(Not to be copied without authors’
permission)
(A play in 2 acts)
by Carl Djerassi
Department of Chemistry
Stanford University
Stanford, CA 94305-5080
Tel. 650-723-2783
Fax: 415-474-1868
e-mail: [email protected]
URL:http://www.djerassi.com
1101
Green Street, Apt. 1501 25
Warrington Crescent, Flat 3
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44-20-7289-3081
Fax: 415-474-1868 Fax:
44-20-7289-5902
Virtually every survey of the
public’s choice for the most important persons of the second millennium
includes the name of Isaac Newton. A poll published in the 12 September 1999
issue of the London Sunday Times Magazine ranked him first, even above Shakespeare, Leonardo da Vinci, Charles
Darwin and similar canonized stars. Among his crowning achievements were his
research starting around 1670 on light and color (eventually published in 1704
in his book Opticks), but he is
best known for his enunciation of the laws of motion and of gravitation and
their application to celestial mechanics as summarized in one of the greatest
tomes in science, the Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematica, usually shortened to PRINCIPIA-the first version of which was published in
1687.
Putting physics on a firm
experimental and mathematical foundation-an approach coined Newtonism-earned
Newton the ultimate accolade as father of modern scientific thought. However, a
revisionist historical analysis, based in part on the discovery by the
economist John Maynard Keynes of a huge trove of unpublished papers and
documents, has led some scholars to consider Newton the last great mystic
rather than first modern scientist. While his work in physics and mathematics
set in motion the Age of Enlightenment, revisionist historians point out that
neither as a person nor an intellect did he belong to it. As debunking of some
of the hagiography surrounding Newton commenced in the latter part of the 20th
century, it became evident that Newton spent much more time on alchemy and
mystical theology than on “science”-composing over 1 million words
on each of these two endeavors, much more than all his writings on physics combined!
His alchemical library was huge and his alchemical experiments, though kept
secret from all but a few intimates and servants, consumed much of his waking
hours for decades. Even his religious convictions had to be kept secret,
because his faith in Arianism (holding that Christ and God are not of one
substance) was considered heretical within the Anglican Church.
Born on Christmas day in the
year of Galileo’s death, Newton was so convinced of his supernatural
powers that he once constructed a virtual anagram of his name (Isaacus
Neutonus) in terms of
“God’s holy one” (Jeova sanctus unus). His position as a fellow of Trinity College and
Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge (a chair now held by Stephen
Hawking), his subsequent elevation to the important government rank of Master
of the Mint, and conferment of a knighthood by Queen Anne all should have
required open adherence to and even ordainment in the Anglican Church. Yet
Newton managed to sidestep it throughout his adult life, with open defiance
only surfacing in 1727 on his death at age 85 when he refused the last rites.
Even that noncompliance did not prevent a state burial in Westminster Abbey nor
the unveiling there in 1731 of a monument in just recognition of his towering
contributions to science and of his services to England.
As a person, Newton was not
only deeply complex, but also morally flawed. Adjectives that could be used to
describe facets of his personality are remote, lonely, secretive, introverted,
melancholic, humorless, puritanical, cruel, vindictive, and perhaps worst of
all, unforgiving. Even one of the most famous quotes attributed to Newton,
“If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants” is open to different readings. Often cited as
a sign of his modesty, it has also been interpreted as the ultimate poisonous
lacing in a disingenuously polite letter addressed to one of his bitterest
scientific foes, Robert Hooke, of pronounced dwarfish stature. It is worth
noting that the origin of the sentence long antedates Newton since it can be
traced to at least John of Salisbury in the 12th century.
The character trait most
relevant to the present play “Calculus” is Newton’s obsessively competitive nature.
Frank E. Manuel wrote in 1968 in one of the great Newton biographies that
“the violence, acerbity, and uncontrolled passion of Newton’s
attacks, albeit directed into socially approved channels, are almost always out
of proportion with the warranted facts and character of the situations.” While this statement characterizes some of
Newton’s best-known bitter conflicts such as the ones with the physicist
Robert Hooke or the Astronomer Royal, John Flamsteed, it applied in spades to
the decades-long battle with a German contemporary of almost equal intellectual
prowess, Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz.
