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

waters. Westopped, and she got out and walked demurely onto the sand, stood afew moments in silence. I asked her if she believed in this. Sheretorted angrily: How could I think such a thing? Then she added,"My grandmother used to bring me to the beach here, and she wouldpray to the goddess to make me grow up beautiful and good andhappy. Who was that Italian philosopher who made that comment aboutblack cats and coral horns? ¡¥It's not true, but I believe in it'?Well, I don't believe in it, but it's true." That was the day Idecided to save some money to venture a trip to Bahia.

It was also the day Ibegan to let myself be lulled by feelings of resemblance: thenotion that everything might be mysteriously related to everythingelse.

Later, when I returnedto Europe, I converted this metaphysics into mechanics¡Xand thusfell into the trap in which I now lie. But back then I was livingin a twilight that blurred all distinctions. Like a racist, Ibelieved that a strong man could regard the faiths of others as anopportunity for harmless daydreaming and no more.

I learned some rhythms,ways of letting go with body and mind. Recalling them the otherevening in the periscope, to fight off growing numbness I moved mylimbs as if I were once again striking the agogd. You see? I saidto myself. To escape the power of the unknown, to prove to yourselfthat you don't believe in it, you accept its spells. Like an avowedatheist who sees the Devil at night, you reason: He certainlydoesn't exist; this is therefore an illusion, perhaps a result ofindigestion. But the Devil is sure that he exists, and believes inhis upside-down theology. What, then, will frighten him? You makethe sign of the cross, and he vanishes in a puff ofbrimstone.

What happened to me waslike what might happen to a pedantic ethnologist who has spentyears studying cannibalism. He challenges the smugness of thewhites by assuring everybody that actually human flesh isdelicious. Then one day a doubter decides to see for himself andperforms the experiment¡Xon him. As the ethnologist is devouredpiece by piece, he hopes, for he will never know who was right,that at least he is delicious, which will justify the ritual andhis death. The other evening I had to believe the Plan was true,because if it wasn't, then I had spent the past two years as theomnipotent architect of an evil dream. Better reality than a dream:if something is real, then it's real and you're not toblame.

24

Sauvez la faible Aischades vertiges de Nahash, sauvez la plaintive Heva des mirages de lasensibility, et que les Khe'rubs me gardent.

¡XJose'phin P^ladan,Comment on devient Fee, Paris, Chamuel, 1893, p. XIII

As I was advancing intothe forest of resemblances, I received Belbo's letter.

DearCasaubon,

I didn't know until theother day that you were in Brazil. I lost touch completely, noteven knowing that you had graduated (congratulations). Anyway,someone at Pilade's gave me your coordinates, and I thought itwould be a good idea to bring you up to date on some developmentsin that unfortunate Colonel Ardenti business. It's been more thantwo years now, I know, and again I must apologize: I was the onewho got you into trouble that morning, though I didn't meanto.

I had almost forgottenthe whole nasty story, but two weeks ago I was driving around inthe Montefeltro area and happened upon the fortress of San Leo. Inthe eighteenth century, it seems, the region was under papal rule,and the pope imprisoned Cagliostro there, in a cell with no realdoor (you entered it, for the first and last time, through atrapdoor in the ceiling) and with one little window from which theprisoner could see only the two churches of the village. I saw abunch of roses on the shelf where Cagliostro had slept and died,and I was told that many devotees still make the pilgrimage to theplace of his martyrdom. Among the most assiduous pilgrims are themembers of Picatrix, a group of Milanese students of the occult. Itpublishes a' magazine entitled¡Xwith greatimagination¡XPicatrix.

You know how curious Iam about these oddities. So back in Milan I got hold of a copy ofPicatrix, from which I learned that an evocation of the spirit ofCagliostro was to be held in a few days. I went.

The walls were drapedwith banners covered with cabalistic signs, an abundance of owls ofall kinds, scarabs and ibises, and Oriental divinities of uncertainorigin. Near the rear wall was a dais, a proscenium of burningtorches held up by rough logs, and in the background an altar witha triangular altar-piece and statuettes of Isis and Osiris. Theroom was ringed by an amphitheater of figures of Anubis, and therewas a portrait of Cagliostro (it could hardly have been of anyoneelse, could it?), a gilded mummy in Cheops format, two five-armedcandelabra, a gong suspended from two rampant snakes, on a podium alectern covered by calico printed with hieroglyphics, and twocrowns, two tripods, a little portable sarcophagus, a throne, afake seventeenth-century fauteuil, four unmatched chairs suitablefor a banquet with the sheriff of Nottingham, and candles, tapers,votive lights, all flickering very spiritually.

Anyway, to go on withthe story: seven altar boys entered in red cassocks and carryingtorches, followed by the celebrant, apparently the head ofPicatrix¡Xhe rejoiced in the commonplace name of Brambilla¡Xinpink-and-olive vestments. He was, in turn, followed by theneophyte, or medium, and six acolytes in white, who all looked likeBing Crosby, but with infulas, the god's, if you recall ourpoets.

Brambilla put on atriple crown with a half-moon, picked up a ritual sword, drew magicsymbols on the dais, and summoned various angelic spirits withnames ending hi "el." At this point I was vaguely reminded of thosepseudo-Semitic incantations in Ingolf's message, but only for amoment, because I was immediately distracted by something unusual.The microphones on the dais were connected to a tuner that wassupposed to picjc up random waves in space, but the operator musthave made a mistake, because first we heard a burst of disco musicand then Radio Moscow came on. Brambilla opened the sarcophagus,took out a book of magic spells, swung a thurible, and cried, "OLord, Thy kingdom come." This