Chapter 5 chapter Five

Since the fourteenth century—Byron had heard—no great event had happened in Siena except horse racing.Siena was a wealthy city-state in the Middle Ages, a military rival of Florence.In 1348, Siena was quarantined due to the Black Death.Since then, it has been solidified into its current form as if under a spell.An occasional handful of art lovers visit here to admire the paintings and architecture of the fourteenth century.Twice a year people from all over the world flock to Siena to watch the frantic horse racing.The rest of the time it was left to wither in the Tuscan sun as if it had come out of an ancient tapestry.

① An economically self-sufficient and politically independent regime in the feudal period of medieval Europe, also known as a free city. Ellen Jastrow has lived in the suburbs of Siena for nine years, but he has never seen a horse race.When Byron asked him why he didn't go, Jastrow spoke of the inhumane public games of the Roman Empire - the forerunners of the ludicrous games of the Middle Ages.He said that racehorses survived by accident in Siena, surrounded by mountains, like a dinosaur in ancient times. "Some medieval cities raced donkeys or buffaloes," he said, "and in Pope Rome they raced Jews. I won't go, not because if a horse breaks its leg, they'll force me to replace it." To race. I'm just not interested." Besides, his archbishop friend had told him long ago that old people avoid races for fear of being crushed or trampled on.

But now there is that article to write.Jastrow got tickets to two races and sent Byron and Natalie into town to do research while he read books on the subject. They first found out that this was a game between some districts or parishes in Siena.Each district consists of only a few blocks of old houses.The total area of ​​Siena is only two and a half square miles, with a population of about thirty thousand.And yet these tiny municipalities—seventeen in all, ten of which compete each year—take themselves, their boundaries, their allegiances, their flags, and their emblems with unimaginable seriousness. .They each have fancy names like oca, brub co, torre, tartuca, nicchio (ie: goose, caterpillar, tower, tortoise, shell).Each district has its own flag, district anthem, church, and even a building similar to the district government hall.

For several days Byron and Natalie wandered through the rough and steep streets.Occasionally an old bus snorted past and they both had to clung to the red-brown walls for their lives—Siena had no sidewalks, and the sleepy, sleepy A deserted street is not much wider than a bus.Maps in hand, the two of them visited each small town side by side, exploring the background of the horse racing.They trace how these urban areas were allied and feuded over the centuries.The leopard section is friendly with the giraffe section, the turtle section is averse to the snail section, and so on.The entanglement between them was very real, and it still is.

They also learn that world-famous horse racing itself is a ridiculous scam, and everyone knows it.There are no horses in the urban area at all.These horses are pulled into the city from the surrounding countryside a few days before each race.Therefore, the participating urban areas draw lots for the horses.The same batch of old horses with numb nerves and stamina are brought back year after year, and transferred from one urban area to another according to the results of the lottery. So how to play the game?Bribing jockeys, drugging horses, surreptitiously placing obstacles for the fastest horses or injuring jockeys—only in these ways does the race feel ambiguously competitive.Thus, the largest and richest urban area tends to win, but the outcome of the contest is also unpredictable, because a small and poor urban area can also be quick and clever, it can spend huge sums of money, make bribes, and guarantee future Allies of the country, swore to participate in some future conspiracy, the sole purpose of which is to capture the pennant to adorn the facade of its district hall.And that's what horse racing is all about: a fight over a flag with a picture of the Madonna on it.Like all games of the Middle Ages, this horse race was held on a holy day, in honor of the Virgin, so that the medals could be painted with the image of the Virgin.Dozens of these faded pennants hang in the halls of district offices in various urban areas.

① Refers to Catholic festivals and anniversaries. After a while, even Jastrow was interested, but with a touch of irony.Deception is clearly the soul of the game, he said.The intrigues, bribes and bribes of old Europe; deceit and deceit upon deceit, sudden betrayal of old allies, temporary collusion with long-standing enemies, scheming and intrigue—it all came down to horse racing when All ghost tricks are displayed in the afterglow of the setting sun. "Hey, this article will write itself," he said beamingly over lunch one day. "Anyway, these Sienese have set a curious little example for European nationalism. The Archbishop told me that a woman from the Leopard District who marries a man from the Caterpillar District or the Tower District will have a baby." She had to go back to a house on Leopard Street when it was time to make sure her doll belonged to the Leopard. Patriotism! The point, of course, was this madness every summer. This outdated pantomime— What snails, giraffes, etc. - should have been extinct hundreds of years ago, but it has survived because of the happy and colorful excitement of horse racing, and all the treachery and wanton violence in it. Horse racing is war .”

