Iain Pears - An Instance of the Fingerpost

“I have indeed, sir. Signor Cola is a gentleman and a subtle philosopher. Boyle finds him very useful. He is a man of charm and knowledge, and his thoughts on blood are fascinating.”

“You greatly relieve me,” I said. “For I have a high opinion of your judgment in these matters.”

“Why do you need relieving? You don’t know him, do you?”

“Not at all. Think nothing more on the subject. I have always taken it as a principle to doubt the word of foreign correspondents; certainly when their opinion is in contestation with that of an Englishman I set them aside with pleasure. I gladly forget the tales I have heard.”

Lower frowned. “What tale is this? Sylvius penned a very favorable portrait of him.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” I said. “And no doubt accurate, as far as he could see. We must always take men as we find them, must we not, and assess contradictory reports in the light of our own experience? ‘But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison’ “ (James 3:8).

“Somebody says something evil about him? Come sir, be frank with me. I know you are too good a man to calumnize, but if malicious reports are being spread it is best the subject of them know, so he can defend himself.”

“You are right, of course. And my only hesitation is that the report is so weak that it is scarcely worth giving it any attention. I have no doubt in my mind that it is utterly false. Certainly it is difficult to believe that a gentleman could act in such a coarse fashion.”

“Which coarse fashion is this?”

“It concerns Signor Cola’s days at Padua. A mathematician there with whom I have correspondence mentioned the matter. He is known to Mr. Oldenburg of our Society, and I can vouch for his good faith. He said merely that there had been a duel. It seems that one man had conducted some ingenious experiments on blood and had told all about them to this Cola. Cola then claimed the experiments as his own. When called to acknowledge the true author, he issued a challenge. Fortunately the fight was stopped by the authorities.”

“These misunderstandings do happen,” Lower said thoughtfully.

“They do, of course,” I agreed heartily. “And it may well be that your friend was entirely in the right. As he is your friend, indeed, I expect that he was. Some people are greedy for fame, though. I am glad philosophy is usually so free of such impositions; to suspect one’s friends, and mind one’s words lest they steal the glory that is rightfully one’s own, would be intolerable. Although, as long as the discovery is made, what does it matter who is credited with it? We do not conduct ourselves for fame, after all. We are doing God’s work, and He will know the truth of the matter. What should we care, then, for the opinions of others?”

Lower nodded, so firmly that I could see I had successfully put him on his guard.

“Besides,” I carried on, “nobody would be so foolish as to enter a dispute with someone like Boyle, for who would believe his claims against the word of such a man? It is only those whose reputation is not well established who are vulnerable. So there is no problem, even if Cola is as my correspondent described.”

My reasoning in talking thus to Lower was entirely honorable, even if it involved a deception. I could not tell him of my real concerns, but it was vital that Cola should not have liberty to practice his deceit by exploiting Lower’s trust. “He that taketh warning shall deliver his soul” (Ezekiel 33:5). By exciting Lower’s concern over Cola’s probity, I had made him more likely to discover the man’s duplicity where it truly lay. I persuaded him not to mention the matter, for I told him that if the report were true no good would come of it and if it were false it would merely create an enmity where none should exist. He left me a more sober man, more distrustful than he had been when he arrived and that, also, was a goodness. It was unfortunate, however, that his lack of control so nearly frightened Cola away—he was too open to dissemble, and Cola’s manuscript shows all too well how easily his doubts and worries bubbled to the surface in anger and harshness.

During the conversation, lower also mentioned that Cola had accompanied him to visit Jack Prestcott in his jail cell, that the Italian had willingly provided the boy with wine and, it appeared, returned to deliver it in person, spending a good long while in his cell conversing with him. This was another curiosity which had to be examined with care. Cola was a Venetian and Sir James had served that country, and perhaps he was merely showing consideration for the son of a man who had served his country well. The other link was the copy of Livy, for Sir James had encoded a letter using it in 1660, and Cola had received one disguised with the same book three years later. I could not fathom it at all, so realized I would have to interview young Prestcott again—and this time thought I would get the truth from him, as his current situation left him little scope for being difficult with me.

I may say that I was beginning to have some doubts about my understanding of Cola’s aims, for his actions did not correspond with what I assumed he intended to accomplish. I was not (I repeat again) at all dogmatic in my belief; the conclusions I reached derived from fair principles and a reasoned, unprejudiced comprehension. To put it simply, it was borne in on me that if he desired to strike against the king, who now divided his time between Whitehall, Tunbridge and the racecourses at Newbury, then Oxford was a strange place to be living. And yet, here Cola was and showing no signs whatsoever of moving away. It was for this reason that, when Dr. Grove informed me the Italian was to dine in college that day, I overcame my repugnance and concluded that I must be present, so I could see and hear the man for myself.

Perhaps here I should sketch a character of Dr. Grove, for his end was tragic and he was, along with Warden Woodward, the only Fellow of New College for whom I had any regard. That we had nothing in common apart from Holy Orders is certainly true; the merits of the new philosophy had entirely escaped him, and he was also even more severe than I in his belief in the necessity for total conformity in the church. For all that, he was nonetheless a man of kindly disposition, whose ferocity of policy lay oddly with his generosity of spirit; he had no cause to love me, for I represented everything he detested, yet he sought out my acquaintanceship—his principles were of a general nature, and in no way affected his judgment of individuals.

Apart from being a divine, he thought of himself as a private astronomer, although nothing had ever been published and, I am sorry to say, nothing ever was. Even had he lived, I suspect that the fruit of his labors would never have seen the light of the day, for Grove was so modest of his skills, and so unconcerned with public acclaim, that he believed publishing both arrogant and presumptuous. Rather, he was one of that ever-rarer breed of man who honor God and University in modest silence, believing learning to be its own reward.

He had returned to his university when the king had returned to his throne, and he now wished to leave and take up a living of his own in the country when the next one came available. The chances of him doing so were good, for against him was ranged merely the paltry and youthful figure of Thomas Ken, whose claim appealed to some simply because they wished to rid themselves of a dreary presence in the college. In some ways his imminent departure saddened me, for Grove’s company I found strangely conducive. I would not say we were friends; that would be going too far, and certainly he had a manner of address that was easily found objectionable by those who did not perceive the goodness within. Grove’s weakness was a quick tongue and a barbed wit, which he had never mastered. He was a man of contradiction, and his conversation could never be taken for granted; he could be the kindest of men, or the most waspish. He had, indeed, perfected the technique of being both at the same time.