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¡°Which books?¡±
Benno hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t remember. What does it matter which books were spoken of?¡±
¡°It matters a great deal, because here we are trying to understand what has happened among men who live among books, with books, from books, and so their words on books are also important.¡±
¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Benno said, smiling for the first time, his face growing almost radiant. ¡°We live for books. A sweet mission in this world dominated by disorder and decay.¡±

In these last few years, as never before, to stimulate piety and terror and fervor in the populace, and obedience to human and divine law, preachers have used distressing words, macabre threats.

"Until then I had thought each book spoke of the things, human or divine, that lie outside books. Now I realized that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke among themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me. It was then the place of long, centuries-old murmuring, an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another, a living thing, a receptacle of powers not to ruled by a human mind, a treasure of secrets emanated by many minds, surviving the death of those who had produced them or had been their conveyors.¡±

?A ?nceput, cu m?inile sale desc?rnate ?i delicate, s? sf??ie ?ncet, ?n buc??i ?i ?n f??ii, paginile ?nmuiate ale manuscrisului, b?g?ndu-?i-le ghemotoace ?n gur? ?i mestec?ndu-le ?ncet, ca ?i cum ar fi m?ncat ostia sf?nt?, ?i ar fi vrut s-o preschimbe ?n carne din propria lui carne. Gugliemlo ?l privea fascinat ?i p?rea c? nu-?i d? seama de ceea ce se ?nt?mpla. Apoi s-a scuturat ?i s-a repezit ?nainte strig?nd:
- Ce faci? Jorge a z?mbit, dezvelindu-?i gingiile golite de s?nge, ?n timp ce o ?uvi?? de bale g?lbui ?i curgea de pe buzele albite pe firele albe ?i rare de p?r ale b?rbiei.
- Tu e?ti cel care a?tepta sunetul celei de-a ?aptea tr?mbi?e, nu-i a?a? Ascult? acum ce spune glasul: pecetluie?te cele ce au spus cele ?apte tunete, ?i nu scrie, ia-le ?i devor?-le, ele vor am?r? p?ntecul t?u, dar pentru gura ta dulci vor fi, precum mierea. Vezi? Acum pecetluiesc ceea ce nu trebuie spus, ?n morm?ntul care devin¡±.

[The old Monk, William, and the narrator apprentice, Adso, are hiding out in the stables.:]
To his right, the the third animal in line raised his head, sensing our presence, and whinnied. I smiled. "Tertius equi," I said.
"What?" William asked.
"Nothing. I was remembering poor Salvatore. He wanted to perform God knows what magic with that horse, and, with his fractured Latin he called him 'tertius equi.' Which would be the u."
"The u?" asked William, who had heard my prattle without paying much attention to it.
"Yes, because 'tertiu equi' does not mean the third horse, but the third of the horse, and the third letter of the word 'equus' is u. But this is all nonsense..."
William looked at me, and in the darkness I seemed to see his face transformed. "God bless you, Adso!" he said to me. "Why, of course, suppositio materialis, the discourse is presumed de dicto and not de re....What a fool I am!" He gave himself such a great blow on the forehead that I heard a clap, and I believe he hurt himself. "My boy, this is the second time today that wisdom has spoken through your mouth, first in dream and now in waking! Run, run to your cell and fetch the lamp, or, rather, both lamps we hid. Let no one see you, and join me in the church at once! Ask no questions."
...
I ran into the church. William was under the tripod and was rereading the parchment with Venantius's notes.
"Adso," he said to me, "'primum et septimum de equator' does not mean the first and seventh of four, but of the four, the word 'four'!" For a moment I still did not understand, but then I was enlightened: "Super thronos viginti quatuor! The writing! The verse! The words are carved over the mirror!"
"Come," William said, "perhaps we are still in time to save a life!"