Chapter 2 Chapter two

The encounter between Byron Henry and Natalie Jastrow two months ago says a lot about Byron's character.He seemed to be blown to Natalie by a gust of wind. Unlike his father, Byron had always been aimless.As he got older, he gradually avoided the Sea Boys, the Severn Naval Academy, and anything else that might lead him to a career in the Navy.However, he had no intention of pursuing another career.His academic performance was generally poor.He learned early on an excellent knack for loafing.He's sometimes ruthless, and he's shown that he's capable of getting a few "A's," or putting together a really good radio, or getting a car from a junk Gasoline heater rebuilt.His talent for fitting machines is a family heritage from his father and grandfather.But he soon tires of this tinkering.And he was too bad at math to consider mechanical engineering.

He also has the potential to be an athlete.He was physically fit, much stronger than he looked, but he disliked the rigid rules of diet and group activities for school athletes, and he himself drank untold gallons of beer without adding to his waistline.At Columbia (which he got into only because he won the hearts of his interviewers, his IQ scores were high, and he wasn't from New York), he managed only to avoid being rejected for being too bad. expulsion.He liked to hang out in the fraternity he was a member of, or play poker, or read old novels over and over, or talk about girls and fuck with them.He loves fencing and finds the sport a good fit for his independent spirit and strong frame.Had he received more training, he would have been a finalist in the national collegiate fencing competition.But training bored him, out of character with his lazy nature.

He took fine arts in his third grade, a class typically taken by athletes and reportedly never failed.But Byron Henry failed his midterm exam.He never did his homework and missed half of his class.Even so, he was taken aback by his poor grades in the exams.He interviewed the professor and told him what he thought.The professor wore a pair of green glasses, his head was slightly bald, and his ears had hair. He was originally a fan of the Italian Renaissance.He rather liked Byron.During the conversation, Byron occasionally mentioned some opinions about Leonatu and Botticelli, explaining that he did not take those classes for nothing, which was very different from the burly students who dozed off in the class.The two became friends.It was the first time in Byron Henry's life that he made friends with intellectuals.He became a fanatical believer in the Renaissance, repeating the opinions of his professors like a slave, graduated with excellent test scores, and gave up his habit of drinking beer, thinking about teaching art in the future.He plans to spend a year as a graduate student at the University of Florence, earning a Master of Arts degree.

① That is, Leonardo Da Vinci (1452-1519), he and Botticelli (1444-1510) are famous Italian painters during the Renaissance. But after a few months in Florence, Byron's enthusiasm cooled.One rainy night in November, he suddenly became weary of everything around him: the filth of his rented room overlooking the murky Arno; the smell of garlic and sewers made him sick; He is bored.He wrote a letter to his friend, saying Italian paintings are too fancy, too sentimental, and they are all about Madonna, Child, Saints, Halos, Crucifixion, Resurrection, Green Dead The Savior, the flying bearded Lord, etc.; said that he would rather choose a modern painter like Miró and Kerry;He scribbled pages expressing his hopelessness, sent the letter, and set off to wander around Europe, forgetting his studies and diplomas.After he returned to Florence, he received an encouraging letter from the professor.

... I don't know what kind of person you will become in the future.Apparently art is not your real hobby.I think it's good for you to let you concentrate on one subject.As long as you can get rid of that insensitivity and get into something that really interests you, you'll have a long way to go.I'm an old traffic cop, and I'm standing on this corner directing traffic, and I see lots and lots of Chevrolets and Fords passing by.Occasionally a Cadillac drove by, and I never failed to recognize it.It's just that this Cadillac's machine has a serious breakdown. I have written to Dr. Ellen Jastrow, who lives outside Siena, about your situation.Of course you've heard of him too.He wrote "Jesus of a Jew," got a lot of money, and finally got out of a miserable academic career.We used to be friends at Yale, and he was really good at teaching young people.Go talk to him and give him my regards.

