Arthur sat in the library of the seminary in Pisa, looking through a stack of sermon manuscripts. It was a hot evening in June, and the windows were all drawn, and the shutters were half-drawn for the coolness.Father Montanelli, the dean of the seminary, stopped writing and looked kindly at the black hair buried in the manuscript. "Carino [Italian: Honey], can't you find it? It's okay, I'll just rewrite that section. It may have been ripped out, keeping you busy for so long." Montanelli's voice was deep and deep, and the melodious timbre gave his words a special charm.A natural orator possesses the cadence of a voice.There was always love in his tone of voice when he spoke to Arthur.

"No, Padre [Italian: Priest, Catholic's name for a priest. The word can also refer to father. Arthur has always called Montanelli "Padre", which shows that he has a deep affection for Montanelli. .], I must find it. I am sure you put it here. Write it again, it cannot be exactly the same as before." Montanelli continued to work at his desk.A drowsy chafer sat outside the window, where it was chirping listlessly. "Strawberry! Strawberry!" The cry of the fruit vendor came from the other side of the street, long and desolate. "The Leper's Cure, here it is." Arthur came across the room with a light step that always annoyed his family.He was thin and small, not like a middle-class English youth in the thirties, but more like an Italian in a sixteenth-century portrait.From the long eyebrows, the sensitive lips, to the small hands and feet, every part of his body seemed too delicate, too fragile.If he sat there quietly, others would mistake him for a girl in men's clothes, with a lovely appearance.But when he moved, his lightness and quickness reminded one of a tame leopard, no longer with claws.

"Did you really find it? Arthur, what should I do without you? I'm sure I'll always lose things. Well, I won't write now. Go into the garden, and I'll help you with your lessons. What little place do you not understand?" They walked into the garden of the monastery, which was very quiet and shaded by trees.The building occupied by the Seminary was formerly a Dominican monastery.More than two hundred years ago, this square courtyard was neatly tidied up.Bushes of rosemary and lavender grow among the straight boxwoods, clipped short.Now, those white-robed monks who once planted them are all buried in the ground, and no one thinks about them anymore.But the sweet-smelling herb still blooms in the stillness of midsummer evenings, though no one gathers the pistils for herbal medicine any more.Bushes of wild parsley and columbine filled the cracks in the flagstones, and the central well had given way to ferns and criss-crossing sedum.Roses fluffed up and spread vines across the paths; box hedges shone with huge red poppies; No fruit, the rattan hangs down from a wolfberry branch that has been forgotten by people, shaking the leafy branches, slowly, but does not stop, with a kind of sadness.

A magnolia tree that blooms in summer stands tall in a corner of the courtyard. The tall trunk looks like a giant tower made of dense leaves, and milky white flowers protrude from all around. A rough wooden stool stood against the trunk, and Montanelli sat on it.Arthur was majoring in philosophy in college, and because he had a problem with a book, he came to his "Padre" for help.He was not a seminary student, but Montanelli was an encyclopedia for him. "I should go now." After that chapter was explained, Arthur said, "If there is nothing else, I will go." "I don't want to go back to work, but if you have time, I would like you to stay for a while."

"That's good!" He leaned against the tree trunk, looked up at the silent sky through the shadowy leaves.The first dim stars are already twinkling there.There are a pair of dark blue eyes under the black eyelashes, dreamy and mysterious.The eyes were inherited from his mother, who was born in Cornwall.Montanelli turned his head away to avoid seeing those eyes. "You look tired, Carino," Montanelli said. "No way." Arthur's voice was tired, and Padre noticed it right away. "You shouldn't have gone to college so early, and you've been taking care of patients with sleepless nights, and your body is worn out. I should have insisted that you rest for a while before you left Leghorn."

