Chapter 15 chapter Ten

morning worship The visitor witnesses a quarrel among the servants, Emaro of Alexandria hints at it, and Adesso ponders what it means to be a saint and a devil.Afterwards, William and Adso returned to the writing room. William saw something interesting and talked about the appropriateness of "laughing" for the third time. In the end, he still couldn't go to the place he wanted to explore. Before going upstairs to the office we paused in the kitchen, for we hadn't had a grain of rice since we got up.I drank a bowl of warm milk and immediately felt refreshed.The fire to the south was burning like a wrought-iron furnace, and the bread for the day was baking on it.Two shepherds put away the freshly slaughtered sheep.I saw Salvatore smiling at me with his wolf-like mouth between the cooks.I also saw him grab a piece of leftover chicken from the table last night and sneak it to the shepherd.The shepherd hid the chicken under the sheepskin coat with a happy smile on his face.But the chef noticed and scolded Salvatore.

"Career, custodian," he said, "you must take care of the abbey's belongings and not waste them carelessly!" "What's the matter?" Salvatore said, "Jesus said that to treat these Polly well is to do things for him!" "Dirty Fratis, Manoret's fart!" the cook yelled at him, "you are no longer one of those lice-bitten monks! The abbot's mercy goes to God's people diet!" Salvatore's face darkened, and he turned around angrily: "I'm not Brother Menorit! I'm a monk from St. Benedict! Fuck you!"

The cook shouted, "Go and scold that bitch who slept with you at night, you pagan pig!" Salvatore pushed the shepherd out of the door and leaned towards us, looking at us worriedly. "Brother," he said to William, "defend the Order and tell him that Franciscans are not heretics!" Then he whispered in William's ear, "He's a liar, bah!" Spit out. The cook came over, pushed him out roughly, and slammed the door shut. "Friar," he said reverently to William, "I'm not insulting your order or its saints. I'm talking about that false Brother Menoret or Benedict, who is neither man nor beast. guy!"

"I know where he came from," William said reassuringly, "but now he's a monk like you, you should be kinder to him." "But he always puts his foot in something that doesn't concern him, and thinks he is the steward just because he has the steward's backing. He takes the monastery as if it were his own, no Day and night." "How was the night?" William asked. The cook made a gesture, as if to say that he didn't want to talk about those immoral things. William didn't ask him any more, and finished his bowl of milk quietly. I am more and more curious.Meeting with Ubertino, talking about Salvatore's past and his administrators, hearing them mention more and more Fradiselli and the Pagan Menoret, my mentor refused to tell The matter of my brother Dolcino... a series of images flooded my mind.

For example, on at least two occasions during our travels we came across the ranks of self-flagellation ascetics.At one time the local people looked at them reverently, as if they were saints, and at another time it was said that these people were heretics.But they are all the same kind of people.They walked in twos and twos through the streets of the city, covering only their vulvas, because they were no longer ashamed.Each held a whip in his hand, and flogged his shoulders until the flesh burst open and blood flowed; they wept unceasingly, as if they had seen Christ suffer; they begged God for mercy with sad tunes, Our Lady spoke on behalf of the item.Not just during the day, but also at night.Holding lighted candles, in the severe winter, a group of people walked from one church to another, kneeling humbly in front of the altar, led by monks holding candles and banners, and those who followed were Ordinary male and female civilians, as well as noble ladies and businessmen...

Then came the big act of repentance: those who had stolen returned the stolen goods, and others confessed their crimes... But William looked at them indifferently and told me that this was not a real confession.Then he said what he had said not so long ago, this morning, that the great age of penitence is over, that these were but the preachers' means of encouraging the faith of the people so that they would not succumb to the desire of penitence, That's really pagan, and it terrifies everyone.But I don't see how it makes a difference - if there is a difference at all.In my opinion, there is no difference in the actions of the two factions, only the attitude of the church in judging these actions will be different.