That's why Byron came to visit Dr. Jastrow.He took the bus to Siena, a three-hour journey up a precipitous, rutted mountain road.He had been to this grotesque town twice before. The town was full of red towers and battlements and winding narrow streets. In the center was a gorgeous cathedral with zebra-like stripes, which was located on the top of a hill. Surrounded by green and brown Tuscan vineyards.What makes this place famous, besides the imitation of Byzantine church art that he specially came to study, is the annual horse race, which is said to have its own characteristics, but Byron only heard it and never witnessed it.

At first glance, the girl sitting in the driver's seat of the old blue convertible car was not very attractive: oval face, very dark complexion (so at first he thought she was Italian), dark hair, wearing a huge mask. Sunglasses, a crimson sportswear over an open-collared white shirt.Next to her sat a blond man in a black suit with white stripes.He was raising one long white hand to his mouth, covering a yawn. "Hi! Is that Byron Henry?" "yes." "Sit in the back. I'm Natalie Jastrow. This is Leslie Slote. He works at our embassy in Paris and is visiting my uncle."

Byron didn't attract much attention from the girl either.What Natalie Jastrow saw through the sunglasses was a slender young man, recognizable as an American, with a dash of red in his thick brown hair.He was basking in the sun with his back against the wall of the Continental Hotel, smoking a cigarette, his legs crossed lazily.With a light gray top, black sweatpants and a maroon tie, he looks a little like a hooligan.The forehead was broad under the hair, the long pointed chin was thin, and the complexion was very pale.He looked exactly like a college student with a mixed degree, but he was quite handsome.Natalie waved away more than a dozen people like this when she was a girl.

The car zigzags through a narrow canyon lined with crooked crimson old houses on its way out to the countryside.Byron asked what Sloter's job was at the embassy.The diplomat replied that he worked in the political department, was currently studying Russian and Polish, and hoped to be transferred to Moscow or Warsaw in the future.Slote looked very tall in the car; Byron later found out that he was taller than Slote; the diplomat was very long, but his legs were not very long.Slote's thick blond hair was set high, revealing a high forehead and a thin, brownish-red face.His light blue eyes, behind rimless glasses, were keen and sparkling; his thin lips were kept tightly shut, as if making up his mind.Along the way, he always held a big black pipe in his hand or in his mouth, but he didn't smoke.It occurred to Byron that diplomatic work might be interesting, giving you the opportunity to travel, to take risks, to meet some important people.But as soon as Slote mentioned that he was a Rhodes student, Byron made up his mind to drop the subject.

①The Rhodes Scholarship was established by the British capitalist Cecil John Rhodes (1853-1902), and recommends students with excellent academic performance from the United Kingdom and the United States to study at Oxford University for three years. Jastrow lived in a yellow stucco villa perched on a steep hill with a clear view of the cathedral and the red towers and tiled roofs of Siena.It takes about twenty minutes to get here by car from the town.Byron hurriedly followed the girl and Slote through a flower-bedded garden full of black-stained plastic statues. "Uh, you're here!" The voice was high, airy and impatient, with a slight foreign accent when pronouncing r.