"No, Padre, what's the use of that? I can't stay in that ghost house after my mother dies. Julia's going to drive me crazy!" Julia was his half-brother's wife, and she was a thorn in his side. "I shouldn't let you live with your family," said Montanelli softly. "I know it won't do you any good. But I hope you will accept the invitation of your English doctor friend if You live in his house for a month, and then go to school later, your health will be much better." "No, Padre, I shouldn't have done that! The Warrens are very nice and nice, but they just don't get it. And they feel sorry for me, I can see it in their faces. They'll try Comfort me, and talk about Mother. Of course Gemma doesn't do that, she always knows what not to say, even when we were little. But other people will. And—"

"What else, my boy?" Arthur plucked a few flowers from a low-hanging foxglove branch and crushed them nervously with his hands. "I can't stay in that town," he said after a moment. "There are several shops there, where she used to buy toys for me when I was young; the road along the river, before she was seriously ill, I used to take her for a walk. No matter where I go, it always makes me feel emotional. Every one The flower girls would come up to me with flowers in their hands--as if I needed them now! And the church--I'd have to get out of there, it hurts me to see that place--"

He broke off the conversation and sat down to tear the foxglove to pieces.There was such a long and deep silence that he looked up, wondering why the priest didn't speak.Under the magnolia tree, the sky gradually darkened, and everything seemed faintly visible.But from the corner of his eye, he could see that Montanelli's face was frighteningly pale.He was lowering his head, with his right hand firmly grasping the corner of the wooden stool.Arthur turned his head away, feeling a sense of awe and astonishment in his heart.He seemed to have set foot on the Holy Land unintentionally. "My God!" thought he, "how small and selfish I am by his side! He could not have been more saddened by my misfortune."

Montanelli then raised his head and looked around. "I won't force you to go back there, and I won't do it now anyway," he said affectionately, "but you must promise me to take a good rest this summer. It's better to stay away from the Livorno area, I can't watch your body collapse." "Padre, where did you go during your seminary break?" "I'll take the students into the mountains, as usual, and watch them settle there. But in mid-August, the vice-principal will come back from his vacation. Then I'll go to the Alps to relax. You Will you come with me? I can take you on a long trip into the mountains, and you'll be willing to study the mosses and lichens of the Alps. But won't you be bored with me alone?"

"Padre!" Arthur clapped his hands, which Julia said was "typically foreign." "I'd do anything to go with you. It's just—I don't know—" He broke off. "Do you think Mr. Burton would disagree?" "Of course he won't like it, but he can't interfere with me. I'm eighteen now, and I can do whatever I want. Then again, he's just my half-brother, and I If I don't see that I should be obedient to him. He's always been kind to mother." "But if he does object, I think you'd better not go against his wishes. Otherwise, you'll find it more difficult at home—"

