by anextraordinary piece of luck he had succeeded in locating the family of Pan Andrew. Luck indeed it was, because never, if he had come upon him face to face in the street, would he have known Joseph at all. It was only because Stas had named him as the son of the man who went abroad only by night that he could see any resemblance to that boy who had sent his horse flying away through the mud on that morning so many weeks before. For this man was that same one who called himself Stefan Ostrovski.

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They disappeared that day after the riot—he thought to himself as he sat in the inn—and were nowhere to be found. The earth might have opened and swallowed them whole. No other Charnetski in Krakow answered their description—I had well given them up for lost, and with them, a castle and coffers of gold in the Ukraine. For when Ivan, himself, promises, then there is profit to be had. I return to the Ukraine, but there is no word from them there. My men are even now riding from city to city in the vain hunt. Meanwhile I, answering some tiny voice of wisdom that speaks from somewhere into my ear, come back here.

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He struck the table with his fist. "Men call me Bogdan Grozny-Bogdan the Terrible," he exclaimed. "But terror often has brains. This venture has begun in luck and must end well. And once I get what I seek from that white-faced Pole he shall rue the day of my humiliation at the Krakow Gate." And with the thought of that adventure, a look of hatred came into his eyes.

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His attention was diverted for the moment by the sight of a beggar with a dirty bandage across his face working from table to table at the inn, begging for alms in a whining tone.

57

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As the beggar came near, the man dropped a coin in the out-stretched hand and whispered, "You come late today."

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Pardon me, master, I thought I had a scent.

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The beggar seemed to expect a blow, and assumed a defensive attitude, when the man smiled.

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No matter, the work is done, he whispered. "Mount your horse tonight and ride like the wind for Tarnov. There you will send out our brothers to bring in the men who are hunting. It may take three weeks—but hurry before the first fall of snow comes."

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The beggar took the orders, ambled out of the inn quietly, just as he had come in, and proceeded in like fashion until he was well along the street which skirts the market on the west. Then, suddenly stepping behind a house buttress, he tore the bandage from his face and ran with all speed for the gate on the Mogilev Road, in order to get through unchallenged before

62

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the night watch came on duty. He passed through, sauntered down the road until he came to a small peasant cottage with a stable in the rear; here he found the horse which he had ridden to Krakow, and with a single word to the owner of the house, who seemed to understand his movements fully, galloped off to the distant bridge where ran the Tarnov Road.

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The man at the inn continued to ruminate. That stoop-shouldered misbegotten thing that calls himself Stas came to us like an angel from heaven. Often had I noticed him in here, talking and making free with all the beggars, and even at first look of him, I thought to myself that here was such a man as might serve a purpose for me sometime. So I have the landlord bring him a friendly glass, and talking as he drinks it, he drops a word about the new trumpeter who never goes forth in the daytime! That is the boy as sure as man canbe sure, despite his new trappings of velvet; and then the fact that there are three of them, and the date of their arrival. Tonight when the trumpeter leaves by the door, Stas will hold the lantern to his face, and I, hiding near by, will see—but there is scarce need of that, it is as well as proved. My men will be here in a week or two, and it will be but short work after that.

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His face was working pale in his excitement—it was all white save the button mark which stood out on it like a clot of blood.

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What would the honorable Pan Andrew have said that day—he chuckled—had he known that Bogdan Grozny was before him? For he, and every man in the Ukraine, knows Peter of the Button Face. That was a good name I gave him—Ostrovski! Ostrovski of the proud family at Chelm that once called me slave.

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Peter of the Button Face was indeed a name feared everywhere in the Ukraine. It had been bestowed upon this man, whose real name was Bogdan, chiefly by the Poles, for among the Cossacks he was known as Grozny, or Terrible. A savage outcast, born of a Tartar mother and Cossack father, he had been involved in every dark plot on the border in the last ten years. Houses he had burned by the score, and men and women he had put to death cruelly. Under his command was a band of ruffians who would rise up suddenly in the Ukraine, overnight almost, and set out upon any adventure of fire and sword that he suggested.

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He was not despised by great folk either—Polish or Muscovite-when there was unlawful work to be done; nobles often employed him for unscrupulous tasks that they dared not perform themselves; the Great Khan of the Tartars even had dispatched him on a mission among the Golden Horde; his name was a power on both sides of theboundary, for in Poland also he had confederates who served him.

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And at the present time the great country of the Ukraine, which had come to Poland through the marriage of Jagiello of Lithuania with Jadviga of Poland about one hundred years previous—this huge land was full of plots and counterplots in the struggle for mastery between Muscovy and Poland. Ivan of Moscow had already begun to turn envious eyes upon this territory, which had been the heart of the old Byzantine Russia with Kiev as its capital, and was making plans to wrest it from Poland at the first opportunity. And in such fashion many a dweller such as Pan Andrew Charnetski found himself bereft of property and fields in a single night. For there were many such as Bogdan the Terrible, or as the Poles knew him, Peter of the Button Face, who were ready at a minute’s notice to engage in some such fearful task with rewards of plunder and captives for their work.

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However, little realizing what savage forces had been let loose against them, the family of Pan Andrew sat down to a quiet supper.