They entered a long, beamed drawing room, and Byron saw two things for the first time: a large portrait, taking up a vast majority of one wall, against a gold Francis was in a red robe, with outstretched arms; and on a red silk couch at the far end of the room sat a bearded little old man, dressed in light gray, who, seeing them coming in, looked at his watch, got up, He greeted them with a cough. "This is Byron Henry, Ellen," said the girl. Jastrow reached out two small, dry claw-like hands, took Byron's hand, and looked at him with sharp, somewhat hesitant eyes.Jastrow had a large head and narrow shoulders; the scarred skin of an old man, straight fair hair, a large nose reddened by a cold.His neatly trimmed beard was completely grizzled. "Columbia in '38, didn't you?" "Yes, sir." "Well, please come in." He walked into the room first, buttoning up his double-breasted jacket. "Come here, Byron." He took a heavy crystal jug, pulled off the glass lid, and carefully poured the amber wine into four glasses. "Drink, Leslie, Natalie. We don't usually drink during the day, Byron, but today's a good day." He raised his glass. "Here is a drink to Mr. Byron Henry, who hates the excellence of the Italian Renaissance." Byron laughed. "Is that what Dr. Milano said in his letter? I'm going to drink it." Jastrow took a sip, put down his glass, and looked at his watch.Byron saw that the professor was eager for lunch, and drank the sherry in his glass like whiskey rye.Jastrow cried happily, "Ah! One, two, three. Good boy. Come, Natalie. Leslie, bring your glass to the table." The meal was light: vegetables and white rice alone, followed by cheese and fruit.The tableware was fine old china, sorrel and gold.A little grizzled Italian woman delivers food.Tall windows in the dining room open onto the garden with a view of Siena.Pale sunlight poured in from the window, and a cool breeze blew all the way to the dining table. As soon as everyone was seated, the girl asked, "Why are you against the Italian Renaissance, Byron?" "It's a long story." "Tell us about it," Jastrow said in a classroom-speaking voice, putting a thumb to his smiling mouth. Byron hesitated.Jastrow and the diplomat with the Rhodes Scholarship made him uneasy.The girl troubled him even more.After she took off her sunglasses, her eyes were big and dark, slightly tilted upwards, radiating bravery and wisdom.Her face is thin, her mouth is large and soft, and her orange lipstick is slightly thicker.Natalie looked at him sarcastically, as if she had decided that he was a fool; and Byron was not so foolish as not to see it. "Perhaps I have overstudied," he said. "When I began my studies I was so engrossed that I ended up pouring cold water on them. I saw that much of the art of the Italian Renaissance was indeed Brilliant, but among the works of genius, there is also a lot of nameless garbage. I am most against mixing paganism and Christianity. I don't believe that David looks like Apollo or Moses looks like Jupiter , or the Virgin Mary, like a Renaissance artist's mistress, with a borrowed baby on her lap. Maybe they'd have to paint biblical Jews as native Italians or pseudo-Greeks, but—" Byron After a pause, everyone seemed to be very interested. "Look, I don't think that opinion piece I just made was an important criticism. I figured it just showed me that I was on the wrong track. But what does all this have to do with Christianity? That's what makes me Annoyed. How would Jesus feel if he came back to visit the Uffizi Palace or St. Peter's Basilica? It's the Jesus in your book, Dr. Jastrow, the idealist from the valley Or, poor rabbi? That's what I think of God. My father was a very religious man; Can't imagine what such stuff has to do with himself and his teachings." Natalie Jastrow kept looking at him with an almost motherly smile.He said to her sharply: "All right. You asked me why I opposed the Italian Renaissance. I have answered you." ①The