In addition to his monumental
contributions to physics summarized in his PRINCIPIA, Newton was also an
inventor of the calculus (which he first called the “method of
fluxions”). Up in Parnassus or down in his grave, he would immediately
interject: “A inventor? Was
I not the creator of the
calculus-a bedrock of modern mathematics since it first revealed the
relationship between speed and
area?” Why would such a genius even ask such a question? Because Sir
Isaac was also a fallible human being for whom priority-and especially priority
about the calculus-counted above all else.
But priority can only be
determined after a definition of the term has been agreed upon. No such
unambiguous definition has been produced in science, where multiple independent
discoveries occur all too frequently. For instance, in the play “Oxygen” (written jointly with Roald Hoffmann), we
asked whether the ultimate accolade for the discovery of oxygen-an event that
triggered the modern chemical revolution-should be assigned to the first
discoverer, to the person who published first, or to the one who first
understood the nature of the discovery. In the case of the calculus, it is now
clear that Newton was first in terms of conception, but Leibniz first in terms
of publication. But since in Newton’s mind and words, “second
inventors have no right,”
resolution of that priority dispute required for him a fight to the death, like
a gladiator in a Roman circus. But unlike the gladiators, Newton was a consummate
master of using surrogates, continuing the struggle even after Leibniz’s
burial in in 1716.
The calculus priority
struggle-with each protagonist ultimately charging the other with piracy-has,
in the words of William Broad, “been fought for the most part by the
throng of little squires that surrounded the two great knights.” It is through the story of some of
Newton’s “little squires” that the play “Calculus” tries to examine one of Newton’s
greatest ethical lapses.
The stage was set by Nicolas Fatio
de Duillier, a brilliant natural philosopher from a Geneva family, who became
Newton’s most fawning disciple. Indirect but reasonably persuasive
evidence of a homosexual (though unconsummated) attraction between Newton and
the 20-year younger Fatio has surfaced in recent years. At times called
“the Ape of Newton,” Fatio shot the first brutal salvo openly
accusing Leibniz of plagiarism. Like Newton, Fatio never married; like Newton
he indulged in alchemical experiments and religious fanaticism; but unlike his
mentor he went way beyond him in that regard by openly associating with the
Cevennes Prophets who spoke in tongues and became possessed during religious
ecstasies. Fatio’s accusation of Leibniz was not pursued, partly because
of the former’s religious excesses, but in 1708, another loyal follower
of Newton, John Keill (a Fellow of the Royal Society as well as “a
war-horse, whose ardor was so intense that Newton sometimes had to pull in the
reins”), formally repeated the
charge of Leibniz’s plagiarism—an accusation published in the Philosophical
Transactions of the Royal Society in
1710. And when Leibniz, as a foreign member of the Royal Society, demanded an
official retraction, Newton in his capacity of President created a commission
of eleven Fellows of the Royal Society (“a Numerous Committee of
Gentlemen of several Nations”)
to adjudicate the conflict. On April 24, 1712, a 51-page long report (partly in
Latin and replete with references to private as well as published letters and
documents primarily in the possession of Newton’s correspondent John
Collins) was released by the Royal Society under the title “Commercium
Epistolicum Collinii & aliorum”
(“exchange of letters from Collins and others”) in which
Keill’s accusation was totally supported.
Such a blatantly biased
procedure, though clearly to be condemned, was nevertheless to be expected,
considering that Newton as President of the Royal Society had indirectly
appointed the committee. But further scrutiny reveals much blacker details.
The composition of the
Committee that never openly signed the document, did not become acknowledged
for over 100 years. Not only do we now know the identity of the eleven Fellows,
but even more importantly, their dates of appointment. The famous astronomer
Edmond Halley, the physician and well-regarded literary figure John Arbuthnot,
and the little-known William Burnet, Abraham Hill, John Machin and William
Jones were all appointed on March 6, 1712. Francis Robartes (Earl of Radnor)
was added on March 20, Louis Frederick Bonet (the King of Prussia’s
Resident in London) on March 27, and three more members, Francis Aston and the
mathematicians Brook Taylor and Abraham de Moivre on April 17.