I remembered the conversation with Ubertino.William no doubt flattered subtly, trying to tell him that there was not much difference between his mystical and orthodox beliefs and the twisted beliefs of the heretics.Ubertino clearly saw the difference, so he didn't take William's words seriously.My impression is that he is different because he can see the difference.William abdicated his duties as magistrate because he could no longer see the difference.For this reason he could not tell me about the mysterious Brother Dolcino.But then (I told myself), William had clearly lost God's help.God not only teaches man how to see differences, but also elects him for his ability to discern.Ubertino and Clare of Montefalco (who is surrounded by sinners) are still saints simply because they know the difference.This alone is sacred.

But why didn't William know how to tell the difference?His mind is clear and shrewd, and he can spot the slightest difference or the slightest similarity between two things... While I was brooding on these thoughts, William finished his milk, and suddenly we heard someone greet us.That was Emaro of Alexandria, whom we met in the office, and I was impressed by the contempt on his face, as if he could never conform to the insanity of human beings without thinking that the universe How important is the tragedy. "Hey, Brother William, are you used to this madman's den?" William said cautiously: "I think this is a place with many scholars and saints."

"Yes, the dean has the majesty of the dean, and the librarian also fulfills his duties as a librarian. You can also see that up there—" he nodded his head upstairs, "the one with the blind man eyes, the half-dead German, listened reverently to the mad ravings of the blind Spaniard with the dead eyes. Every morning the enemies of Christ seemed to come. They rubbed the parchment all day long, but Nothing new to write... We are up here and they are down below in the city. Our monastery once ruled the whole world. You see the situation today: the emperor uses us and sends his friends here to meet His enemies (I know a little about your mission, monks like to gossip, they have nothing else to do). But if he wants to control the affairs of this country, he has to stay in the city. We are busy drying corn , raising poultry, they exchange a few feet of silk for a few feet of flax, and a few feet of flax for a few bags of spices. Those can be sold for money. We guard our treasures, but below theirs The treasures are piled higher and higher. There are also books, which are much more beautiful than ours."

"Precisely, everything is changing in this world. Why do you think the Dean is to blame?" "Because he gave the library to foreigners and saw the monastery as a castle shielding the library. The St. Benedict's Monastery in Italy itself should be a place where Italians decide Italian issues. Today Italians don't even have a The Pope, what the hell do they do? They trade, they manufacture, they are richer than the King of France. So we must do the same. We know how to make beautiful books, and we should make books for the universities, Take care of things in the valley—I don't mean meddling in the Emperor's affairs, including yours, Brother William, I mean what the Bolognese and Florentines are doing. From here we can control the pilgrims and merchants from Italy to Paths of Provence. Our libraries are supposed to house works in our national language, as well as finished works of authors who no longer write in Latin. Yet we are dominated by a group of foreigners, and the library and Odo of Clooney did not when he was dean What's the difference..."