Uffizi Palace is located in Florence, Italy. It was built in the sixteenth century and houses famous paintings from all over the world. "Well, that's a point of view," she said. Sloter's eyes gleamed behind his glasses, and he lit his pipe and said as he smoked, "Don't compromise, Byron, someone has agreed with you. The official name is 'Protestantism.'" "Byron's basic point is correct," said Dr. Jastrow kindly, flicking his short fingers. "The Italian Renaissance was a period of great art and thought. Byron, it happened because paganism and the Hebrew spirit - to use Christian parlance - were not at odds with each other, but flourished together for a short period of time. It's a cross, yes, but some mongrels tend to be stronger than their parents, you know. The mules are proof of that." "Yes, sir," said Byron, "but mules don't carry the family." A mixture of amusement and surprise crossed Natalie Jastrow's face, her large, dark eyes flicked to Leslie Slote and back to Byron. "Well said. Exactly." Jastrow nodded happily. "It is true that the Renaissance was barren. It grew old and died, leaving paganism and the Hebrew spirit to pursue their own immortal paths. But the bones of this mule are now the most precious heritage in human culture, Byron, no matter what you are doing now What an abomination to expose it." Byron shrugged.Leslie Slote said, "Is your father a pastor?" "His father was a naval officer," Jastrow said. "Really? Which department?" Byron said, "Well, he's in the battle planning department right now." "My God! Operation Planning Department?" Jastrow pretended to be comically surprised. "I really don't know. Is it as scary as it sounds?" "Sir, every country draws up various theoretical battle plans in the peaceful era." "Does your father think that war is about to break out?" "I got his last letter last November. He didn't mention the war." The other three exchanged strange glances.Sloter said, "Will he mention such things in his letters home?" "He probably asked me to go home. He didn't make that request." "Interesting," said Dr. Jastrow, grinning slightly smugly at Slote, rubbing his little hands together. "In fact, I think war is on the verge of breaking out," Byron said.This sentence caused A second or two of silence and more winks.Jastrow said, "Is it true? Why?" "Well, I just came back from a tour in Germany. You just see uniforms, parades, drills, military bands. No matter where you go by car, you can see military cars full of soldiers, and railway trains with cannons and tanks. Some trains have It was two miles long." "But, Byron, Hitler won Austria and the Sudetenland by a show of force," said Jastrow, "and without firing a shot." Natalie told Byron: "Leslie thinks my uncle should go home. We've been arguing for three days." "I see." Jastrow took an ivory-handled pocket knife and peeled the pear with the seriousness of old age. "Yes, Byron, I'm as stubborn as a mule." He used the word apparently by accident, for he immediately added with a grin: "I'm afraid it's because I'm a bit 'complex' too. Well, I guess. It's a comfortable place to live, and it's the only home I have now, and my work is going well. It takes me half a year to move. If I want to sell the house, I'm sure every dollar Not even five cents back. Those Italians have been dealing with foreigners for hundreds of years who had to sell their real estate cheap and run away. They would skin me alive. When I bought this villa, It's all been thought of. I plan to spend the rest of my life here." "I hope it's not about spending the rest of your years at the hands of the Nazis this fall," Sloter said. "Hey, you're so stupid, Slote," Natalie interjected, raising a hand and slashing down from mid-air. "Since when did your diplomats have such great foresight? Since Munich? Since Austria? Since the Rhine Valley? Don't you always be surprised?" Byron was very interested in such a conversation.The others seemed to