Why should these dates be
significant? Because it is patently impossible that at least the last three
members, appointed on April 17, could have had anything to do with a lengthy
and complicated report read openly 7 days later! In point of fact, none
of the eleven Fellows was authorially responsible, because Newton himself had
written the report! And in spite of the claim that the Committee consisted of
“Gentlemen of several Nations,” only two out of the eleven-Bonet and de Moivre-could
be categorized as foreigners. In the case of Bonet, so little is known of him
that even the Sackler Archive Resource of Fellows of the Royal Society does not
contain his date and place of birth, although German and Swiss archives do shed
some light on him. The question can rightfully be raised why such a diverse
group of Royal Society Fellows, some of them of major distinction, should have
allowed themselves to be so blatantly manipulated by Sir Isaac
Newton-ostensibly to be chosen as watchdogs and then so quickly transformed
into barkless showdogs.
Calculus provides some speculative insight into this
scientific scandal through the personalities of John Arbuthnot and the two
foreigners, Louis Frederick Bonet and Abraham de Moivre, with most of the
biographical references firmly rooted in historical records. And while the
particular meeting of the playwrights Colley Cibber and Sir John Vanbrugh in Calculus is invented, both are historical characters whose
respective plays Love’s Last Shift and The Relapse: Or Virtue in Danger and their final collaboration, The Provok’d
Husband, are part of the proud canon
of British Restoration drama.
(Time: 1712 - 1731,
London-mostly Drury Lane Theatre, ante-room of Royal Society or a salon)
Colley Cibber (1671 -
1757), playwright, actor, theatre manager, eventually (1730) poet laureate.
Literary friend of Vanbrugh, literary enemy of Alexander Pope and John
Arbuthnot. Author of “Love’s Last Shift” (1696) and other plays. Completed
Vanbrugh’s “The Provok’d Husband” in 1728.
Sir John Vanbrugh (1664 -1726), playwright, architect (of Castle Howard
and Blenheim Palace), advisor to George I. Author of “The Relapse: Or
Virtue in Danger” (1696), a
highly successful sequel to Cibber’s “Love’s Last Shift,” as well as other plays. One of the first
directors of the Royal Academy of Music.
Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646 - 1716), Leibzig-born, one of Germany’s
greatest polymaths. Promoted scientific academies including the Brandenburg
Society of Sciences (“Berlin Academy”) in 1700, appointed its life
president. Trained in law and philosophy, self-taught mathematical genius,
eventually invented (independently of, though later than Newton) and published
first (prior to Newton) the calculus with notations used to this day, also
interested in a mechanical calculating machine. In 1710 published “ Théodicée,” rationalizing the existence of evil in a world
created by a good God. Universal letter writer (in French, German and Latin)
with more than 1100 correspondents. Mostly in service of the court of Hanover,
he never held formal academic teaching positions. Elected FRS 1673; French
Academy of Sciences, 1701. Died in Hanover in 1716.
To
be played by same actor as Colley Cibber with German accent
Sir Isaac Newton (1642 - 1727). England’s greatest mathematician
and natural philosopher, also immersed for decades in alchemy and heretical
theology. Enunciated the laws of
motion and gravitation and their application to celestial mechanics. Made
fundamental contributions to light and color as well as inventing a form of the
calculus (termed by him “Method of Fluxions”). Author of two of the
most important books in science: the Philosophiae naturalis principia
mathematica (“Principia”) and
Opticks. FRS 1672, President of Royal Society (1703 - 1727), 1669 elected Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at
Cambridge University, appointed 1699 Master of the Royal Mint and knighted in
1705 by Queen Anne. Notorious for ferocious struggles with scientists (e.g.
Robert Hooke and John Flamsteed), but none fiercer and longer than the one with
Leibniz. Buried in Westminster Abbey where his monument was unveiled in 1731.
To
be played by same actor as Sir John Vanbrugh
Margaret Arbuthnot (? -
1730), wife of John Arbuthnot, mother of 6 children.
(Speaks
with perceptible Scottish accent).
Louis
Frederick Bonet (1670-1762), citizen
of Geneva, Minister of King of Prussia in London (1696-1719), then
“syndic” and senator in Geneva. Trained in medicine and law,
proselytizing Protestant. FRS 1711, Berlin Academy 1713. [Member of
anonymous Royal Society Commission of 1712].
(Speaks
with perceptible French accent).
Abraham de Moivre (1667-1754), French-born and French educated
mathematician, spent his adult life since 1687 in England. FRS 1697.
[Member of anonymous Royal
Society Commission of 1712].