"Sir, you should go into town and see," Byron said. "They're laying the runway. There are hundreds of truckloads of this vermilion soil all over Khenpo Square." "That's right," said Natalie, "it's amazing the way they decorate the streets. Everywhere you see flag-waving folks there—" "I'm going to devote two working days to watching the races, and that's enough," said Jastrow grimly. "Do you know what's going on?" Byron said. "This stuff is complete nonsense." Natalie looked at him with surprised, excited eyes, and dabbed her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.The first race of the day was held, and they watched the procession from the balcony of the Archbishop's Palace.The large shadow of the church facade slightly covers one end of the balcony.Jastrow, in his yellow panama hat and white suit, was standing talking to the archbishop.Byron and Natalie huddled in the hot sun among the spectators enjoying special treatment at the other end of the balcony.Although the girl wore a sleeveless pink linen blouse, she was perspiring, and Byron, in his blue-striped poplin jacket and silk tie, was naturally uncomfortable.

Below the balconies, the procession of the Caterpillar Quarter, in yellow and green—with puffed sleeves and wide shorts, colorful stockings, and feathers in their hats—was walking out of the crowded church square, toward them. The cheering and applauding crowd waved the big flags; at the same time, the red and black owl team was entering the square, using the flags to perform the same stunt: twisting the flags into swirls, and throwing a pair of flags into the air together with the flagpole And criss-crossed, flag-wavers leap over each other's flagpoles and also keep the flag flowing. "What nonsense?" Natalie said. "I'm just thinking it's kind of weird."

"Amazing what? They do the same tricks over and over again. We've been here for hours. The porcupine, eagle, giraffe and forest haven't come to show off their flags. The sun is roasting me La." "Ah, Byron, you see, what's amazing is the fluid color and the faces of these young men. In fact, these people look much more natural in medieval clothes than they do in everyday clothes, don't they? See? Their long, straight noses, and their large, deep-rimmed, melancholy eyes! Perhaps they are indeed descended from the Etruscans, as they themselves claim." ①An ancient people in northern Italy.

"It took half a year," Byron said, "to build buildings and churches in the unicorn, porcupine, and giraffe quarters, and to make thousands and thousands of costumes, and to do nothing for a whole week just to do this ritual." , lined up in a big team, walked here and there, played all the way, and then tried to run, all of which are just to let some old old horses hold a private and fraudulent race! And it’s still for the Holy Mother!" "Oh, it's beautiful," cried Natalie.At this moment, the two flags of the Owl District crossed and arched in mid-air. The flag bearers held the flags under the cheers of the audience, and then spun red and black exquisite patterns.