forget he was at the table. "Hitler was acting irrationally, regardless of the disastrous consequences," Sloter retorted. "Anyone can draw a pistol in the street and shoot four people dead before the police get up and stop him. In short, this is what Hitler has called a brilliant foreign policy until now, a mad robber The sudden bombardment. The game is no longer working, people are on the alert, and they will stop him in Poland." Jastrow ate a piece of pear and began to speak rhythmically and smoothly, a little like a person talking to himself, a little like a lecture in class. "Leslie, if Hitler were the Kaiser or Charles XII, I admit I'd be worried. But he's far more powerful than you think, thanks to the fact that the old ruling classes have been overthrown Yes. This group of 1914 royals and politicians who like to dress up and pose, and their greasy faces, this group of Proust's medal-laden perverts, this group of corrupt and depraved morons, it is they who launched the first world. The Great War. They never dreamed that the old ceremonies, the old papers, the old protocols would all come to an end, that industrialized warfare would smash the old regime as easily as a kick over a doll's house. So they all rolled into the garbage heap, New leaders emerge from the gutters, promoting realism and reform. You know, there used to be some Christians who hid in the gutters and catacombs of Rome, too," Jastrow said to Byron Henry, clearly interested in the New listeners are quite fond of it. ① Proust (1871-1922), a decadent French novelist. ② Charles XII (1682-1718), nicknamed "Alexander of the North" and "Madman of the North", advocated the use of force to invade foreign countries, and finally died on the battlefield. ③The German emperors refer to Wilhelm I (reigned 1871-1888) and Wilhelm II (reigned 1888-1918). The First World War broke out during the reign of Wilhelm II. "Yes, sir, I have heard." "Of course you've heard. Well, Hitler was a rogue, Mussolini was a rogue, Stalin was a prisoner. These were tough, smart, capable newcomers, straight out of the gutter. Another prisoner, Lenin, was Great innovator. He invented everything, Leslie, you know--organizing secret parties like the Jesuits, teaching vulgar slogans to the masses, defying the wisdom and memory of the masses, abusing fanatical language and harsh words the dogma of Islam, the use of Islamic religious fanaticism in politics, the gimmicky superficial spectacle of parades and the like, extreme egoism in tactics—all this is Leninism. Hitler was a Leninist, Mussolini was a Leninist They talk about being anti-communist and pro-communist, all to fool fools and children.” "Oh, for God's sake, Ellen—" "That's over! Lenin was very cautious in diplomacy, that's my whole point. Honor, fame, and such pompous fantasies, the old regime caused wars because of them, but in Lenin's view, these It's all fake medicine. Hitler saw it that way too. He didn't take any action unless he was absolutely sure he could get away safely. Like a mad robber with a gun in his hand, that's what he wanted to produce The effect. It surprises me that you're taken in. He's actually a very, very cautious man. He must be sure he can get his way in Poland without a war, or he would never have taken the Action. At least not now. Maybe in another ten years, when he has built Germany. I'll be content with just ten more years." Slote stroked his mustache with long, slightly trembling fingers. "You really confuse me, Ellen. Are you kidding me? Hitler was a Leninist! That's coffee shop hoax and you know it. The Russian Revolution fundamentally changed human history .With the abolition of private property, a new world was created. Love it or hate it, it's a new world anyway. Hitler's socialism was a total sham, designed to put a bunch of scoundrels on the throne. He stagnated the German economy, smashed the trade unions, extended working hours, reduced wages, and kept the former