(Speaks
with distinct French accent)
John Arbuthnot (1667-1735), Scottish-born and Scottish educated,
physician to Queen Anne, some mathematical (statistical) knowledge, wit and
satirical writer, friend of Pope, Swift, John Gay and Thomas Parnell (founding
member of Scriblerus Club in 1714). Author of the political allegory
“History of John Bull” describing the prototypical Englishman. FRS
1704. [Member of anonymous Royal Society Commission of 1712].
(Speaks
with perceptible Scottish accent).
Lady Brasenose, a London salonnière. (Speaks with distinct
upper-class English accent).
A maid, in home
of Dr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot.
Polly, an ingénue
at Drury Lane.
A dresser, at Drury Lane.
Remaining members of anonymous Royal Society Commission of 1712
(Silent
actors or dressed mannequins in Scene 3)
Francis Aston (1645-1715), friend of Newton, students together, and
elected together as Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge.
William Burnet (1688–1729), subsequently Governor of New York
and New Jersey (1720), then of Massachusetts (1728) and New Hampshire (1729).
Edmond Halley (1656-1742). "But for Halley, Newton’s
PRINCIPIA would not have existed.... He paid for all expenses, he corrected the
proofs, he laid aside his own work in order to press forward to the utmost the
printing. All his letters show the most intense devotion to the work."
Abraham Hill
(1633–1721) Founder Fellow of R. S., later successively treasurer,
secretary, and vice president; friend of Edmond Halley.
William Jones (1675-1749), son of Welsh farmers, appointed to R.S.
in 1712 just before the Committee met. Not an important mathematician, but he
introduced the symbol pi in its enduring meaning and in 1711 published Newton's
"De analysi"--one of the
early shots in the priority battle with Leibniz.
John Machin (1680-1751),
elected to R.S. in 1710, in 1711 became Prof. of Astronomy at Gresham College
on Newton's recommendation. Newton described him as the man who
"understood the PRINCIPIA better than anyone."
Francis Robartes, Earl of
Radnor, (1650-1718), MP (1673-1718) also Commissioner of Revenue for Ireland
(1710-1714), moved in social circles with Newton.
Brook Taylor (1685-1731) elected to R.S in 1712, educated at Cambridge. He had not published anything at the time (1712) of his election to the R.S. and his appointment to the committee was "a sure sign of favor" by Newton. One of the more voracious English mathematicians in the ongoing dispute with the continent.
Scene 1. London, 1725. Colley Cibber and Sir John Vanbrugh
meet in Cibber’s office cum storeroom at the top of Drury Lane Theatre.
Cibber has just come off-stage and is removing his costume as Sir John enters.
VANBRUGH: Colley Cibber!
CIBBER: Sir John, I am your humble servant.
VANBRUGH: Why not just “John?” That’s what
you used to call me.
CIBBER (Laughs):
And you used to call me “Colley.”
VANBRUGH: And Colley it shall be. But has nothing
changed… other than a quarter of a century?
CIBBER: Then you wrote a play that still graces our stage
from time to time.
VANBRUGH: It pleases me that you still recall The Relapse.
CIBBER: Your greatest triumph!
VANBURGH: It is my very favorite, yet our precious critics
condemned it for its “blatantly fleshy treatment of sex.”
CIBBER: Ah… critics!
VANBURGH:
It would never have been written had I not seen the year before the
public’s lust to see your Love’s Last Shift. “Giants in wickedness” they called us
both!
CIBBER: Tosspots!
VANBRUGH: And accused me of “debauching the stage beyond
the looseness of all former times.”
CIBBER: After all these years - it still rankles?
VANBRUGH: Some insults continue to fester. But I will have my
revenge on those who aspire to cleanse our theatre in their holier-than-thou
image. Those pygmies of piety, attempting to destroy my reputation! Wishing to
drive my plays from the English stage! Frothing with indignation in their
tracts and pamphlets! Anointing themselves a “Society for the Restoration
of Manners”!… I’ll teach them manners!
CIBBER: From an architect of plays you have become an
architect of palaces.
VANBRUGH: A sin?
CIBBER: Not at all! But their scale! First, Castle Howard,
then Blenheim-
VANBRUGH: Blenheim Palace demanded it. A fitting tribute to
the Duke of Marlborough’s victory.
CIBBER: Indeed, indeed… the biggest palace ever
built… and garnered you your
knighthood. But after all those years, revenging yourself on your critics?
