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书虫2级《陷坑与钟摆》密会

所属教程:书虫2级 陷坑与钟摆

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2022年07月24日

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The Meeting

How well I remember that meeting! I was in Venice, that city of dark secrets and silent waters. It was midnight, and the midsummer air was hot and still, the canals silent and empty.

I was coming home in a gondola along the Grand Canal when I heard a sudden scream – a woman's scream. I jumped up, and the boatman turned my gondola to go under the Bridge of Sighs and past the great house of the Mentoni family. Lights were on in all the windows, and people were running down the steps to the water. The canal was suddenly as light as day.

What has happened?' I called out.

A child fell from its mother's arms,' came the answer. 'From a high window of the house.'

I stopped to watch, full of fear for the child. Already people were swimming in the water, calling, shouting, looking everywhere.

At the doorway to the palace stood the child's young mother, the Marchesa di Mentoni, the loveliest woman in all of Venice.

She stood alone. But she was not looking into the water for her lost child. She was staring across the canal at the building opposite. Why? I asked myself. What could she see there, in the dark corners of that old building? Or was she afraid to look into the canal, afraid to see the dead body of her child in the dark waters?

On the steps behind the Marchesa, higher up, stood her old husband, Mentoni himself, the head of the rich and famous Mentoni family. He gave orders to the servants who were looking for his child, but he looked bored, bored to death.

Then, from one of the dark corners outside the building opposite, a man stepped into the light and immediately jumped into the canal.

A minute later, he stood next to the Marchesa with the living, breathing child in his arms. The light from the windows fell on his face, and everyone could see him.

The young man stood next to the Marchesa with the child in his arms.

He was a very famous young man – as beautiful as a Greek god, with his black eyes, and his wild black hair. We were not close friends, but I knew him a little, from my time in Venice.

He did not speak. And to my great surprise the Marchesa did not take her child in her arms and hold him close. Other hands took the child and carried him away, into the house. And the Marchesa? Her eyes were wet with tears, and her hands were shaking.

Then old Mentoni turned and went into the house. The Marchesa took the young man's hand in both of hers, and stared into his face. Her eyes were dark with terror, and her face as white as the moonlight that danced on the waters of the canal.

She spoke softly, hurriedly, the tears running down that wild, white face. Below the steps, in my gondola, I heard every word.

You have won,' she said, 'you have won... and you are right... there is only one answer... we cannot go on... we agreed the way, and now the time has come... we shall meet... one hour after sunrise...'

Everyone went away, lights went out, and my young friend now stood alone on the steps. He was white-faced and shaking. He looked around and saw me, and remembered me at once.

There were no other boats on the canal at that time, so I took him home in my gondola. We talked of unimportant things, and then he asked me to visit him the next morning.

Come at sunrise,' he said. 'Yes, at sunrise! Not a minute later. Please!'

I thought his words were a little strange, but they were not the first strange words on that strange night.

I agreed to go, and arrived at sunrise. His apartment was in one of those very old buildings which look down on the Grand Canal, near the Rialto Bridge. The rooms were large, and full of beautiful things from Italy, Greece, Egypt... There were pictures, furniture, carpets, things made of black stone, and red stone, of glass, of gold, of silver... Soft music was playing somewhere, and the early morning sunlight danced in through the windows.

There was too much to look at, too much light, too many colours, too many beautiful things. I stared around in silent surprise, and my young friend laughed.

Oh, I am sorry for laughing,' he said. 'But you look so surprised! And sometimes a man must laugh or die. How wonderful to die laughing, don't you agree?'

He half-fell into a low chair, still laughing in that strange way.

I have other apartments,' he went on, 'but none like this one. You are one of the very few people who have seen it. Come – I have some famous pictures here. You must see them.'

He wanted to show me everything. He was tired, but also excited. And perhaps afraid too. I could not be sure. But something was worrying him. Sometimes he stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence and listened. To what? The sound of another visitor on the stairs? To words inside his head?

During one of these silent moments, I turned away and saw a book of Italian songs on a small table. The open page was wet with new tears. And on the opposite, empty page, written in English and in my young friend's handwriting, were these lines:

You were my sun, my moon, my stars,

My life I gave to you.

