The Name of the Rose Page #2

gate they pour charity through.

WILLIAM:
No, no. My dear Adso, it's elementary.

Suicide?

ADSO:
Do you think that this... is a place

abandoned by God?

WILLIAM:
Have you ever known a place where God

would have felt at home?

INT. ABBEY. DINING ROOM

ABBOT:
We praise almighty God... that there are

no grounds for suspecting the presence of

an evil spirit among us... either of this

world or another.

We praise our Lord that the debate which

we are so greatly honored to host... may

now proceed without a shadow of fear.

We also praise the Almighty for sending us

Brother William of Baskerville... whose

experience in previous duties, although

onerous to him, has been of such service

to us here.

May serenity and spiritual peace reign

once more in our hearts.

MONK:
(reads in Latin)

"A monk should keep silent.

He should not speak his thoughts...

until he is questioned.

A monk should not laugh.

For it is the fool alone... who

lifts up his voice in laughter."

INT. NIGHT.

ADSO:
Master.

WILLIAM:
Hmm.

ADSO:
If I may ask, what... "onerous duties"

was the abbot talking about?

Were you not always a monk?

WILLIAM:
Even monks have pasts, Adso.

Now, do try to sleep.

ADSO:
I just... Yes, master.

INT. NIGHT

JORGE:
"In much wisdom is much grief, and

he that increaseth his knowledge

increaseth his sorrow also."

VENANTIUS:
(in the scriptorium he reads a book,

and laughs)

GERENGAR:
(in his room he whips his own body)

WILLIAM:
(in his room he strains his ears for

a sound)

REMIGIO:
(sneaks out of the gate)

INT. DAWN.

(monk rings the bell)

(William and Adso also attend Matins)

(some monks, shouting, burst into the chapel)

MONKS:
A calamity!

It was a calamity!

Father! A tragedy in the pigpen!

Come! Come quickly!

EXT.

(a monk hangs headfirst into a jar)

WILLIAM:
(to Adso) This one, I grant you, did not

commit suicide.

SEVERINUS:
Water!

MONK:
Here.

ABBOT:
(gasps)

SEVERINUS:
Venantius, the Greek translator!

ABBOT:
I am to blame. Had I not been so eager

to believe your convenient explanation,

this second tragedy might've been prevented.

WILLIAM:
I am absolutely convinced Brother Adelmo

took his own life. Now, whether-

UBERTINO:
Then the hail...

WILLIAM:
Whether this death is connected in any way

with it, I intend to find.

UBERTINO:
"... after the hailstorm, with the second

trumpet... the sea became blood. And behold...

here is blood!"

MONK:
The prophecy of the Apocalypse!

UBERTINO:
"With the third trumpet, a burning star...

will fall in fountains of water."

MONK:
"Do not squander! The last seven days!"

INT. HERBALIST'S ROOM

(William and Severinus are examinig the body)

SEVERINUS:
Grated stem of waterwort for treating

diarrhea. And as for onions, administered

in small quantities, warm and moist, they

help prolong the male erection... in those

who have not taken our vows, naturally.

WILLIAM:
Do you find many circumstances in which

you apply arsenic, Brother Severinus?

SEVERINUS:
Yes, indeed. It is a most effective remedy

for nervous disorders...

SEVERINUS:
if taken as a compound in small doses.

WILLIAM:
And what of not-so-small doses?

SEVERINUS:
Death.

WILLIAM:
What was this monk's function here?

SEVERINUS:
He was our finest translator of Greek...

entirely devoted to the works of Aristotle.

WILLIAM:
Was he on friendly terms with the handsome

young Adelmo?

SEVERINUS:
Oh, indeed so. They worked together in the

scriptorium. But in a brotherly way, you

understand? Not like... I mean, flesh

can be tempted according to nature... or

against nature. And they were not of the

latter disposition.... if you ascertain my

meaning.

INT.

(Adso is looking up many grotesque carvings in

stone)

SALVATORE:
'Penitenziagite!'

Watch out for the 'dracul' who cometh 'in

futurum' to gnaw on your anima!

Death is supreme.

You contemplate the apocalypse?

There, we have the devil.

Ugly 'con' Salvatore, eh?

My little brother, 'penitenziagite.'

WILLIAM:
"Penitenziagite"?

SALVATORE:
I didn't say that.

WILLIAM:
You said "penitenziagite." I heard you.

SALVATORE:
Noble brother, "magnifico"!

I don't have a good rhetoric. But men

must do "penitence."

I'm a monk. Saint Benedict!

Saint Benedict!

MONK:
Salvatore, come here.

EXT.

ADSO:
Master, what language was he speaking?

WILLIAM:
All languages, and none.

ADSO:
And what was the word you both kept

mentioning?

WILLIAM:
"Penitenziagite"?

ADSO:
What does it mean?

WILLIAM:
It means the hunchback, undoubtedly was

once a heretic.

"Penitenziagite" was the rallying cry of

the Dolcinites.

ADSO:
Dolcinites? Who were they, master?

WILLIAM:
Those who believed in the poverty of Christ.

ADSO:
So do we Franciscans.

WILLIAM:
But they also declared that everyone must

be poor. So they slaughtered the rich.

You see, Adso... the step between ecstatic

vision and sinful frenzy... is all too brief.

ADSO:
Well, then, could he not have killed the

translator?

WILLIAM:
No. No. Fat bishops and wealthy priests

were more to the taste of the Dolcinites.

Hardly a specialist of Aristotle. But,

yes, you're right. We must keep an open

mind.

We are very fortunate to have such snowy

ground here. It's often the parchment on

which the criminal unwillingly writes his

autograph.

Now, what do you read from these footprints

here?

ADSO:
That they are twice as deep as the others,

master.

WILLIAM:
Good, Adso. And thus we may conclude...?

ADSO:
Well, that the man was very heavy.

WILLIAM:
Precisely! And why was he very heavy?

ADSO:
Because... he was very fat?

WILLIAM:
Or because he was being burdened... with

the weight of another man.

Let us commit the autograph of this sole

to our memory.

ADSO:
But the footprints lead away from the jar

in this direction.

WILLIAM:
Oh, you turnip, Adso. You're discounting

the possibility that the man was walking

backwards, dragging the body thus...

Hence, the furrows created by the heels.

Now, where did the erudite Greek translator

meet the anonymous author of his death?

INT. SCRIPTORIUM.

(the librarian hastily closes a door)

WILLIAM:
Brother librarian.

Perhaps you will permit us to examine the

work of the two unfortunates... that were

so distressingly gathered unto God.

Your request is most unusual.

WILLIAM:
As are the circumstances of their deaths.

MALACHIA:
Brother Adelmo sat there.

WILLIAM:
Thank you.

(takes out his magnifying glasses)

MONK:
Eyes of glass in twin hoops.

WILLIAM:
(seeing a manuscript)

A donkey teaching the scriptures to the

bishops. The pope is a fox. The abbot

is a monkey. He really had a daring talent

for comic images.

BERENGAR:
(seeing a rat, screams)

MONKS:
(laugh)

JORGE:
(strikes a pot to pieces)

"A monk should not laugh. Only fool lifts

up his voice in laughter."

I trust my words didn't offend you, Brother

William... but I heard the persons laughing

at laughable things. You Franciscans,

however, belong to an order where merriment

is viewed with indulgence.

WILLIAM:
Yes, it's true. St. Francis was much

disposed to laughter.

JORGE:
Laughter is a devillish wind which deforms

the lineaments of the face and makes men

look like monkeys.

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