Byron wiped his face, and went on: "Today I was in the church in the Goose District. They took the horse inside and pulled it up to the altar to be blessed. I didn't believe the book, but I saw it with my own eyes. The priest put the cross on the horse's nose and blessed it. The horse is more sensible than a man, and doesn't move around. But in this way, I think I can see through the horses here." Natalie glanced at him, amused. "Poor Brani, Italian Christianity does upset you, doesn't it? Leslie says you're only a Protestant." "Don't horses belong to the Church?" said Byron. By the time the parade ended, the sun was already low.After walking the short distance from the cathedral to Khampo Square, Jastrow became more and more nervous.The throng moved shoulder to shoulder along the narrow street, all cheerful, rushing between the two high reddish-brown stone walls of the ancient palace, shouting and gesticulating.More than once the little professor staggered and nearly tripped.He gripped Byron's arm tightly. "You don't care, do you? I've always been a little afraid of crowds. People didn't mean to harm me, but they didn't seem to care about me." After a burst of crowding, they stopped under a low arch, and then squeezed slowly go out. "My God!" said Jastrow, when they emerged on the dirt track of the races, "the square has changed a lot." "They've been working on it for weeks," Byron said. "I told you." The main square of Siena is one of the places of interest in Italy.Forgotten urban planners of the Middle Ages had laid out such an impressively beautiful open space.On its edge, forming a semicircle, are the red palaces and the imposing, almost vertical facade of the fourteenth-century town hall.All under the blue vaults of Tuscany.The red stone bell tower of the city hall, more than three hundred and fifty feet high, soars into the sky.Throughout the year, this huge shell-shaped square is always empty except for some vendors and sparse pedestrians.The old buildings that surround it appear to be abandoned or dormant there. Today, under the golden sunset, the square is crowded with crowds of people, all crowded and making noise in the circle surrounded by wooden fences.Between the fence and the palace wall is a runway paved with soil.Against the wall is a steep slope formed by a row of makeshift benches.Every window of every building around the square was packed with faces, and the palaces were decked out with banners and brightly colored draperies.The benches were full, all the roofs were full, and the great square in the middle of the square seemed full.But there are more people rushing across the runway from six narrow streets and alleys, forcing their way in.The parade was marching around the runway, and under the constant cheers of the crowd and the piercing sound of several brass bands, the teams from all districts simultaneously spun the flags, threw them in the air, and rolled them into beautiful patterns. Byron led them to their seats, still holding Jastrow's thin arm with one hand. "Here, how preferential treatment the archbishop has given us!" The professor said, and sat down with everyone on the rough and thin board under the referee's bench. "I can't find a better place to see it than here." He laughed for no reason, obviously pleased to be out of the crowd. "See those straw mattresses?" said Natalie cheerfully. "It's right there, on the lower corner." "Oh, I see. For God's sake, what a queer business!" The noise of the crowd grew louder, gradually becoming a cheer.A wooden cart, pulled by four white Tuscan cattle with huge, curved horns, was entering the track.The car was surrounded by marchers in gorgeous costumes.The award pennant fluttered from a tall flagpole atop the cart. "Hey, it's the painting of the Assumption," Jastrow said, examining the brightly colored long flag through a small telescope. "Austere drawing, but not bad at all." The cart rolled slowly around the square.Police in helmets walked behind, pushing crowds off the runway, while street sweepers swept up paper and litter.The paved square is now a dense mass of white shirts, colorful blouses and black heads, revealing the half-moon shape of the runway and its dangers.The red palace slops down to the town hall, where a straight street cuts off a wide detour.At these sharp turns, the outer wooden fences were padded with thick grass mats.Even during the test run, Byron and Natalie saw some horses slam into the straw mats, and the jockeys were thrown unconscious. The setting sun shining on the front of the City Council Hall became darker and darker, turning blood-colored.The rest of the square was in shadow, and the great bells rang out from the clock tower.A long military band played over the City Hall.The crowd fell silent.The trumpets blared the old horse-racing march—a tune that had been echoing through the streets of Siena for a week.Outside the palace, horses dressed in horse clothes for the race trotted with jockeys in colorful costumes.Natalie Jastrow slipped her fingers between Byron's and squeezed them tightly.She pressed her cool, thin, delicate cheek against his. "Is it nonsense, Braney?" she whispered.This contact made him so engrossed that he could not answer for a moment. The starting point of the competition was in front of them, and behind them, on the referee's seat, the award flag hanging on the flagpole was fluttering slightly against the cool wind blowing from the square.A set of ancient objects designed with wood and rope blocks the starting point.Forming a herd of bouncing, overexcited horses in a rope proved impossible.The dazed horses hopped, turned, backed up, fell, twice took a wrong step, and broke free.At last the ten horses roared away in a heap, the jockeys kicking wildly around them and at each other.In the midst of this protracted uproar, a louder cry was heard: two horses had fallen on the first pile of straw.After that, Byron didn't pay attention to the game any more.While he was watching a jockey who fell unconscious and was dragged from the dust, there was another exclamation from the crowd that another accident had happened--out of his sight this time.Following the waving of the stick, the group of horses ran over in a mess of five distances in the dust.A horse without a jockey galloped up, foaming at the mouth, the reins hanging. "Can an unridden horse win?" Jastrow yelled at Byron. A man in the row below them, with an upturned mustache and yellow goldfish eyes, turned his fat, warty red face toward them. "si, si. ①The unridden horse scosso②. Sir, it is a scosso. vira bruco!