We danced by day, we sang by night,

A love so sweet and true.

Now all my days I spend in darkness,

The fire of life is cold,

I see no more your quick bright smile,

Your hand I cannot hold.

They took you from our English clouds

To a blue Italian sky,

To marry an old man, rich in gold,

And now my heart will die.

Under these lines were written a place and date. The place was London. This surprised me, because when I first met him in Venice, I asked him, 'When you were living in London, did you ever meet the Marchesa di Mentoni? She lived in that city for some years before she married.'

To this he replied, 'I have never been to London.'

For a rich young Englishman I thought this was strange, but I thought little of it at the time.

He did not see me with this book, and now turned to me again.

One more picture to see,' he said. 'Come.'

He took me to a small room. There was just one picture in it – a portrait of the Marchesa di Mentoni.

She stood, smiling down at us, as beautiful as ever, her dark eyes full of life.

My young friend stood, staring at the portrait for a long time. Then, at last, he said, 'Come, let's drink!'

My young friend stood, staring at the portrait for a long time.

He went away to find wine, and I turned back to the book of Italian songs on the little table. Perhaps there were answers to these mysteries about my friend in this book. I turned the pages, and found, hidden at the back of the book, part of a letter. It was in a woman's handwriting.

... You say that you love me, more than the world, more than life itself. But how much is that? How can I be sure? Will you do this for me? Will you save from death my child –my child, by him?

If you do this, then I will know that your words are true. And I will take your hand for one last time... We shall go together through that last door...

I heard a sound, and closed the book hurriedly. My friend came back into the room, carrying two large silver goblets, full to the top with wine. He gave one to me.

It is early, but let's drink,' he said again. At that moment a clock sounded the hour. 'One hour after sunrise,' he said softly. 'Yes, it is early. But what does it matter? Let us drink to the sun, yes, the sun!'

He drank his goblet of wine very quickly.

To dreams,' he said. 'All my life I have dreamed. I have made myself a home of dreams, here in the heart of Venice. Where could be better?' He put his empty goblet down on the table. 'And now I am ready for the land of real dreams. Soon, I shall be there...'

All my life I have dreamed...'

He stopped and listened – but to what, I did not know. Then he lifted his head and said:

Wait for me there! I will be sure

 To meet you at that last dark door.

On the last word he fell into a chair, and his eyes closed.

At the same moment there were feet on the stairs, and a loud knocking at the door. A young servant from the Mentoni house ran into the room.

The Marchesa! I come from the Marchesa!' the boy cried.'Poison! She has taken poison! She is dead!'

I ran to the chair and tried to wake my young friend, to tell him this strange and terrible news.

But he did not move. His hand was cold to my touch, and his face white and still.

He, too, was dead.

I fell back against the table in terror, and my hand touched my friend's wine goblet, which stood there. It was now blackened inside, and from it came a sweet, sickly smell – the smell of poison.

And in a second I understood everything.

* * *

canal n. a river made by people for boats to travel on 运河

gondola n. a long narrow boat with a flat bottom and high points at each end, used on the canals in Venice in Italy (意大利威尼斯运河中的)凤尾船

doorway n. the space where a door opens into a room or building 出入口,门道

opposite adj. on the other side of the same area, often directly across from it 对面的

bored adj. tired and impatient because you do not think something is interesting, or because you have nothing to do 厌烦的,不感兴趣的

apartment n. a group of rooms in a building where you can live 一套住房,公寓套间

furniture n. tables, beds, chairs etc 家具

goblet n. a cup without handles for drinking wine 高脚酒杯

poison n. something that can kill you if you eat or drink it 毒药

密会

那次密会的情景仍然历历在目!我当时在威尼斯,一座充满黑暗秘密的城市,一座寂静河流密布的城市。那是个仲夏的午夜,天气闷热无风,运河中十分安静,没有任何船只。

我乘着一艘凤尾船回家,正沿着大运河航行时,突然听到一声尖叫——一个女人的尖叫。我跳了起来,船夫掉转船头从叹息桥下穿过,经过了门托尼家族的大房子。所有窗户里的灯都亮着,人们跑下台阶,来到水边。运河突然亮如白昼。

