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Image Rémih CC BY-SA 3.0 |
These days the experiment is a staple of science museums the world over. You might also remember that Umberto Eco wrote a book called Foucault’s Pendulum, in which southern belle Scarlett O’Hara falls in love with humble Italian pendulum maker, Raffaele Butler. They overcome adversity, and swing off into the sunset together. I’m going from memory on this.
You can imagine the delight - nay, ecstasy - of this humble devotee of big-shiny-things-that-move when I discovered Foucault’s pendulum had been reinstalled in 1995. Actually it was a copy, because the original had gone to the Musée des arts et métiers. Now, I’m normally a one-Foucault-a-day man, but feeling energised by the ghost of Victor Hugo, I abandoned the Panthéon (after some hours of staring at the big ball swinging back and forth whilst sucking my thumb) and toddled off in search of the original sacred* Foucault’s pendulum.
* Okay, I don’t think it’s actually sacred, but I had plans to conduct my own personal canonisation service.
The Musée des arts et métiers is big-shiny-things-that-go-ping-heaven-on-a-stick. First thing I see, of course, was the original-only-it-actually-fell-off-and-this-is-a-copy pendulum doing its thing. I immediately settled in for several more hours of watching the ball.
I started feeling sleepy. Very sleepy.
Here’s a video I found on YouTube. I suggest you put it on endless loop: