Foucault's pendulum - Umberto Eco [148]
“Do you believe this?” Belbo asked.
“Persons more balanced than d’Alveydre seek the Unknown Superiors.”
“And do they find them?”
Aglie laughed, as if to himself. “What sort of Unknown Superiors would they be if they allowed the first person who comes along to know them? Gentlemen, we have work to do. There is one more manuscript here and—what a coincidence!—it’s a treatise on secret societies.”
“Any good?” Belbo asked.
“Perish the thought. But it could do for Manutius.”
53
Unable to control destinies on earth openly because governments would resist, this mystic alliance can act only through secret societies...These, gradually created as the need for them arises, are divided into distinct groups, groups seemingly in opposition, sometimes advocating the most contradictory policies in religion, politics, economics, and literature; but they are all connected, all directed by the invisible center that hides its power as it thus seeks to move all the scepters of the earth.
—J. M. Hoene-Wronski, quoted by P. Sedir, Histoire et doctrine des Rose-Croix, Bibliotheque des Hermetistes, Paris, 1910
One day I saw Signor Salon at the door of his laboratory. Suddenly, for no reason, I expected him to hoot like an owl. He greeted me as if I were an old friend and asked how things were going at work. I made a noncommittal gesture, smiled at him, and hurried on.
I was struck again by the thought of Agarttha. Saint-Yves’s ideas, as Aglie had explained them, might be fascinating to a Diabolical—but certainly not alarming. And yet in Salon’s words and in his face, when we met in Munich, there had been alarm.
So, as I went out, I decided to drop in at the library and look for La Mission de I’lnde en Europe.
There was the usual mob in the catalog room and at the call desk. With some shoving I got hold of the drawer I needed, found the call number, filled out a slip, and handed it to the clerk. He informed me that the book had been checked out— and, as usual in libraries, he seemed to enjoy giving me this news. But at that very moment a voice behind me said, “Actually, it is available. I just returned it.” I looked around and saw Inspector De Angelis.
And he recognized me—too quickly, I thought, since I had seen him in circumstances that for me were exceptional, whereas he had met me in the course of a routine inquiry. Also, in the Ardenti days I had had a wispy beard and longer hair. What a sharp eye!
Had he been keeping me under surveillance since my return to Italy? Or was he simply good at faces? Policemen had to master the science of observation, memorize features, names...
“Signor Casaubon! We’re reading the same books!”
I held out my hand.” “It’s Dr. Casaubon now. Has been for a while. Maybe I’ll take the police entrance exam, as you advised me that morning. Then I’ll be able to get the books first.”
“All you have to do is be here first,” he said. “But the book’s returned now, and you can collect it. Let me buy you a coffee meanwhile.”
The invitation made me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t say no. We sat in a neighborhood cafe. He asked me how I happened to be interested in the mission of India, and I was tempted to ask him how he happened to be interested in it, but I decided first to deflect his suspicion. I told him that in my spare time I was continuing my study of the Templars. According to Eschen-bach, the Templars left Europe and went to India, some believe to the kingdom of Agarttha. Now it was his turn. “But tell