③scosso!" When the group of horses ran past the judges' stand for the second time, the unridden horse ran clearly at the forefront, and Byron could still see the color and emblem of the caterpillar area on its body. ①Italian: Long live the caterpillar! ② Italian: run around. ③Italian: Yes, yes. "Scosso!" the warty red face turned to Dr. Jastrow jovially, exhaling a strong smell of garlic and wine.He also waved two fists at him. "See, sir? Ho! bruco! Hairy-hairy-worm, sir!" "Yes, that's true," said Jastrow, ducking in Byron's direction. On the third and final lap, the jockeys who hadn't been thrown off their backs flogged the old horses they were riding, trying to get to the unridden horse in the caterpillar area go ahead.The sound in the square became louder, forming a general frantic hissing.In a dusty, chaotic commotion, the jockeys headed hard and beat their arms through the finish line.The unridden horse rolled its red eyes and barely ran ahead. "bruco!" shrieked the warty man, jumping a good two feet high. "scosso! scosso! haha!" He twisted around and gave Jastrow a wild grin, then stuck an imaginary hypodermic needle in his own shoulder, pumped himself up, and gestured to him with such vivid gestures Said the horse had been injected with drugs. "Brauissimo! Hoo!" He ran down the narrow aisle to the track, into the dust, and disappeared among the bustling crowd who jumped from their seats and leaped over the wooden fence.Immediately the track was filled with people spinning, screaming, flailing their arms, bouncing in ecstasy, hugging, shaking their fists, holding their heads, and beating their chests.In the crowd, there were also quilled horse heads shaking back and forth.On the track in front of the umpire's box, twelve boys in white shirts were beating an unhelmeted jockey.He knelt on the dirt road, begging for mercy with his arms raised.The jockey's face was dripping with blood. ①Italian: the bravest! "My God, what's the matter?" Jastrow said in a trembling voice. "Someone didn't do the trick that was originally agreed to," Byron said. "Or something else." "I think—" Jastrow ran a trembling hand through his beard. "That's the part the Archbishop warned us about. Maybe we'd better go—" Byron put an arm across his chest. "I can't go now. Monsieur, you stay where you were and don't move. Natalie, you too." A group of young men with yellow and black scarves around their necks broke through the crowd and rushed straight to the referee's seat.They passed Jastrow on a bench, led by a pale young man with blood streaming from his forehead.Byron put his arms out in front of the girl and Jastrow to protect them as the bloodied fellow took up the flagpole.The whole group roared and cheered, and then they took the flag and walked back clattering on the bench. "Okay!" Byron took the hands of the two of them. "bring it on." Excited Sienese and out-of-town tourists cautiously made way for the victorious Caterpillar team.Byron had the girl on one arm and Jastrow on the other, and moved closely behind the group.They came out of the arcade and into the main avenue of the city.But now the crowd turned behind the pennant and the triumphal procession that escorted it, and swept them in, pushing up the slope in the direction of the cathedral. "Oh, my God," said Natalie, "we can't get out of here now. You hold on to Ellen." "Oh, I didn't expect this hand," gasped Jastrow, fumbling with his free hand at his hat and spectacles, the other clutched tightly in Byron's. "Byron, my feet are barely touching the ground." "It doesn't matter. Sir, don't force yourself to compete with them, just follow along. Once there is a fork ahead, it won't be so crowded. Don't panic—" Suddenly the crowd stirred with fright, and the Professor was thrown from Byron's clutching hand.Behind them they heard the clattering of hooves on the flagstones, the frantic screeching of horses, and the exclamation of men.The crowd around Byron and Natalie had scattered to avoid the oncoming horse.Here comes the victorious horse from the caterpillar section.A burly lad in a green and yellow suit, with a wig that was knocked out and about to slip off, was trying to rein in the horse, but it kicked in his face with a front hoof.He fell to the ground bleeding, and the horse let loose.It jumped up and down, kicked, screamed and rushed forward, and the crowd quickly moved away.As Byron was dragging Natalie from the retreating crowd into the doorway, Ellen Jastrow appeared in the middle of the deserted street, glassesless, and fell, right in the path of the charging horse. Byron didn't say anything to Natalie, but went straight to the middle of the street, grabbed the big yellow straw hat from Jastrow's head, and shook it back and forth at the horse's face.He squatted there, staring at the horse's hooves.The horse neighed wildly, dodged towards a palace wall, staggered, lost its footing, then regained its balance, kicked up, and swung its front legs towards Byron.Byron shook the straw hat again, alertly staying where it couldn't kick it.The horse was jumping on its