John, I advise you to forget … if not forgive…
(Sir
John falls silent)
CIBBER: I
see. (beat). You require revenge to lance the boil.
VANBRUGH:
It’s an efficient method.
CIBBER:
Depending on the choice of instrument. And what, may I ask, is yours?
VANBRUGH:
Writing a play, of course. A scandalous play.
CIBBER:
And thus opening yourself to renewed charges of moral deviation?
VANBRUGH:
I started as a playwright… I was insulted as a playwright… I wish
to end as a playwright… and revenge myself as one.
CIBBER: Through a scandalous play?
VANBRUGH: Yes… but without sex!
CIBBER: A
scandal… without sex?
(Vanbrugh
nods)
CIBBER: A
dalliance or two, perhaps?
VANBRUGH:
No dalliances!
CIBBER: How then can it be scandalous?
VANBRUGH: Must sex and scandal always be coupled?
CIBBER: It helps… especially on stage.
VANBRUGH: Colley, I will show that real scandal is of the
mind.
CIBBER: That intrigues me, John. And now you seek my advice?
VANBRUGH: That… and your assistance. You’re not
just an actor… you also excel as theatre manager and playwright…
one day you might even become poet laureate—
CIBBER: Enough! You flatter me… what do you require of
me?
VANBRUGH: You’ve never held it against me to have built
my play, “The Relapse,”
on your success.
CIBBER: The theatre is large enough for both of us.
VANBRUGH: Well put, Colley… and thus a further argument
for my proposal. Collaboration… even by those, presumed to be
competitors, has its merits… a lesson I shall teach through revenge.
CIBBER: But revenge on stage must also divert through a
worthy plot.
VANBRUGH:
The plot already exists… in real life.
CIBBER: A play of revenge based on real life?
Take heed, John! I almost see the critics’ sneers. (Pause). And
scandal is your play’s theme?
VANBRUGH:
It is corruption among the mighty…
CIBBER (Disappointed): Hardly a novel theme. Take Shakespeare’s
histories.
VANBRUGH:
My dear Colley! I am referring to the mighty of the mind… not of the realm.
CIBBER:
Are its protagonists still alive?
VANBRUGH:
All of them!
CIBBER: Ah! That warrants care as well as subtlety.
VANBRUGH:
Subtlety takes time… a precious commodity... especially at my age.
I’m sixty-one, Colley! Many consider me old.
CIBBER: Nonsense, John. (Grins) Though I must admit I was surprised… some while
ago… to learn that you had suddenly decided… in your
maturity… upon an exploration of marital bliss—
VANBRUGH:
How old were you when you succumbed to that temptation?
CIBBER:
Promise not to tell. (Simulates whisper) Not yet twenty-two!
VANBRUGH:
(Shocked.) How rash!
CIBBER:
It was an act of love… but also of madness, bearing in mind that my
income hardly sufficed for one.
VANBRUGH: Perhaps I’m more cautious. I was fifty-five
when I proposed to Henrietta.
CIBBER: Lady Henrietta is a handsome woman… (beat) and young…
VANBRUGH:
In form as well as in figure. (Pause)
Though not as young as yours.
CIBBER: A
wise decision on your part.
VANBRUGH:
How so?
CIBBER:
My Catherine was overburdened by fertility. For every child she bore, I had to
write a play to support it.
VANBRUGH:
Good God! Have you not written at least a dozen plays?
CIBBER:
Twenty-five… to be precise…
VANBRUGH:
(Startled) She bore you
twenty-five children?
CIBBER: (Laughing)
Only eleven… but these in such rapid succession that I decided
upon… withdrawal. (Pause)
But enough of me… and of my plays. We meet here to talk of yours. (Pause).
If I may, John, a delicate question:
this scandalous play will bear your name? (Pause). You are a celebrated playwright… people will
recognize your voice.
VANBRUGH:
Indeed so! But I shall conceal my
voice by merging it with yours.
CIBBER: Oh… When do you wish to start?
VANBRUGH:
Now. (He produces a script)
CIBBER: This moment?
VANBRUGH:
I have your attention… so why not make use of it?
CIBBER: Your
servant, Sir John. (Cibber takes the script from him and begins to read): ”Calculus?” (Raising an eyebrow).
