Iain Pears - An Instance of the Fingerpost

“I am grateful for your concern. Tell me, then. What is this gossip I should concern myself with?”

“It is said that you are no friends of our monarch, and that should misfortune befall him, people would not have to look far to find the source of his troubles.”

De Moledi nodded at these words. “Slander indeed,” he said. “For it is known that our love for your king is complete. Did we not aid him in his exile, when he was cast out and penniless? Provide him and his friends with a home, and money? Risk war with Cromwell because we would not abandon our obligations to him?”

“Few people,” I replied, “remember past goodness. It is in the nature of mankind to think the worst of their fellows.”

“And does a man such as yourself harbor such suspicions?”

“I cannot believe that any man of honor could intend harm to a man so manifestly loved by God,” I said.

“That is true. The great difficulty with lies is that they are hard to contradict, especially when others spread them with malicious intent.”

“They must be contradicted,” I said. “If I may speak plainly?”

He gave his assent.

“Your interest at court, and your friends there, will be hurt by these stories if they are allowed to go unchecked.”

“And you wish to assist me? Forgive me for saying so, but I did not expect such a kindness from a man such as you, whose opinions are well known.”

“I freely admit I have no great love for your country. Many men within it I honor deeply, but your interests and ours must ever be in conflict. I can say the same for France, however. The well-being of England must always lie in ensuring that no foreign country ever attains a predominant position amongst us. That has been the policy of the wisest of our princes for generations, and must continue. When France is strong, we must look to the Habsburgs; when the Habsburgs are strong, we should bolster France.”

“And do you speak for Mr. Bennet as well?”

“I speak for no man but myself. I am a mathematician, a priest, and an Englishman. But I am sure you know the admiration Mr. Bennet has for your country. His position, also, will not be aided by such talk.”

De Moledi stood up, and bowed graciously. “I understand well that you are the sort of man to whom thanks should only be offered in words, and so in words alone do I offer them. I will say only that a different man would go from this room very much the richer for his kindness.”

I wrapped up my warning to de Moledi in no bad advice and, as was my continual habit before my failing eyes made the practice impossible, I wrote down a short account of my meeting with him to aid my memory. I have the note still, and I see that the counsel I gave was practical and wise. I had little expectation that it would be taken, however. The state is like a large ship with a numerous crew; once set on a course, it is difficult to change tack with any speed, even when such an alteration is manifestly sensible.

De Moledi’s response to my conversation was swift, however; far faster and more determined than I had anticipated. The following evening, one of Mr. Bennet’s men came to my house and handed me a letter which informed me that my presence was urgently required.

His standing had increased grandly since our previous meeting, and he wished all to know of his power as Secretary of State for the South. It is unwise even now to compare any man unfavorably with Cromwell, but there was a simplicity about that great bad man which was far more impressive for being totally unpracticed and unfeigned. For Cromwell truly was a great man, the greatest, I believe, this country has ever known. His clarity of mind, his strength and certainty were such that, born to a gentleman’s estate, he made himself a kingdom; had he been born to a kingdom, he would have made himself an empire. He reduced three nations, which perfectly hated him, to entire obedience; governed by an army which wished his ruin, and inspired fear across a continent and beyond. He held the country in his palm yet would often greet a visitor himself, and pour wine with his own hands. He had no need of display, for there was no mistaking his authority. I said this once to Lord Clarendon, and he agreed with my account.

Mr. Bennet was a lesser man, with smaller genius; all of his worth could have fitted into Cromwell’s thumbnail. And yet, what pomp he had adopted. The progression through the antechambers had increased to positively Spanish proportions, and the obsequious behavior of the servants had grown to such an extent that it was hard for a simple man such as myself to repress a certain sense of disgust at the display. It took a full fifteen minutes to make my way from the entrance to his chambers into his presence; King Louis in all his present magnificence, I think, cannot be more difficult to approach than was Mr. Bennet then.

It was all for show, and in conversation he was as English as he was Spanish in manners. Indeed, his bluntness came close to discourtesy, and he kept me standing throughout the interview.

“What, exactly, do you think you are doing, Dr. Wallis?” he shouted, waving a piece of paper at me, too far away for me to see. “Are you mad that you disobey my express orders?”

I told him I did not understand the question.

“I have here a strongly worded note,” he said, breathing heavily that I might feel, see and hear his anger all at the same time, “from a very indignant Spanish ambassador. Is it true that you had the presumption yesterday evening to lecture him on the peace of Christendom, and tell him how his country’s foreign policy should be run?”

“It most certainly is not,” I replied. My curiosity at this turn of events was overcoming my alarm at the evident anger my patron was demonstrating. I knew Mr. Bennet well enough to know that he lost his temper very rarely, for he believed firmly that such demonstrations were inappropriate in a gentleman. False shows of rage were not tactics he used to overawe his clients, and I came to the conclusion that, on this occasion, he was perfectly sincere and genuinely furious. This, of course, made my own situation the more perilous, since he was not a man whose favor I could afford to lose. But it also made the conversation more interesting, as I could not easily understand the source of his fury.

“How do you explain the offense you have given him then?” Bennet continued.

“I do not know what the offense is. I conversed—I thought most pleasantly—with Señor de Moledi yesterday evening, and we parted with mutual expressions of regard. It may be that I angered him by refusing a large bribe, I do not know; I thought I had turned down the offer with the greatest of tact. Might I ask what is the complaint?”

“He says you all but accused him of fomenting a plot to kill the king. Is that true?”

“It is not. I never mentioned any such thing, nor would I ever have dreamed of doing so.”

“What do you think you said?”

“I merely told him that it was strongly held by many that his country wished England no good. It was not an important part of the conversation.”

“But it was cautiously said,” Bennet said. “You say nothing without deliberation. So now I want to know why. Your reports to me in the last few months have been so obviously full of half-truths and evasions that I am beginning to tire of them. Now I command you to tell me the exact truth. And I warn you that if I am not satisfied of your total candor I will be highly displeased.”

Faced with such an ultimatum, I could do no other. And it was the greatest mistake that ever I made. I do not blame Mr. Bennet; I blame myself for my weakness, and I know that the punishment meted out to me for my error was so crushing a burden that I have suffered for it every day of my life since. I am graced in that I come from a hardy, long-living family on both my mother’s and my father’s sides, and I live in full expectation of continuing in this world for many years yet. On innumerable occasions since that day I have prayed that this blessing be taken from me, so great is the remorse I suffer.