Free The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco Page B

wanted, the Perugia chapter asserted that we were right. But then, still in 1318, he gave in to the Pope and turned over to him five Spirituals of Provence who were resisting submission. Burned, William . . . Oh, it is horrible!” He hid his face in his hands.
    â€œBut what exactly happened after Talloni’s appeal?” William asked.
    â€œJohn had to reopen the debate, you understand? He had to do it, because in the curia, too, there were men seized with doubt, even the Franciscans in the curia—pharisees, whited sepulchers, ready to sell themselves for a prebend, but they were seized with doubt. It was then that John asked me to draw up a memorial on poverty. It was a fine work, William, may God forgive my pride. . . .”
    â€œI have read it. Michael showed it to me.”
    â€œThere were the hesitant, even among our own men, the Provincial of Aquitaine, the Cardinal of San Vitale, the Bishop of Kaffa. . . .”
    â€œAn idiot,” William said.
    â€œRest in peace. He was gathered to God two years ago.”
    â€œGod was not so compassionate. That was a false report that arrived from Constantinople. He is still in our midst, and I am told he will be a member of the legation. God protect us!”
    â€œBut he is favorable to the chapter of Perugia,” Ubertino said.
    â€œExactly. He belongs to that race of men who are always their adversary’s best champions.”
    â€œTo tell the truth,” Ubertino said, “even then he was no great help to the cause. And it all came to nothing, but at least the idea was not declared heretical, and this was important. And so the others have never forgiven me. They have tried to harm me in every way, they have said that I was at Sachsenhausen three years ago, when Louis proclaimed John a heretic. And yet they all knew I was in Avignon that July with Orsini. . . . They found that parts of the Emperor’s declaration reflected my ideas. What madness.”
    â€œNot all that mad,” William said. “I had given him the ideas, taking them from your Declaration of Avignon, and from some pages of Olieu.”
    â€œYou?” Ubertino exclaimed, between amazement and joy. “But then you agree with me!”
    William seemed embarrassed. “They were the right ideas for the Emperor, at that moment,” he said evasively.
    Ubertino looked at him suspiciously. “Ah, but you don’t really believe them, do you?”
    â€œTell me,” William said, “tell me how you saved yourself from those dogs.”
    â€œAh, dogs indeed, William. Rabid dogs. I found myself even in conflict with Bonagratia, you know?”
    â€œBut Bonagratia is on our side!”
    â€œNow he is, after I spoke at length with him. Then he was convinced, and he protested against the
Ad conditorem canonum.
And the Pope imprisoned him for a year.”
    â€œI have heard he is now close to a friend of mine in the curia, William of Occam.”
    â€œI knew him only slightly. I don’t like him. A man without fervor, all head, no heart.”
    â€œBut the head is beautiful.”
    â€œPerhaps, and it will take him to hell.”
    â€œThen I will see him again down there, and we will argue logic.”
    â€œHush, William,” Ubertino said, smiling with deep affection, “you are better than your philosophers. If only you had wanted . . .”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhen we saw each other the last time in Umbria—remember?—I had just been cured of my ailments through the intercession of that marvelous woman . . . Clare of Montefalco . . .” he murmured, his face radiant. “Clare . . . When female nature, naturally so perverse, becomes sublime through holiness, then it can be the noblest vehicle of grace. You know how my life has been inspired by the purest chastity, William”—he grasped my master’s arm, convulsively—“you know