"But your dean is Italian," said William. "The dean here is of no importance at all." Emaro said still contemptuously, "he has a bookshelf in his head, corroded by worms. He resents the Pope, so he allowed Fratis to invade the monastery... Brother, I Meaning heretics, those who renounced the holy order... To please the Emperor, he invites monks from every monastery in the North, as if we had no good scribes here, nor Germanic and Arabic in this country, As if in Florence and Pisa there were no sons of merchants, rich and generous, willing to enter orders, so far as orders might increase their father's prestige and power. But here, the favor of worldly affairs is only allowed when the Germans are allowed... Oh God, Hold my tongue, for I'm about to speak something rude!" "Is there anything immoral in the Abbey?" William asked absently, pouring himself some more milk. "Friars are human beings too," Emaro said, "but here they are less human than elsewhere. To what I said: remember I didn't say it." "Interesting," said William. "Are these just your opinions, or are there many others who think the same?" "Many, many. Many mourn the loss of Adelmo, but if another fell into the abyss, and someone walked the library more diligently, they wouldn't be unhappy." "I don't understand you." "I talk too much. We talk too much here, and you must have noticed. On the one hand, silence is no longer respected here; on the other hand, it is respected too much. We should Actions take the place of words or silence. In the golden age of our order, if a Abbot did not have the temperament of an abbot, a glass of poisoned wine would make way for a successor. I say these things to you, Brother William, not that the abbot or Gossip of other brothers. God bless me, luckily I don't have the bad habit of gossiping. But if the dean wants you to investigate me or others, such as Pacificus of Tivoli or Peter of Santabino , I shall be very displeased. We have nothing to say about library business, but we would like to. Expose this den of vipers, you Inquisitor who burned many heretics." "I've never burned anyone," William answered sharply. "That's just a way of saying." Emaro said frankly, showing a smile, "I wish you good luck, brother William, but be careful at night." "Why don't you have to during the day?" "For here there are good herbs that tend the body during the day, but bad herbs that confuse the mind at night. Do not believe that Adelmo was pushed into the abyss by someone's hand, nor that it was someone's hand Put Venantius in the vat. Here's a man who doesn't want the monks to decide for themselves where to go and what to do. He uses the power of hell, or the power of a wizard, to drive curious minds mad... ..." "Are you talking about the herbalist?" "Severinus of Sanctuary is a good man. Of course, he is also a German, just like Malachi..." Emaro once again expressed his hatred of gossip, and went upstairs to work up. "What the hell is he trying to say to us?" I asked. "Want to say everything, but say nothing. The monks in the monastery often fight each other for the power to control the order, and it is the same in Melek. Maybe because you are only a novice monk, you can't realize this. A little. But in your country, gaining the power to control the monastery means winning the status of being able to negotiate directly with the emperor. In this country, the situation is different. The emperor is far away, even if he travels to Rome for inspection. No The court, now even the Holy See is gone, only the big cities. You must have seen it." "Of course, and I was impressed by them. The cities of Italy are different from those in our country... It's not only a place to live, but also a place where big things are decided, people always gather in the squares, and the city administrator Much better than the Emperor or the Pope. These cities are like . . . many kingdoms." "And merchants are kings, and their weapon is money. In Italy, money has a different function that does not exist in your country or mine. Money flows everywhere, yet there are many places where life is still The barter system of trade governed, a chicken or a sheaf of straw, or a scythe, or a caravan, and the money was used only to acquire these items. On the contrary, in Italian cities, you must have noticed that items were paid for To get money. Even monks, bishops, orders, value money. So, of course, riots against those in power always call for poverty. Traitors deny any connection with money, so every time poverty The call of the Lord has stirred up tension and controversy, and the city, from the bishop to the magistrate, has made the over-teaching of the poor a personal enemy. Wherever someone reacts to the stench of devil's excrement, the magistrates will smell it. The stink of the devil. Now you see what Emaro is thinking. In the golden age of the order, a St. Benedict's monastery, was a place where shepherds controlled the devout flock. Emaro hoped to restore Tradition. It’s just that the lives of believers have changed. Only by accepting the new ways of believers and changing themselves can monks restore tradition (restore its glory, its former power). Since believers here today are controlled by money Dominated, not by weapons or canon rituals, so Emaro wants the whole monastery, and the library itself, to become a workplace, a profitable factory." "What does that have to do with crime?" "I don't know yet. But now I want to go upstairs, let's go." The monks were already working, and there was silence in the entire office, but this silence did not come from