rich at the top, such as the Krupp family and the Thyssen family. He carried out his mission. Those big Nazis lived like nobles and emperors. And those who insisted on implementing socialism in National Socialism were put in concentration camps one by one. Do you know this? 19 The Great Purge of three or four years was a showdown between the socialists in the Nazi party and the generals and the rich conservatives. Hitler killed some of his old friends in the party like chickens. How dare you To put your own safety and Natalie's safety on the prudence of this man strikes me as ludicrous." "Really?" Jastrow looked at his watch and sighed. "I'm sorry. What struck me was Hitler's ability to use socialist babble when necessary and then toss it aside. He used doctrine as much as he used money to get things done. They were both One way. He used racism because it was a pure distillate from the romantic individualism of the Germans, just as Lenin used utopian Marxism because it appealed to the Russian messianic tendencies. Hitler wanted to forge A united Europe. Racist phrasing, socialist prospects, marching bands, parades, uniforms, mournful songs - as long as this litany of nonsense can weld the Germans into a lumbering weapon, of course Hitler will Give them everything. Germans are generally composed, intelligent, brutal, obedient, and you just have to raise your voice a little higher, and they will gallantly carry out any order you give them. Hitler understands them, so he is likely to succeed. A unified There will be a European Europe. Medieval separatism is obsolete, balance of power is dangerous and stupid in the industrial age. All this has to be abolished. There must be a ruthless strongman to take up this task, because by those who hate new things The old stubbornness can't accomplish anything. This was Napoleon's original idea, but it's a pity that he was born a hundred years earlier. The old stubbornness still has enough strength to catch him, lock him up and die in a cage. But now Nobody can put Hitler in a cage anymore." Byron blurted out: "Dr. Jastrow, when I was in Germany, I saw anti-Semitic signs on park benches and on trams. I also saw synagogues burned down." "yes?" Everyone looked at him.He went on: "I'm amazed at how calm you are when you talk about Hitler. I mean, you're a Jew yourself." Dr. Jastrow gave a slow, sour smile, showing small yellow teeth.He stroked his beard and spoke solemnly in the tone of a lecture in the classroom. "Well, your surprise doesn't surprise me. Young people—especially young Americans—don't understand that European tolerance of Jews is only fifty or a hundred years old, and not very deep. For example, I was born Poland, my native land, never tolerated Jews. Even in the West—do you remember the Dreyfus case? No, no. In this respect, Hitler just normalized Europe—Europe radiated liberalism for a short time After the ray of light, now things are going back to normal again. It's just that hostility to the Jews has shifted from the church to the anti-Semitic parties, because the French Revolution has long since transformed Europe from a religious continent to a political one. If Hitler had won, the Jews would have Going back to the old days of second class status; they used to be under kings and popes, and they've always been there. Well, after seventeen centuries like this, we've all survived. We've got a lot to do with things like that methods and principles." ① Refers to Alfred Dreyfuss (1859-1935), a French Jewish military officer who was accused of treason, but later proved to be a conspiracy by a group of anti-Semites, and his reputation was restored. Slote shook his head. "I know you like blah blah blah blah, but I'd rather you take the next steamer home and go blah blah blah." "But I'm serious, Leslie," said Jastrow, with a slightly mischievous smile. "You all made a fuss when Mussolini passed the anti-Jewish law. Well, it turned out to be a