VANBRUGH (Quickly): A comedy!
CIBBER: Good… even if it should not prove true. (Brief
pause). “By Sir John
Vanbrugh?”
(A
moment of embarrassed acknowledgement between them)
VANBRUGH: Of course, that can change—
CIBBER: I am relieved.
(Cibber
flips through the pages)
Ah! “Sir Isaac
Newton?” Well!
VANBRUGH: Read on.
(Cibber reads on. As he
reads, muttering bits of the opening scenes of the play to himself, he begins
to look impatient. He skims ahead a couple of pages, looking for something.
Sighs)
VANBRUGH: And?
CIBBER: It’s promising, so far.
VANBRUGH: I hear a ”but” lurking about.
CIBBER: But I
gather it is a disclosure of a scandal involving Sir Isaac Newton.
VANBRUGH: Indeed.
CIBBER: So…where is Sir Isaac? Where is the
protagonist? I wish to see him! Not the minions who circle around him like
moths attracted to a candle—
VANBRUGH: Who all get burned! Precisely what I wish to show.
We have eleven minions tainted by this scandal, and all of them Fellows of the
Royal Society—
CIBBER: John, you cannot have all eleven in your play. The
expense!
VANBRUGH: I have thought of that. I shall use but three
principals, and the rest will be supernumeraries.
CIBBER: John! I trust you will not take this amiss, but if
the scandal deals with a dispute between Newton and this German fellow…
what’s his name?… Leibniz… they must appear in your play. You
cannot rest your case on surrogates! Without Newton, there is no play. At the
very least, insert a scene for him before proceeding any further.
VANBRUGH: Suspecting you would say that, I came prepared.
(He
produces a scene from his pocket)
CIBBER: What is this?
VANBRUGH: A scene
between Newton and Leibniz.
(Cibber
reads some of it)
CIBBER: Excellent! Let us read it now, together. I’ll
play the German and you Newton.
VANBURGH: No, no, no. I couldn’t…
CIBBER: Oh go on, try… I beg you.
VANBURGH:
Oh very well, if you insist.
(Cibber holds the play text
in his hands and pretends to read Leibniz’s lines. Cibber uses a German
accent while playing the role of Leibniz. Vanbrugh plays Newton, and already
knows his lines since he wrote them.)
LEIBNIZ: So finally we meet Mr. Newton. (As Cibber) John, that opening line needs more work. Anyway,
carry on.
NEWTON: There is nothing that I desire to avoid in matters
of Philosophy more than contention, nor any kind of contention more than one in
print.
LEIBNIZ: Yet your accusation of plagiarism was made in
print!
NEWTON: I wrote no such accusation.
LEIBNIZ (Sarcastically): I stand corrected. You caused one of your sycophants to do it.
NEWTON: A distinguished Fellow of the Royal Society…
LEIBNIZ: Distinguished? Bah! By turning into your sycophant,
he loses all distinction.
NEWTON: How dare you?
LEIBNIZ: How dare you? You fabricate the suspicion that I won fame by devious
practices. No fair-minded or sensible person will think it right that I, at my
age, and with such a full testimony of life, should appear like a suitor before a court of law (Increasingly
louder). I, Gottfried Wilhelm
Leibniz, whose invention contains the application of all reason… a
judgment in each controversy…an analysis of all notions… a
valuation of probability… a compass for navigating over the ocean of our
experiences… an inventory of all things… a table of all
thoughts… a general possibility to calculate everything. (Takes
audible deep breath, then, as Cibber).
John, this is too obscure…
VANBRUGH: All German philosophers are obscure. And some also
obtuse.
CIBBER: Nevertheless, the public, the critics, John! A re-write perhaps?
VANBRUGH: Please continue!
CIBBER: Very well (He continues as Leibniz). When I published the elements of my calculus in
1684, there was assuredly nothing known to me of your discoveries in this area,
beyond what you had formerly signified to me by letter…. But as soon as I
saw your PRINCIPIA, I perceived that you had gone much further. However, I did
not know until recently that you practiced a calculus so similar to my
differential calculus. Of course you chose another name (hisses it with
emphasis on final “s”):
“fluxions.”
NEWTON (Aside, furious whisper): That viper in my brain… that Leibniz…
not content with deriding my invention of the fluxions, now presents himself to
the world as inventor of the (hisses it with emphasis on final
“s”)
“calculus!” (Louder with faked calm). I had no hand in beginning this controversy.
