Eco: Foucalt's Pendulum eco foucault (highly illogical behavior txt) 📖

hasbeen hoping for. He sets out after them. The Templars try to stophim; Brother Gilles, supreme commander of the Temple, triesflattery, telling Artois that he has performed a wondrous feat,perhaps the greatest ever achieved overseas. But Artois, eager forglory, accuses the Templars of treachery, claiming that theTemplars and Hospitalers could have conquered this territory longago if they had really wanted to. He has shown them what a man withblood in his veins can do. This is too much. The Templars mustprove that they are second to none. They charge into the city andchase the enemy all the way to the wall on the opposite side. Thensuddenly the Templars realize that they have repeated the mistakeof Ascalon. While the Christians are busy sacking the sultan'spalace, the infidels reassemble and fall upon the now unorganizedgroup of jackals.

Have the Templarsallowed themselves to be blinded once again by greed? Some say thatbefore accompanying Artois into the city, Brother Gilles spoke tohim with stoic lucidity: "My Lord, my brothers and I are notafraid. We follow you. But great is our doubt that any of us willreturn." And indeed, Artois was killed, and many good knights diedwith him, including two hundred and eighty Templars.

It was more than adefeat; it was a disgrace. Yet not even Joinville recorded it assuch. It happened and that is the beauty of war.

Joinville's pen turnsmany of these battles and skirmishes into charming ballets. Headsroll here and there, implorations to the good Lord abound, and theking sheds tears over a loyal follower's death. But the whole thingis Technicolor, complete with crimson saddlecloths, gildedtrappings, the flash of helmets and swords under the yellow desertsun, and an azure sea in the background. And who knows? Perhaps theTemplars really lived their daily butchery that way.

Joinville's perspectiveshifts vertically, depending on whether he has fallen from hishorse or just remounted. Isolated scenes are sharply focused, butthe larger picture eludes him. We see individual duels, whoseoutcome is often random. Joinville sets off to help the lord ofWanpn. A Turk strikes him with his lance, Joinville's horse sinksto its knees, Joinville falls over the animal's head, he stands up,sword in hand, and Chevalier Erard de Siveiey ("may God grant himgrace") points to a ruined house where they can take refuge. Theyare trampled by Turks on horseback. Chevalier Frederic de Loupey isstruck from behind, "which made so large a wound that the bloodpoured from his body as if from the bunghole of a barrel." Sivereyreceives a slashing blow in the face, so that "his nose was leftdangling over his lips." And so on, until help arrives. They leavethe house and move to another part of the battlefield, where thereare more deaths and last-minute rescues, and loud prayers to SaintJames. In the meantime, the good Comte de Soissons, wielding hissword, cries, "Seneschal, let these dogs howl as they will. ByGod's bonnet, we shall talk of this day yet, you and I, sitting athome with our ladies!" The king asks for news of his brother, thewretched Comte d'Artois, and Brother Henri de Ronnay, provost ofthe Hospitalers, answers that he "has good news, for certainly thecount is now in Paradise." "God be praised for everything Hegives," says the king, big tears falling from his eyes.

But it isn't always aballet, angelic and bloodstained. Grand Master Guillaume de Sonnacdies, burned alive by Greek fire. With the great stink of corpsesand the shortage of provisions, the Christian army is stricken withscurvy. Saint Louis's men are finally routed. The king is so badlyracked by dysentery that he cuts out the seat of his pants to savetime in battle. Damietta is lost, and the queen has to negotiatewith the Saracens, paying five hundred thousand livres tournois toransom the king.

The crusades werecarried out in virtuous bad faith. On his return toSaint-Jean-d'Acre, Louis is hailed as a victor; the whole citycomes out in procession to greet him, including the clergy, ladies,and children. The Templars, seeing which way the wind is blowing,try to open negotiations with Damascus. Louis finds out and,furious at being bypassed, repudiates the new grand master in thepresence of the Moslem ambassadors. The grand master has to retractthe promises he made to the enemy, has to kneel before the king andbeg his pardon. No one can say the Knights haven't fought well¡Xandselflessly¡Xbut the king of France still humiliates them, toreassert his power. And, half a century later, Louis's successor,Philip, to reassert his power, will send the Knights to thestake.

In 1291Saint-Jean-d'Acre is conquered by the Moors, and all itsinhabitants are put to the sword. The Christian kingdom ofJerusalem is gone for good. The Templars are richer, more numerous,more powerful than ever, but they were born to fight in the HolyLand, and in the Holy Land there are none left.

They live in splendor,isolated in their commanderies throughout Europe and in the Templein Paris, but they dream still of the plateau of the Temple inJerusalem in their days of glory, dream of the handsome church ofSaint Mary Lateran spangled with votive chapels, dream of theirbouquets of trophies, and all the rest: the forges, the saddlery,the granaries, the stables of two thousand horses, the canteringtroops of squires, aides, and turcopoles, the red crosses on whitecloaks, the dark surplices of the attendants, the sultan's envoyswith their great turbans and gilded helmets, the pilgrims, acrossroads filled with dapper patrols and outriders, and thedelights of rich coffers, the port from which instructions andcargoes were dispatched for the castles on the mainland, or on theislands, or on the shores of Asia Minor...

All gone now, my poorTemplars.

That evening, atPilade's, by then on my fifth whiskey, for which Belbo was paying,insisted on paying, I realized that I had been dreaming aloudand¡Xthe shame of it¡Xwith feeling. But I must have told abeautiful story, full of compassion, because Dolores's eyes wereglistening, and Diotallevi, having taken the mad plunge and ordereda second tonic water, was seraphically gazing toward heaven¡Xor,rather, toward the bar's decidedly noncabalistic ceiling."Perhaps," he murmured, "they were all those things: lost souls andsaints, horsemen and grooms, bankers and heroes..."

"They were remarkable,no doubt about it" was Belbo's summation. "But tell