joke." "They have become official laws and may be enforced as long as the Germans put pressure on Mussolini." "The Italians hate and fear the Germans. In the unfortunate event of a war, Italy will not fight it. Siena is probably as safe as anywhere in the world." "I doubt Natalie's parents felt the same way." "She can go home tomorrow. Maybe she thinks Siena is cuter than Miami Beach." "I'd like to go back," said the girl, "but not because I'm afraid of war or Hitler. There are things that bother me more than that." "You may have a point," said Jastrow. Sloter's face turned red.His pipe was smoking on the ashtray, but he took a yellow pencil out of his pocket and twirled it in his hand.The pencil in his hand suddenly stopped turning.Jastrow stood up. "Byron, come with me." They left the girl and the blushing man at the table, staring at me and staring at you. In a small wainscoted library, the shelves were filled with books, as were the desks and the floor.Over the white marble mantelpiece hung a rigid portrait of the Madonna and Child of Siena, painted in sky blue and rosy red on a gold ground; it was a very small picture in a large ornate gilt frame. . "Bronson says it's Duccio's work," said Jastrow, waving his hand slightly at the portrait. "Such a picture is good enough for me. But is it real or a fake?" , not yet authenticated. Now you sit there in the sun so I can see you. Put those magazines on the floor. Good. Is this chair comfortable? Excellent." He Sighing, he pressed a thumb to his lower lip. "Well, Byron, why don't you go to the Naval Academy? Aren't you proud of your father?" ①Duccio (1260?—1339?), Italian painter. ② Bai Lunsun (1865-1959), an American art critic. Byron sat up straight in his chair. "I think my dad might be chief of naval operations someday." "Isn't it worth following his example?" "My brother Warren is studying. I'm not interested at all." "Dr. Milano wrote that you went through the Naval Reserve Course and got your commission." "It makes my dad happy." "Have you reconsidered entering the Navy? It's not too late." Byron smiled and shook his head.Jastrow lit a cigarette and studied Byron's face.The young man said, "Do you really like living in Italy, sir?" "Well, the doctor told me to live in a place with a mild climate. I have tried many places, Florida, Arizona, Southern California, and the French Riviera." When the professor said these place names, he used a kind of sarcasm. With a sarcastic tone, as if he thought they were either ridiculous or annoying, he was taking a pen to tick them off one by one. “Italy is beautiful, quiet and cheap.” "Don't you care about making your home in a fascist country?" Jastrow smiled benevolently. "There are good sides and bad sides to any political system." "How did you write 'Jesus of a Jew'? Did you write it here?" "Oh no, but this book sent me here," said Jastrow, a little smugly. "You see, I used to talk about the Bible when I taught ancient history. I also studied the Talmud when I was young in Poland, so when I taught the New Testament, I kind of emphasized how the teachings taught by Jesus and Paul were accepted. Talmudic influences. This new stuff seemed to suit the appetite of Yale's juniors. I wrote a book about it, and I started with the title "Talmudic Subjects in Early Christianity" until the last minute. I just remembered the title of "Jesus of a Jew". This book was selected by the "Monthly Book Reading Club." Jastrow smiled and gestured lightly across the room with both hands. "That's where I ended up. I bought the place with my book club money. And you, Byron, what's your plan? Are you going back to America?" "I don't know. I can't make up my mind at the moment." "Do you want to find a job?" Byron was taken aback for a moment. "Well, I figured it would be nice to get a job, sir." Jastrow walked unhurriedly to the desk, looking for something in the pile of books, took off his glasses, held the book very close to his face, and read the titles carefully. "I had a good graduate student, a lad from Yale, but his parents were afraid of the war, and they called him home—oh, here. I'll give you twenty dollars a week, will that work? Are you interested in Constantine the Great? This is a good general biography that you can start with." ① Constantine the Great (280?