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序号 英文/音标 中文解释 更多操作

parch

[pɑːtʃ]

v.烘;烤干;炙烤

marches

[mɑːtʃ]

1. n. (尤指英格兰与苏格兰或威尔士的)边界地区, 2.动词march的第三人称单数形式

autumn

[’ɔːtəm]

n.秋季

squash

[skwɒʃ]

vt. 把…压碎；把…压扁；压挤;

exquisite

[ɪk’skwɪzɪt]

adj.精挑细选的;精致的;细腻的;强烈的

trumpet

[’trʌmpɪt]

n.喇叭;喇叭声;喇叭手

memorize

[’meməraɪz]

v.记住;记录;记下

alchemist

[’ælkəmɪst]

n.炼丹术士;炼金术士

nighttime

[’naɪttaɪm]

n.夜间

wit

[wɪt]

n.智力;才智;机智;风趣

loft

[lɒft]

n.阁楼

queer

[kwɪə(r)]

a. 古怪的，奇怪的;

meditate

[’medɪteɪt]

v.沉思;冥想;考虑;计划

sewing

[’səʊɪŋ]

n.缝纫;缝制物,

downstairs

[ˌdaʊn’steəz]

adj.楼下的

chat

[tʃæt]

vi.闲谈;谈天

hum

[hʌm]

vi. (蜜蜂等)作嗡嗡声;

pageant

[’pædʒənt]

n. 盛会; 游行; 壮丽的场面; 选美

knight

[naɪt]

n.骑士;爵士;武士

procession

[prə’seʃn]

n.队伍;行列

guild

[ɡɪld]

n.行会;协会

fortify

[’fɔːtɪfaɪ]

v.加强;增强;筑防御工事于;(物质或精神上)支持或鼓励

altar

[’ɔːltə(r)]

n.(教堂内的)圣坛;祭坛

mound

[maʊnd]

n.土墩;小丘;一堆

trumpeter

[’trʌmpɪtə(r)]

n.小号手;号兵;鹤形鸟

pick

[pɪkt]

采摘，挑选；

boyish

[’bɔɪɪʃ]

adj.像男孩的

hymn

[hɪm]

n.赞美诗;圣歌

hoof

[huːf]

n. 蹄; 人的脚

conversation

[ˌkɒnvə’seɪʃn]

n.谈话;会话

seriousness

[’sɪəriəsnəs]

n.严肃;认真;严重性

joiner

[’dʒɔɪnə(r)]

n.木匠;社团活跃分子

watchtower

[’wɒtʃtaʊə(r)]

n.&%2330637;望塔

enclosure

[ɪn’kləʊʒə(r)]

n.附件;围墙;围绕

disport

[dɪ’spɔːt]

v.玩;耍;使快乐

arch

[ɑːtʃ]

n.拱;拱门;拱状物

lace

[leɪs]

n.鞋带;饰带;花边;缎带

urchin

[’ɜːtʃɪn]

n.顽童;【动】海胆;刺猬

pelt

[pelt]

n.皮毛;投掷;疾行

decay

[dɪ’keɪ]

v.(使)衰退

cathedral

[kə’θiːdrəl]

n.大教堂

lengthen

[’leŋθən]

v.加长;延长

promenade

[ˌprɒmə’nɑːd]

n.散步;散步场所;队列前进;方块舞

endeavor

[ɪn’devə]

n.尽力;努力

throne

[θrəʊn]

n.王位;君主

gown

[ɡaʊn]

n.长袍;长外衣

recite

[rɪ’saɪt]

vt.背诵;朗诵;叙述;列举

verse

[vɜːs]

n.诗;韵文;诗节

grammar

[’ɡræmə(r)]

n.语法

treatise

[’triːtɪs]

n.论文;论述;故事

scarcely

[’skeəsli]

adv.几乎不;简直不;刚刚;决不

desist

[dɪ’zɪst]

v.停止;中止;打消念头;忍住;克制

converse

[kən’vɜːs]

n.相反的事物;逆命题

stature

[’stætʃə(r)]

n.身高;名望

dainty

[’deɪnti]

adj.小巧精致的;优美的;讲究的;可口的

shriek

[ʃriːk]

v.尖叫;叫喊

chuckle

[’tʃʌkl]

v.轻声笑;咯咯笑;暗自笑

brisk

[brɪsk]

adj.敏锐的;活泼的;活跃的;轻快的;凛冽的

coffer

[’kɒfə(r)]

n. 【复】资产，财源；国库；金库;

hatred

[’heɪtrɪd]

n.仇恨;憎恨;敌意;怨恨

bandage

[’bændɪdʒ]

n.绷带

alms

[ɑːmz]

n.救济金;救济品

whine

[waɪn]

n.闹声;抱怨;牢骚

hunting

[’hʌntɪŋ]

n.打猎;搜寻【电子学】速度偏差.

amble

[’æmbl]

n.溜蹄;缓行漫步

gallop

[’ɡæləp]

n.疾驰;飞奔

landlord

[’lændlɔːd]

n.地主;房东

scarce

[skeəs]

adj.缺乏的;不足的;稀少的;罕见的

clot

[klɒt]

n.凝块;一群;笨蛋

chiefly

[’tʃiːfli]

adv.主要地

ruffian

[’rʌfiən]

n.恶棍

despise

[dɪ’spaɪz]

vt.轻视

unlawful

[ʌn’lɔːfl]

adj.私生的;非法的

dispatch

[dɪ’spætʃ]

v.派遣;发送;迅速完成;处死

confederate

[kən’fedərət]

a. 同盟的；联合的;

mastery

[’mɑːstəri]

n.精通;掌握;熟练;控制

fearful

[’fɪəfl]

adj.担心的;可怕的;非常的

supper

[’sʌpə(r)]

n.晚饭

savage

[’sævɪdʒ]

a. 野蛮的，未开化的;

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