Foucault's pendulum - Umberto Eco [274]
As the others of the elect took their places in the ambulatory facing the Pendulum, and the faithful stood in the nave, Aglie entered, pale and drawn, wearing a blue pinstripe suit. He led by the hand, as if escorting a soul along the path of Hades, Lorenza Pellegrini, also pale, and dazed, as if drugged; she was dressed only in a white, semitransparent tunic, and her hair fell loose over her shoulders. I saw her in profile as she went by, as pure and languid as a Pre-Raphaelite adulteress. Too diaphanous not to stir, once again, my desire.
Aglie led Lorenza to the brazier, near the statue of Pascal; he caressed her vacant face and made a sign to the Geants d’Avalon, who came and stood on either side of her, supporting her. Then he went and sat at the table, facing the faithful, and I could see him very well as he drew his snuffbox from his vest and stroked it in silence before speaking.
“Brothers, knights. You are here because in these past few days the Mystic Legates have informed you of the news, and therefore you all know the reason for our meeting. We should have met on the night of June 23, 1945. Some of you were not even born then—at least not in your present form. We are here because after six hundred years of the most painful error we have found one who knows. How he came to know—and to know more than we—is a disturbing mystery. But I trust that among us there is one... You could not fail to be here, could you, mystical friend already too curious on one occasion?... I trust, as I said, that in our presence there is one who can shed light on this matter. Ardenti!”
Colonel Ardenti—yes, it was he, raven-haired as before, though now doddering—made his way among the others and stepped forward before what seemed to be turning into a tribunal, but he was kept at a distance by the Pendulum, which marked a space that could not be crossed.
“We have not seen each other for some time, brother.” Aglie was smiling. “I knew that you would be unable to resist coming. Well? You have been informed what the prisoner said, and he says he learned it from you. So you knew and you kept silent.”
“Count,” Ardenti said, “the prisoner is lying. It is humiliating for me to say this—but honor above all. The story I confided to him is not the story the Mystic Legates told me. The interpretation of the message—it’s true, I came into possession of a message, but I didn’t hide that from you, years ago, in Milan—the interpretation is different....I wouldn’t have been capable of reading it as the prisoner has read it, and so, at that time, I sought help. And, I must say, I received no encouragement, only distrust, defiance, and threats....” Perhaps he was going to say more, but as he stared at Aglie, he stared also at the Pendulum, which was acting on him like a spell. As if hypnotized, he sank to his knees and said only, “Forgive me, because I do not know.’’
“You are forgiven, because you know you do not know,” Aglie said. “And so, brothers, the prisoner has knowledge that none of us has. He knows even who we are; in fact, we learned who we are through him. We must proceed: it will soon be dawn. While you remain here in meditation, I will withdraw once more, to wrest the revelation from him.”
“Ah non, monsieur le comte!” Pierre stepped into the hemi-cycle, his pupils dilated. “For two days you have talked with him, tete-a-tete, and he has seen