legs, rolling its bloodshot eyes and spraying foam from its mouth.At this moment, six men in Caterpillar District costumes came running towards the middle of the street, and four of them grabbed the reins and pulled the horse down, gradually calming it down.The others went to help their wounded companion. Someone jumped out of the crowd to help Jastrow up.Natalie ran to his side.People surrounded Byron, patted him on the shoulder, and yelled at him in Italian.He was walking towards Jastrow. "Give me back your hat, sir." "Thank you, Byron. You haven't seen my glasses, have you? I think they're broken. Hey, I still have a pair at the villa." The professor blinked blankly.But he looked excited and happy. "My God, there's been quite a commotion. What's the matter? I must have been knocked over. I just heard a horse galloping around me, but I couldn't see anything." "He's fine," Natalie said to Byron, looking straight into his eyes as she hadn't looked at him before. "Thank you." "If you're not too startled, Dr. Jastrow," said Byron, taking his arm again, "we should go to the Church of the Caterpillars for a service of thanksgiving." "Oh, not surprised at all," Jastrow laughed.When it was time to act, his mind seemed to calm down. "Let's not do it, let's do it. I'm very happy with it. Let's go. Byron, you hold me tight, you were a little remiss just now." A week or so later, Natalie and Byron were working in the library when a summer thunderstorm beat against the darkened windows outside.When the sky flashed, Byron looked up from the map and saw Natalie staring at him.In the light, her face looked very gloomy. "Byron, have you ever been to Warsaw?" "No. What?" "Would you like to go there with me?" Byron suppressed his joy with great willpower.he spent twenty years He brought out the inscrutable bluntness of resisting his father's cross-examination. "What are you going to do?" "Oh, maybe worth a visit, don't you think so? Slote even said it was a bit quaint. The thing is: Ellen is getting more and more reluctant to let me go, you know that. I'd try Could tell him to go to hell, but I'd rather not do that." Byron had heard them discuss.After watching the races, Jastrow was very nervous for a while when he learned how he had nearly been injured or killed.The American consul in Florence had visited him once after the race, and Jastrow's gloom had deepened since then.He has repeatedly said that the diplomatic community is concerned about the situation in Poland and that he thinks Natalie's planned trip is too risky. ’ said Byron, ‘will it do any good if I go? " "Yes. Do you know what Ellen calls you behind his back now? That precious boy. He can't forget what you did at the races." "You exaggerated to him." "I didn't. You showed outstanding composure. You impressed me. Ellen thought the same when he found out afterwards. The horse probably killed him. If I told him you Go too, I reckon he might not talk about it anymore." "Your friend Slote might be offended to see me come with you." Natalie said with a wry smile, "Leslie Sloot will be dealt with by me. Is it done?" "I'll think about it," Byron said. "If you're short of money, I'd like to lend you some." "Oh, I have the money. To be honest, Natalie, I don't really have anything to think about. I think I'd better go with you. Once Jastrow goes to Greece, it's too deserted to stay here." "Great," she smiled at him heartily. "We're going to have a great time, I promise you." "And after Warsaw?" said Byron. "Are you still coming back here?" "Probably so—if the Consul hasn't been able to persuade Ellen to return by this time. He's really working on Ellen. How about you, Blaney?" "Oh, maybe I do too," Byron said. "I'm hanging out now." Dr. Jastrow, upon hearing the news, ordered a bottle of champagne at supper that day. "Byron, I can't tell you how big a stone has fallen in my heart! This stubborn girl doesn't know how barbaric and backward this place is in Poland. But I do. From the letters from my relatives Well, it hasn't improved a bit since I left forty-five years ago, and the situation there is very unstable. The wretch with the moustache is yelling loudly, and we have to prepare for the worst. But things There was always some warning before it happened. Now, I'm much more at ease. You're a capable young man." ① Refers to Hitler. "You talk like I'm an idiot," Natalie said, sipping champagne. "You're a girl's family. It's hard for you to remember that. That's how you were when you were a kid: Climbing trees and fighting boys. Hey, I'll be here by myself, then, and I don't care." "Aren't you going to Greece, sir?" said Byron. "I'm not sure yet." Seeing their perplexed expressions, Jastrow smiled. "I have a bit of trouble with my passport, and I haven't been able to correct it. I was not born in the United States. My father became a naturalized American, and I was naturalized. Now, when I change my passport, I don't know what bus is involved. formalities. Especially since I haven't been back for nine years. This matter may or may not be cleared up before the end of August. If not, then I'll make that trip again next spring." "You've got to fix that," Byron said. "Ah, of course. The Consul said that sort of thing used to be easy. But since the mass exodus of refugees from Hitler to America, the rules have tightened. Well, Blaney, so you and Nata will be a few weeks away." Li is going to Warsaw! I couldn't be happier. I believe she needs a bodyguard very much." "Ellen, you can climb trees too," Natalie said.She turned pink and his uncle smiled at her--the first time in a week that he had smiled so freely. "I hope you will find a way to meet my cousin Ben-Reel," Jastrow said to Byron. "I haven't seen him since I left Poland. But We always have three or four replies every year.Immediate response has always been his forte. "