“发生了什么事?”我大声喊。

“一个孩子从他母亲的手中掉下去了。”有人回答,“是从房子高处的一扇窗户那里掉下去的。”

我停下来观望,心中满是对那个孩子的担忧。已经有人下水了。他们不断呼喊并四处寻找他。

在那座豪宅的门口站着那个孩子年轻的母亲,门托尼侯爵夫人。她是威尼斯最可爱的女人。

她独自一人站在那里。可她没有看着水面寻找她丢失的孩子。她的眼睛盯着运河对岸的建筑。为什么?我问自己。她能在那儿看到什么,在那古老建筑的黑暗角落里?还是她不敢看河道,害怕看到漆黑的河流里自己孩子的死尸?

侯爵夫人身后的台阶高处站着她年迈的丈夫门托尼——门托尼这个豪门望族的族长。他给寻找孩子的仆人们下达着命令,然而他看起来很厌烦,一副烦得要命的表情。

接着,一个男人从对岸建筑外的黑暗角落里走到了灯光下,然后迅速跳进了运河。

一分钟后,他抱着活生生的、还在喘气的孩子站在了侯爵夫人的身边。窗户里的灯光照到他的脸上,每个人都能看见他。

他是一个很出名的年轻人——他像希腊神一样英俊,有一双黑色的眼睛和一头桀骜不驯的黑发。虽然我们不是密友,但我在威尼斯期间对他略有了解。

他没有说话。让我十分吃惊的是,侯爵夫人没有把孩子抱入怀中紧紧搂住。其他人接过了孩子,把他抱进了房子里。而侯爵夫人呢?她眼眶湿润,双手颤抖。

然后老门托尼转身走进了房子里。侯爵夫人双手抓住了那个年轻男子的手,盯着他的脸庞。她幽暗的眼神充满了恐惧,她的脸苍白如同运河水上舞动的月光。

她匆忙地小声说着什么,泪珠从她那急切而苍白的脸上滚落下来。在台阶下面,在我的凤尾船里,我听得一字不落。

“你赢了,”她说,“你赢了……你是对的……只有一个答案……我们不能继续下去了……我们同意那个办法,现在时机到了……日出一小时后……我们再见……”

人们都离开了,灯也都熄灭了,只剩下我那位年轻的朋友独自站在台阶上。他脸色苍白,浑身颤抖。他四下张望,看到我,并立刻认出了我。

这会儿运河上已经没有别的船了,于是我让他坐我的凤尾船回家。我们聊着无关紧要的事情,而后他邀请我第二天早晨去拜访他。

“请日出的时候过来。”他说,“是的,日出的时候!一分钟也别晚。求你了!”

我觉得他的话有些奇怪,但在那个奇怪的晚上,那不是我听到的第一句奇怪的话。

我答应他,并在日出的时候到了他家。他的公寓位处里亚尔托桥附近的古老建筑楼群之中,那里俯瞰着大运河。房间很宽敞,摆满了意大利、希腊和埃及等地产的精美物品……有画作、家具、地毯,还有由黑色石头、红色石头、玻璃、黄金和白银制成的东西……不知哪儿演奏着轻柔的音乐,清晨的阳光透过窗户涌了进来。

这里让人目不睱接,太多的亮光,太多的色彩,太多美丽的事物了。我四下里细细观看,默默惊叹着,我年轻的朋友则哈哈大笑。

“呀,抱歉,我不该笑的。”他说,“可你看上去那么惊讶!有时候人必须笑,不然就得死掉。笑着死去是多美妙的事情啊,你不这么认为吗?”

他半跌入一把矮椅上,而他的笑容依旧那么诡异。

“我还有其他住房。”他接着说,“但是没有哪一套像这里一样。只有为数不多的人见过这里,你是其中之一。来——我这里有些名画。你一定得瞧瞧。”

他想向我展示这里的一切。他既疲惫又兴奋,或许还有些害怕。我说不准。然而一定有什么让他忧心的事。有时候他话说了一半就停了下来,侧耳倾听。听什么呢?楼梯上其他访者的脚步声?还是听他自己头脑里的话语?