the peace of every soul studying.Berengar, who had arrived one step ahead of us, received us awkwardly, and the other monks looked up.They knew we were there to investigate the death of Venantius, and their eyes directed our attention to an empty desk next to the central octagonal well, with an open window Down. Although it was cold that day, the temperature in the office was mild.It is not without reason that the designer originally placed it above the kitchen. The heat from the kitchen will be transmitted to the top, and besides the two spiral staircases in the west and south towers, there is a large stove in each, which adds a bit of warmth.As for the north tower, directly opposite this large room, although there are no stairs, there is a large fireplace burning all day, which also brings a lot of heat.In addition, straw was laid on the floor so that there would be no footsteps disturbing other people's research. In other words, the least warm corner is the east tower, and I have actually noticed that all the monks try to avoid sitting at the desks in that area, even though there aren't many vacancies. I later learned that the stairs in the east tower not only lead down to the kitchen, but also up to the library, and I couldn't help wondering if the heating in the office was deliberately calculated so that the monks would be less miserable. By exploring that area, it is easier for the librarian to control access to the library. Perhaps one of the most desirable positions was Venantius's desk facing away from the great furnace.At that time, I didn't have much experience of spending time in a scriptorium, but I have since spent a lot of time in a scriptorium. How painful winters can be, the numbness of their fingers holding the stylus (fingers cramp after six hours of continuous writing, even at normal temperatures, thumbs more like trampled pain), explains why We often find sentences from the scribe's suffering (and his impatience) in the margins of manuscripts, such as "Thank God it's getting dark" or "Oh, if only I had a nice glass of wine" , or "It's cold and dark today, and this parchment is hairy, and nothing is right," etc.As an old proverb goes: There are only three fingers that hold the pen, but it is the whole body that works, and it is the whole body that hurts.But I'm going to talk about Venantius' desk.The desks arranged around the octagonal patio are small because they are used by scholars for study, but the desks by the windows on the outer wall are designed for book decorators and scribes, so they are relatively large.Venantius also had a lectern next to his desk, and perhaps he also read and copied manuscripts borrowed from the monastery.Below the desk were rows of low shelves filled with unbound papers which, as they were written in Latin, I presumed were his most recent translations.It was hastily written, and the pages were not numbered, because the manuscript had to be handed over to the scribe for copying and for the decorator to add pictures.So, the handwriting was illegible.Besides the few stacks of papers, there were also several books in Greek. Also lying open on the lectern was a volume in Greek, the original that Venantius had translated over the past few days.I didn't know Greek at the time, but my tutor read the title and said the author's name was Lucian, and the story was about a man turned into a donkey.I am reminded of a similar fable by Apuleius, which is usually strictly forbidden for novices to read. William asked Berengar, who was standing next to us, "Why did Venantius translate this book?" "A landowner in Milan requested the monastery to translate it. The reward is that the monastery has the priority to the wine produced by several farms on the east side." Belenga pointed to the distance with his right hand.But he quickly added, "It's not that the monastery does the work for mortals for a fee, it's just that the landowner who entrusted us to do this has gone to great trouble to borrow this precious Greek manuscript from the Doge of Venice, and The Doge of Venice was again obtained from the Byzantine Emperor. After Venantius has translated the manuscript, we will make two copies, one for the Milanese landowners and the other for our library.” "So libraries are not disobedient for collecting pagan fables," said William. "The library proves truth and proves false." A voice came from behind us. It was George. I was surprised again by the sudden appearance of this old man (and I was more surprised in the next few days), as if we hadn't seen him just now, but he had been watching us all the time.I also wondered why a blind man came to the library, and then I realized that George could be said to be everywhere, and he would appear in any corner of the monastery at any time.He was often in the office, sitting on a stool by the fireplace, and it seemed that all the movements in the room could not escape his ears.Once I heard him ask aloud from his position: "Who is going upstairs?" and turned his head to Malachi, who was going to the library, though the straw muffled the sound of his footsteps. The monks respected him and often relied on him, reading him difficult passages, consulting with him on how to polish them, or asking him how to describe an animal or a saint.He would stare at the pages with those empty eyes, as if looking at words from memory.He would answer that the false prophet dressed like a bishop but spat out frogs, or that the stones were used to decorate the walls of the holy city of Jerusalem, or that the Alimaspi were Prester John. a medieval Christian and