"It can't be any harder!" Arthur cut off, angrily. "They've always hated me, hated me, and will hate me—it doesn't matter what I do. Besides, I'm going out with you, with my confessor, and how can James seriously object?" ?” "But remember, he's a Protestant. You'd better write him a letter, and we'll wait and see what he says. But don't be too hasty, my boy. Whether people hate you or I love you, and I have to check what you do." He said the words of reproach in a gentle manner, which did not make Arthur blush at all. "Yes, I know," he replied, with a sigh. "But this is too difficult—" "I was sorry you weren't here on Tuesday night," said Montanelli, changing the subject suddenly. "The Bishop of Arezzo is here, and I wanted you to see him." "I promised a student that I would go to his residence for a meeting. They were waiting for me there." "What will?" Hearing this question, Arthur seemed a little embarrassed. "It, it wasn't, it wasn't a proper, normal meeting," he said, stuttering a bit with nervousness. "A student came from Genoa, and he gave us a speech, kind of—a lecture." "What did he say?" Arthur hesitated. "Padre, don't you ask his name, okay? Because I promised—" "I'm not going to ask you anything, and if you've promised to keep it a secret, you certainly shouldn't tell me. But at this point, I think you should trust me." "Padre, of course I trust you. He talked about - us, and our responsibilities to the people - and our responsibilities to ourselves, and about - what we can do to help-" "Help who?" "Helping Farmers—and—" "And what?" "Italy." There was a long silence. "Tell me, Arthur," said Montanelli, turning to look at him, in a very solemn tone. "How long have you been thinking about this?" "Since—last winter." "Before your mother died? Did she know about it?" "No, no idea. I, I didn't care about that at the time." "So now you—do you care about that?" Arthur plucked another handful of foxglove wreaths. "It is so, Father," he began, his eyes on the ground. "When I was preparing for my entrance exams last year, I met a lot of students. Do you remember? Well, some students started talking to me about -- all these things and lending me books. But I am indifferent to the matter.At that time, I just wanted to go home early to see my mother.You know, she was very alone in that dungeon house, with them looking down and seeing each other.Julia's mouth could kill her.Then in the winter she was so ill that I forgot all about the students and their books.Then, you know, I just didn't come to pizza at all.If I had thought about it, I would have told my mother then.But I just don't remember.Then I found out she was going to die -- you know, I was with her pretty much until she died.I used to stay up all night and Gemma Warren would come and change my bed during the day.Well, it was in those long nights that I remembered the books, and what the students said--and wondered if they were right, and what our Lord would say about it. " "Have you asked him?" Montanelli's voice was not very calm. "Yes, Padre. Sometimes I pray to him, begging him to tell me what to do, or begging him to let me die with my mother. But I get no answer." "You never said a word to me. I wish you had trusted me, Arthur." "Padre, you know that I trust you! But there are some things you can't just say. I - in my opinion, nobody could help me at that time - not even you and my mother. I have to get it from God To get an answer straight from myself. It concerns my whole life and my whole soul, you know." Montanelli turned away and gazed at the leafy magnolia tree.In the dim twilight his figure became indistinct, like a dark ghost lurking among the darker branches. "What happened next?" He said in a slow voice. "And then—she died. You know, I was with her the last three nights—" He broke down and paused for a moment, but Montanelli did not move. "During the two days before they buried her," continued Arthur, lowering his voice, "I couldn't think of anything. Then I fell ill after the funeral. You remember, I couldn't think of anything." Come to confess." "yes, I remember." "Well, I got up late that night and went into my mother's room. It was empty except for the giant cross from the food that was still there. I thought maybe God would help me. I got down on my knees and waited—waited All night. In the morning, I woke up - Padre, it's no use. I can't explain. I can't tell you what I saw - I don't know anything. But I know God has answered me , and I dare not disobey his wishes." They sat for a while in the dark in silence.Montanelli then turned and put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "My boy," he said, "God forbid I should say that he has not spoken to you. But remember your situation when it happened, and do not take the phantasies of grief or sickness for a solemn call to you.If he does answer you through the shadow of death, do not misinterpret his meaning.What is going on in your heart? " Arthur stood up.He answered word by word, as if reciting a catechism. "Dedicate yourself to Italy, and help to free her from slavery and misery, and drive out the Austrians, and make her a republic without a king, but Christ." "Arthur, think what you're talking about! You're not even Italian." "It makes no difference, I am who I am. Now that I have received God's revelation, I will dedicate myself to her." There was another silence. "You just said what Christ would have said—" Montanelli said slowly, but Arthur interrupted him. "Christ said: 'Whoever dies for me will be born again.'" Montanelli propped one arm on a branch and shaded his eyes with the other. "Sit down a moment, my boy," he said at last. Arthur sat down, Padre, clasping his hands tightly. "I can't start a debate with you tonight," he said. "The matter came too suddenly to me—I hadn't thought about it—I must arrange time to think it over. Then we'll talk about it for sure. But now, I want you to remember one thing. If you got into trouble with this, if you -- died, you'd break my heart. " "Padre—" "No, let me finish. I told you once that I have no one in this world but you. I don't think you fully understand what that means. It is difficult for a person to understand the meaning of this statement when they are young.If I were your age, I wouldn't understand either.Arthur, you are like my - like my - my own son.Do you understand?You are the light in my eyes, you are the hope in my heart.In order not to let you take a wrong step and ruin your life, I am willing to die.But there is nothing I can do.I don't ask you to make any promises to me.I just ask you to remember this and be careful with everything.Think about it when you take this step resolutely, if not for your mother in heaven, then think about it for me. " "I will—and—Father, pray for me, pray for Italy." He knelt down in silence, and Montanelli silently laid his hand on his drooping head.After a while, Arthur raised his head, kissed the hand, and walked away gently on the dewy grass.Montanelli sat alone under the magnolia tree, staring blankly at the darkness in front of him. "God has sinned against me," he thought, "as against David. I have defiled his sanctuary, and desecrated the holy body with filthy hands—he has always been good to me. Patience, now at last it falls on me. 'You did this in secret, but I will repay you in front of all Israel and under the sun. Therefore the child you have must die.' [Quoted from "Samuel" in the Bible Down"]"