在一次这样的静默时刻,我转身看到一张小桌子上摆着一本意大利歌曲书。翻开的书页不久前刚被泪水打湿过。在旁边的空白的书页上,有我这位年轻朋友的笔迹,他用英语写了几行诗句:

你是我的太阳,我的月亮,我的星辰,

我愿把我的生命献给你。

我们白天跳舞,我们夜晚歌唱,

爱情如此甜蜜而真实。

如今我的日子坠入黑暗,

生命之火冷却下来,

我再也见不到你常挂在脸上的灿烂笑容,

再也握不到你的手。

他们把你从我们英格兰的云朵下

带到了意大利蓝色的天空下。

让你嫁给一个金银满屋的老人,

而如今,我心将死。

在这些诗行下面写着地点和日期。地点是伦敦。这让我有些吃惊,因为我第一次在威尼斯遇见他时,我曾问他:“你住在伦敦时见过门托尼侯爵夫人吗?她出嫁前曾在那里住过几年。”

对这个问题,他回答:“我从没去过伦敦。”

他是个富有的年轻英国人,没去过伦敦让我觉得有些奇怪,但我当时没有多想。

他没注意到我在看这本书,这会儿又转向了我。

“再看一幅画。”他说,“来吧。”

他把我带进了一个小房间。房间里只有一幅画——门托尼侯爵夫人的肖像。

她站着,微笑着俯视我们,美丽一如往昔,她那黑色的双眸充满生机。

我那年轻的朋友站在那里,对着那幅肖像凝视了好长一段时间。最后,他终于开口说:“来,我们喝点酒!”

他离开去找葡萄酒,而我转身去看小桌子上那本意大利歌曲书。或许这本书中有我朋友一切秘密的答案。我翻着书,发现在书的后面藏着一封不完整的信。是一个女人的笔迹。

……你说你爱我,胜过爱这个世界,胜过生命本身。可那是有多爱呢?我怎么能确信呢?你会为我做这件事吗?你会从死神手中救出我的孩子吗——我和他的孩子?

如果你能做到这件事,那么我就知道你的话是真的。我将最后一次握住你的手……我们将一起跨过那最后一扇门……

我听到声响,赶忙把书合上。我的朋友返回了房间,端着两个银质的大高脚酒杯,里面盛满了葡萄酒。他递给了我一杯。

“时间还早,不过我们还是喝一杯吧。”他又说了一遍。就在那时,整点的钟声响了起来。“日出之后的一个小时。”他轻声说,“是的,时间还早。可那又有什么关系?让我们为太阳而干杯,是的,为太阳!”

他迅速地喝完了高脚杯里的酒。

“为梦想。”他说,“我这一生都在做梦。我为自己建造了一个梦的家园,在这里,威尼斯的中心。还有哪里能比这里更好呢?”他把空酒杯放在了桌上。“现在我准备好踏上真正的梦乡了。很快,我就要到那儿去了……”

他停下来,侧耳倾听——但我不知道他到底在听什么。然后他抬起头说:

“在那儿等我!我一定会

在最后的那扇黑暗之门与你相聚。”

说完最后一个词,他跌坐在一把椅子上,闭上了眼睛。

与此同时,台阶上传来脚步声,有人重重地敲响了门。门托尼家一个年轻的仆人跑进了房间里。

“侯爵夫人!我是侯爵夫人派来的!”那男孩叫着,“毒药!她喝了毒药!她死了!”

我跑到椅子旁边,想要把我年轻的朋友叫醒,告诉他这一不寻常而又可怕的消息。

可他一动不动。我感觉到他的手冰冷,看到他的脸色苍白,毫无表情。

他也死了。

我吓得往后退,撞到了桌子上,我的手碰到了朋友放在桌上的酒杯。现在酒杯里面已经变黑了,传出一股甜腻恶心的味道——毒药的味道。

我一下子明白了一切。

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