monk who is said to have ruled some kingdom in Africa or the Far East) - ask them not to make the illustrations too tempting, see them as symbols, recognizable but not overwhelming People yearn for, or make people laugh. I once heard him admonishing an orthodoxy how to make a fine translation of Ticonius in the light of St. Augustine, avoiding pagan arguments.Another time I heard him explain how to distinguish heathens from sectarians when commenting.On another occasion, he told a bewildered scholar what to look for in a catalog and roughly on which page he would find it, assuring him that the librarian would lend him the book because it was a A book inspired by God.Finally, on another occasion, I heard him say that a certain book was absolutely impossible to find, and although the title was in the catalogue, it was destroyed by rats fifty years ago, and no one can find it now. If you touch it, it will probably turn into a pile of powder.In other words, he is the memory of the library and the soul of the scriptorium.Sometimes he would admonish the whispering monks: "Hurry up, prove the truth quickly, time is limited!" He was referring to the coming of the Enemy of Christ. "The library proves truth, and it also proves error," George said. "Apuleius and Lucian were undoubtedly regarded as magicians," William said, "but the fable, under the veil of fiction, also has a good meaning. It tells us what it takes to make a mistake. The cost, and I believe the story of the man who turned into a donkey is a metaphor for the heart's descent into sin." "Probably," said George. ※Bandhammer School & E-Book of Fine School※ "Now I understand why, in the conversation I heard yesterday, Venantius was so interested in the question of comedy. In fact, fables of this kind may be said to be a kind of comedy in antiquity. The characters in the story are non-existent, not like tragedy; on the contrary, as Isidore said, they are fictional..." At first I didn't understand why William would bring up this erudite discussion, and discuss it with someone who didn't seem to enjoy the subject.But George's answer made me realize how subtle my mentor's intentions were. "It wasn't comedy that we were discussing that day, it was just whether it was appropriate to laugh." George frowned. I remember it well, except that when Venantius mentioned that discussion the day before, George said he couldn't remember it. "Ah," said William casually, "I thought you were talking about poets who lie and set up riddles..." "We talk about 'laughing,'" said George sharply. "Comedies are written by pagans to make their readers laugh, and that is absolutely wrong. The Lord Jesus Christ never spoke comedies or parables, only plain similes, dark Show us how to get to heaven, that's all." William said: "I wonder why you object so strongly to the idea that Jesus may have laughed. I believe that laughter is a medicine, like a bath, that heals one's emotions and other afflictions, especially depression." "Bathing is a good thing," George said. "Aquinas also said that bathing can dispel sorrow and restore emotional balance. Laughter makes the body vibrate, distorts the facial features, and makes people look like monkeys." "Monkeys don't laugh. Laughter is appropriate for humans and a sign of rational behaviour," William said. "Speech is also a symptom of the rational behavior of man, but man can use it to blaspheme God. Not everything that is right for man is good. He who laughs does not necessarily believe what he laughs at, nor does he hate it It. Therefore, laughing at something evil does not signify readiness to confront it, nor does laughing at something good signify acknowledgment of the power of good. So the canon says: 'The tenth degree of humility is not meant to make people laugh.' "Quintilian, the Roman rhetorician, said," continued my tutor, "that for the sake of solemnity laughter should be suppressed in eulogies, but should be encouraged in other cases. Pryn Younger writes:' Sometimes I laugh, I mock, I play because I'm human." "They are heretics," replied George, "and the canon forbids such nonsense." "But of old, when the words of Christ were preached, Sinesius of Cyran said that the divinity could harmoniously combine comedy and tragedy; And a man of the Christian spirit—says he can mix moments of joy and seriousness. Even Ausonius suggests the proper use of sternness and sarcasm." "But Paulina of Nora and Clement of Alessandria bid us guard against this folly, said Sulpicius Severus, that no one ever saw St. Martin angry or laughing .” "But he also quotes a few quotes from the saints," William said. "Those were words of wisdom, not without absurdity. St. Aveline wrote an admonition against monks' laughing, and in "Monks' Words and Deeds," an even stronger warning against obscenities and witticisms, which Treat it as a poisonous snake and beast!" "Yet Hydebert insists that laughter is the source of joy in life, and John of Salisbury endorses discreet laughter. Besides, you quoted from Ecclesiastes saying that laughter is the work of fools, but don't you forget that It also says that in times of peace, a silent smile is good." "There is peace of mind only when the truth is contemplated and the good done. And truth and good are not funny things, so Christ did not laugh. Laughter provokes doubts." "But sometimes doubts are not a bad thing." "I don't think so. When you have doubts in your mind, you must turn to an authority, listen to a priest or a scholar; then the cause of doubt disappears. I see you are as keen to dispute dogma as those logicians in