—337), the first Christian emperor of the Roman Empire. "Sir, I've failed history more than any other class—" "I see. You don't want to take the job." The young man took the thick book and flipped through it hesitantly. "No. I want to try. Thank you." "Oh, you want to try, don't you? Although you say you have no talent for it. Why?" "Well, for the money, and to be with you." That was true, except that he was hiding a third main reason: Natalie Jastrow. Jastrow put on a serious look, then burst out laughing, "Let's try." The later letter to his parents - in which he spoke of the girl, which resulted in Victor Henry's weighty reply - was indeed misleading, though it was not written by original intention.Someone was in love, but Natalie's was Leslie Slote.He came two or three times a week, and they were all long, thick white envelopes like the Foreign Office, with brown ink on the envelopes and thin letters, and there were stamps where the words "Free Delivery" were printed.The sight of these envelopes disgusted Byron. He spent hours each day with her in the great room on the second floor that was Jastrow's main library.That's where her desk sits.She answered letters, copied manuscripts on a typewriter, and joined the Italian women in housekeeping.Byron sat at work at the long table in the library, reading about Constantine, checking facts, and drawing maps of important battles under Constantine the Great.只要他一抬起眼睛，就可以看到那张伏案工作的光滑的脸，美丽的颧骨上面照射着阳光，如果在阴雨天，就照射着灯光。他也可以经常看到那双穿着丝袜的美丽的长腿。娜塔丽身穿深褐色的羊毛衣服，跟他打交道时总是一本正经。斯鲁特离开以后，她几乎不擦脂粉，把头发往后梳成一个大髻，跟拜伦谈话时态度直率而冷淡。可是他的痴情反而扎了根，而且与日俱增。 他在遇见她之前，有好几个月没跟美国姑娘交往了，现在他们天天见面，这个四壁是书的房间里只有他们两个人，而且一连好几小时呆在一起。光是这一点就足以使他倾心于她了。但她另有使他动心的地方。娜塔丽•杰斯特罗跟她有名望的叔父讲起话来态度自然，就好象他们两个在智力上没有什么差异似的。她学识的广博使拜伦自惭形秽，然而她没有一点点书腐气。根据他过去的经验，年轻姑娘都是轻骨头、傻瓜蛋，经不起微微一笑和几句恭维话。在大学里，后来在佛 罗伦萨也一样，她们都对他很溺爱。拜伦有点儿象阿童尼山①，懒散而没有热烈的爱情。他跟华伦不一样，有点受他父亲的影响，生活上比较严肃。他认为娜塔丽又聪明又可爱，是一块光芒不外露的美玉，被弃置在山野，不受人注意。至于她对他冷淡，他认为是正常现象。他一点不想消除这现象。 他干了一些他从来不曾干过的事儿。他偷了她的一块浅蓝色小手绢，晚上坐在镇上的旅馆房间里拿着它拚命地闻。有一次他把她留在桌上的半块饼吃了，因为饼上印着她的齿痕。后来她找不到那半块饼，他却面不改色地撒着谎。整个说来他的举止有点失常。但娜塔丽•杰斯特罗似乎一点没觉察到。拜伦有一层深不可测的硬壳，从孩提时就已长成，保护他不让他苛刻的父亲看出他的懒惰和极差的学业成绩。 ①希腊神话里的美男子，爱打猎而不爱女人。 他们经常聊天，当然啦，有时候也一起乘车出去在深山里野餐，她几杯酒下肚，就会稍稍对他热情一些，态度有点象姐姐对待弟弟，不久他就打听出她爱情故事中的一些重要事实。她曾在巴黎大学研究社会学，斯鲁特是杰斯特罗的学生，教授写信向他介绍了娜塔丽。他们之间爆发了爱情，后来娜塔丽在盛怒之下离开了巴黎，跟她父母在佛罗里达住了一阵。随后她又回到欧洲，在她叔父手下工作。据拜伦猜测，她来欧洲也是为了离斯鲁特近一点，作另一次尝试。斯鲁特这时已接到调任华沙的命令，娜塔丽正计划在七月间到华沙去看他，因为那时候杰斯特罗也要到希腊的岛上去避暑。 有一次他们一起出去野餐，拜伦把酒瓶里最后几滴酒倒在她杯子里的时候，大着胆子直截了当地刺探她一下。“娜塔丽，你喜欢你的工作吗？” 她坐在一条毯子上，把两腿裹在格子花裙子里，眺望着山谷那边棕色的冬天葡萄园。她把头一歪，露出调皮的询问神气，答道：“哦，工作就是工作。怎么啦？” “我好象觉得你是在这儿浪费时间。” “嗯，我来告诉你，拜伦。你在恋爱的时候，就会做出奇怪的事来。”他的反应很冷淡，脸上毫无表情。她接下去说：“这是一个方面。此外，坦白地说，我觉得埃伦相当了不起。你说呢？尽管他老想出一些非常奇怪的念头，也非常喜欢自我陶醉，还有种种诸如此类的毛病，不过这本关于君士坦丁的书的确写得很好。我父亲是个慈爱、聪明、善良的人，但他只是个会堂负责人，也是个运动衣制造商。埃伦是个著名作家，也是我叔父。我揣摩自己很沾他的光。那有什么不对呢？当然，我也喜欢替他打字，从新写的原稿里看他的头脑怎样工作。那是卓越的头脑，他的风格也值得赞美。”她又带着询问神气看了他一眼。“那么你干吗要做这工作呢，我倒真是不太明白。” “我吗？”拜伦说。“我身上没有钱了。” 早在三月里，杰斯特罗接受一家美国杂志约稿，准备为即将举行的赛马写一篇特稿。这样他必须放弃去希腊旅行的计划，因为赛马是在七月和八月举行。可是这笔稿费优厚得近于荒谬的程度。他说，因此他舍不得拒绝。他跟娜塔丽说，她要是肯去观看赛马，代他做调查研究工作，那么他就给她一半稿费。娜塔丽立刻答应了，没想到——拜伦是这样看的——她叔父是要阻止，至少是要延迟她去华沙的旅行。杰斯特罗有一次毫不含糊地说，娜塔丽那么追斯鲁特不是有身份女子应有的举动，也不是好的策略。拜伦琢磨斯鲁特并不想跟娜塔丽结婚，也明白是为什么。对一个从事外交工作的人来说，在这样的时候娶一个犹太女子做妻子是灾难性的；虽然拜伦觉得，要是他处于斯鲁特的地位，他会为了她高高兴兴地离开外交界。 娜塔丽当天就写信给斯鲁特，通知他说要把去华沙的日期延迟到八月赛完马以后。拜伦看着她在打字机上打出那封信，竭力不让心底里的喜悦露到脸上。他心想，她也许去得成，也许去不成！也许在这期间会爆发战争，阻止她前去。拜伦希望，希特勒如果真要进攻波兰，那么最好快点动手。 她写完信，他就用同一架打字机给他父母写了那封难得的长信。他本来只想写一页，结果写了七页。这是好几个月内他写给他们的第一封信。他一点没想到他已在信中把自己描绘成一个坠入情网的年轻人。他还以为自己只是在描写他的工作、他的雇主，还有那个跟他一起工作的可爱姑娘。因此帕格•亨利白操了一番心，写了那么严肃的回信。拜伦接到信时，感到又是吃惊又是好笑。他根本没想到要跟娜塔丽结婚，就好象他根本没想到要改信伊斯兰教一样。他只是被爱情迷住了心窍，那个年轻女子简直可以说近在身旁，远在天边。他觉得现在只要能跟她厮守在一起，就心满意足了。他又写了封信向他父亲解释明白，可是，这封信到达华盛顿时，亨利夫妇已经启程去德国了。