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

"And thelast?"

"Ah, what is the mostancient, the most sacred, the most enduring of Celtic stones, thesanctuary of the sun-god, most favored observation point from whichfinally the reunited descendants of the Templars of Provins, havingreached the end of their plan, can look upon the secrets hiddentill then by the seven seals and at last discover how to exploitthe immense power granted by their possession of the Holy Grail?Why, it's in England! The magic circle of Stonehenge! Whereelse?"

"O basta la," Belbosaid. Only another child of Piedmont could have understood thespirit in which this expression of polite amazement was uttered. Noequivalent in any other language or dialect (dis done, are youkidding?) can convey the apathy, the fatalism with which itexpresses the firm conviction that the person to whom it isaddressed is, irreparably, the product of a bumblingcreator.

But the colonel wasn'tfrom Piedmont, and he seemed flattered by Belbo'sreaction.

"Yes indeed. Such is theplan, the ordonation, in its marvel-ous simplicity and coherence.And there's something else. If you take a map of Europe and Asiaand trace the development of the plan beginning with the castle inthe north and moving from there to Jerusalem, from Jerusalem toAgarttha, from Agarttha to Chartres, from Chartres to the shores ofthe Mediterranean, and from there to Stonehenge, you will find thatyou have drawn a rune that looks more or less likethis."

[...]

"And?" Belboasked.

"And the same rune,ideally, would connect the main centers of Templar esotericism:Amiens, Troyes¡XSaint Bernard's domain at the edge of the Foretd'Orient¡XReims, Chartres, Rennes-le-Chateau, andMont-Saint-Michel, a place of ancient druidic worship. The runealso recalls the constellation of the Virgin."

"I dabble in astronomy,"Diotallevi said shyly. "The Virgin has a different shape, and Ibelieve it contains eleven stars..."

The colonel smiledindulgently. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, you know as well as I do thateverything depends on how you draw the lines. You can make a wainor a bear, whatever you like, and it's hard to decide whether agiven star is part of a given constellation or not. Take anotherlook at the Virgin, make Spica the lowermost point corresponding tothe Provengal coast, use only five stars, and you'll see a strikingresemblance between the two outlines."

"You just have to decidewhich stars to omit," Belbo said.

"Precisely," the colonelagreed.

"Listen," Belbo said,"how can you rule out the possibility that the meetings did takeplace as scheduled and that the knights are now hard atwork?"

"Because I perceive nosymptoms, and allow me to add, ¡¥unfortunately.' No, the plan wasdefinitely interrupted. And perhaps those who were to carry it toits conclusion no longer exist.

The groups of thethirty-six may have been broken up by some worldwide catastrophe.But some other group of men with spirit, men with the rightinformation, could perhaps pick up the thread of the plot. Whateverit is, that something is still there. I'm looking for the rightmen. That's why I want to publish the book: to encourage reactions.And at the same time, I'm trying to make contact with people whocan help me look for the answer in the labyrinth of traditionallearning. Just today I managed to meet the greatest expert on thesubject. But he, alas, luminary that he is, couldn't tell meanything, though he expressed great interest in my story andpromised to write a preface..."

"Excuse me," Belboasked, "but wasn't it unwise to confide your secret to thisgentleman? You told us yourself about Ingolf'smisstep..."

"Please," the colonelreplied. "Ingolf was a bungler. The person I'm in contact with is ascholar above suspicion, a man who doesn't venture hastyconclusions. Today, for instance, he asked me to wait a littlelonger before showing my work to a publisher, until I had resolvedall the controversial points. I didn't want to antagonize him, so Ididn't tell him I was coming here. But I'm sure you can understandhow impatient I am, having come this far in my task. Thegentleman...oh, to hell with discretion! I don't want you to thinkI'm bragging idly. He is Rakosky."

He paused for ourreaction.

Belbo disappointed him."Who?"

"Rakosky. The Rakosky!The authority on traditional studies, the former editor of LesCahiers du Mysterel"

"Oh, that Rakosky,"Belbo said. "Yes, yes, of course..."

"Before writing thefinal version of my book, I'll wait to hear this gentleman'sadvice. But I wanted to move as quickly as possible, and if I couldcome to an agreement with your firm in the meantime...As I said, Iam eager to stir up reactions, to collect new information...Thereare people who surely know but won't speak...Around 1944,gentlemen, though he knew the war was lost, Hitler began talkingabout a secret weapon that would allow him to turn the situationaround. He was crazy, people said. But what if he wasn't crazy? Youfollow me?" His forehead was bathed in sweat, and his moustachebristled like a feline's whiskers. "In any event," he said, "I'mcasting the bait. We'll see if anyone bites."

From what I knew andthought of Belbo then, I expected him to show the colonel out withsome polite words. But he didn't. "Listen, Colonel," he said, "thisis enormously interesting, regardless of whether you sign acontract with us or with someone else. Do you think you could spareanother ten minutes or so?" He turned to me. "It's late, Casaubon,and I've kept you too long already. Can we meettomorrow?"

I was being dismissed.Diotallevi took my arm and said he was leaving, too. We saidgood-bye. The colonel shook Diotallevi's hand warmly and gave me anod accompanied by a chilly smile.

As we were going downthe stairs, Diotallevi said to me: "You're probably wondering whyBelbo asked you to leave. Don't think he was being rude. He's goingto make the colonel an offer. It's a delicate matter. Delicate, byorder of Signer Gar-amond. Our presence would be anembarrassment."

As I learned later,Belbo meant to cast the colonel into the maw ofManutius.

I dragged Diotallevi toPilade's, where I had a Campari and he a root beer. Root beer, hesaid, had a monkish, archaic taste, almost Templar.

I asked him what hethought of the colonel.

"All the world'sfollies,"he replied, "turn up in publishing houses sooner or later.But the world's follies may also contain flashes of the wisdom ofthe Most High, so the wise man observes folly with humility." Thenhe excused himself; he had to go. "This evening, a feast awaitsme," he said.

"A party?"

He seemed dismayed by myfrivolity.