Paris. .But St. Bernard knows how to thwart Abella, the eunuch of France; Abella wants to appeal all problems to a cold, lifeless, unbiblical-inspired reason, saying what is logical How and what. Of course a person who accepts dangerous ideas may also appreciate an ignorant person's mockery of truth." "My venerable George, is it not fair that you call the theologian Abella 'a castrate'? You know that he got into that deplorable situation because of the weakness of other people..." "Because of his sin, because of his belief in the pretensions of human reason. The beliefs of the masses are ridiculed, the mysteries of God are stripped of their essence (at least they try, those fools), and questions about the highest things are lightly The priests were ridiculed because they thought these questions should be suppressed and not raised." "I disagree, my venerable George. God calls upon us to use reason in many obscure matters which the Bible leaves us free to decide. When someone advises you to believe a proposition, you must first Check whether it is admissible, for our reason, being created by God, and that which pleases our reason, must also please the Deity, which we can deduce only by the course of reason. Therefore, for "Laughter" is sometimes an appropriate instrument for maligning absurd claims against reason. Laughter can frighten bad people and make their stupidity obvious. It is said that when the pagans threw St. Maulus into boiling water, He also complained that the bath water was too cold; and the pagan magistrate foolishly dipped his hand in to test the water, and scalded himself. The holy martyr thus taunted the enemies of the faith." George snorted: "Even in the anecdotes told by the preachers, there are plenty of old wives' tales. A saint is dipped in boiling water, suffers for Christ, stifles his cry, he won't play tricks on that heathen Such a childish trick!" "You see!" said William, "you think the story goes against common sense, and accuse it of nonsense! Though you control your lips, you laugh at something to yourself, and don't expect me to take it seriously. What you laugh at is It's 'laughing' but you can't deny that you're laughing! " George waved his hand indignantly. "Laughing at 'laughing'—you lead me into a silly argument. But you also know that Christ didn't laugh." "I don't know for sure. When he asked the Pharisee to throw the first stone, when he asked whose image was engraved on the coin of the tribute, when he said the clever words, I believed what he said A wisecrack, to awaken the sinner and lift the spirit of the disciple. When he said to Cain: 'You have said it.' That was also a witty remark. I think you must know well that when Crunac and Cister The conflict in Sia was at its most heated, when Kruniac accused Sistia of not wearing trousers, making them both look funny. In "The Fool's Mirror," narrating Brule the Fool thinks that if the night is windy, The blanket was blown off and the monks saw their own vulvas and wondered what it would be like..." The monks around all laughed. George was furious: "You are luring these brothers of mine into foolish pleasures. I know it is St. Francis' habit to please the crowd with such nonsense, but for this trick I might as well quote one of your Let me tell you what the missionaries said: the stench should come out of the anus." This sentence is a bit more serious.William had been more reckless, but now George accused him of farting with his mouth.I couldn't help but wonder if this stern answer was the old monk's signal to us to leave the office.However, William, who was still in high spirits just now, has become humble now. "Forgive me, my venerable George," said he, "my mouth gives away my thoughts. I did not mean to be disrespectful to you, and perhaps what you say is right and mine is wrong." Faced with this extremely humble statement, George snorted, not knowing whether it was to express satisfaction or forgiveness; in short, he had no choice but to go back to his seat.And the monks who gradually gathered during the debate also dispersed.William knelt again at Venantius's desk and searched through the papers again.With those few meek answers, William gained a few seconds of peace.And what he saw in those few seconds inspired him to investigate again that night. ※Bandhammer Academy's E-Book※ But really only for a few seconds.Benno came forward at once, pretending to have left his stylus on the table when he had gathered around to listen to the debate; he whispered to William that he must speak to him at once, and arranged to meet at a place behind the bathhouse.He told William to leave first, and he would come out after a while. William hesitated, then called Malachi.Malachi had been sitting behind the librarian's desk, watching everything.William begged him, in view of the dean's order (he emphasized this privilege), to have someone guard Venantius's desk; Things are important.He said these words aloud so that not only Malachi would have to watch over the monks, but the monks would watch Malachi too.Malachi nodded in agreement, and William and I turned and left. As we walked through the garden and approached the bathhouse adjacent to the sanatorium, William said: "It seems that many people are afraid that I may find something on or under Venantius's table." "What will it be?" "I don't think even those who are afraid know it themselves." "So, Benno doesn't really have something to tell us, but just wants us to leave the office?" "We'll see soon enough," William said. In fact, it wasn't long before Benno was hurrying towards us.