LEIBNIZ: Ha!
NEWTON: Mr. Leibniz! In a letter exchanged between myself
and you ten years ago, I indicated that I possessed a method of determining
maxima and minima…
LEIBNIZ: What of that?
NEWTON: In that same letter, I also wrote down the method.
LEIBNIZ: Your memory is at fault, Sir Isaac.
NEWTON: No, I wrote down the method. And at the same time
concealed it.
LEIBNIZ: Wrote down… yet concealed? How?
NEWTON: In transposed letters-which, when correctly
arranged-express this sentence (slow and forceful tone): “Given any equation involving fluent
quantities, to find the fluxions, and vice-versa.”
LEIBNIZ (Sardonic): Ha… ha! “Given any
equation involving fluent quantities, to find the fluxions, and
vice-versa.” (Extremely fast and sarcastic) Five A’s, two C’s, one D, seven E’s,
three F’s, one G, nine I’s, three L’s… no less than ten
N’s!… four O’s, two Q’s, one R, three S’s, six
T’s, four U’s, five V’s and then one X and one Y… If
all knowledge were transmitted in 70 transposed letters where would mathematics
or natural philosophy stand now? Are anagrams in science honest? Or are they
just a joke? (Pause). As I find no
H… as in “honesty” or “humor”… nor a
J… as in “joke” in your anagrammatic alphabet, neither
honesty nor humor could have been the motivation. (Sardonic laughter). Indeed, as there is no letter M, even mathematics
is precluded!
NEWTON: How dare you?
LEIBNIZ: Did you not write in 1676: “Leibniz’s
method of obtaining convergent series is certainly extremely elegant, and would
sufficiently display the writer’s genius even if he should write nothing
else.” (Pause). Well,
Mr.Newton?
NEWTON: One my greatest lapses of judgment.
LEIBNIZ: Mr Newton. Are you accusing me of poaching… of
trespassing… on English turf?
Of stealing?
NEWTON: Call it what you wish! I was the first to bite into
this apple… and expected to eat it at my leisure.
LEIBNIZ: An apple already bitten… especially an English
one… does not attract me. Need I remind you that when you finally chose
to launch your “method of fluxions” in print… years after I
had published… few people equated it with my “infinitesmal calculus.” Your terminology was a
jargon of flowing points and lines… your so-called “fluents.”
And their rate of change… you called “fluxions.” Your adding
or subtracting dots over letters to represent (derisive) “fluxions of fluxions or fluents of
fluents” is the clumsiest of
clumsy notations (Forcefully).
Mine was algebraical; my language fresh and clear using the words
“differential”… “integral”… and
“function.” I do not find these in your writings!
NEWTON: My question is who discovered the method first. Priority is exclusive. It is an absolute, quantifiable
fact.
LEIBNIZ: Quantifiable?
NEWTON: One man is first! Be it by years, weeks, hours or
even minutes.
LEIBNIZ (Sarcastic):
Is that not carrying mathematics too far?
(Cibber exits the scene as it were, observes last speech
of Newton).
NEWTON: You will rue the day when you issued this challenge,
Mr. Leibniz! Whether you found the Method of Fluxions… (disdainful) your calculus… by yourself is not the question. I shall appoint a
Committee of the Royal Society to deal only with the question who was the first
inventor. And I shall see that they do not stray from that narrow path! (Pause). The Committee will treat Leibniz as
second inventor, because (slow and loud) second inventors have
no rights! None! (Turns abruptly and walks toward Cibber).
(Vanbrugh
comes out of character, as it were)
CIBBER: You are a born actor!
VANBRUGH: Thank you.
CIBBER: In God’s name, why is this scene omitted from
the play?
VANBRUGH: Well, I’m of mixed mind.
CIBBER: No. We must use it!
VANBRUGH: We shall see.
CIBBER: What the plague is the matter with it? (Beat) Are you perhaps afraid?
VANBRUGH: Of Sir Isaac? No. Nor do I have a surfeit of respect
for the man.
CIBBER: Then what?
VANBRUGH: Only that the true scandal happened behind the scenes.
CIBBER: Hm. Very well then. So you say now. But let me see
how you say it here (shaking the script in his hands).
(He
carries on reading the script AS THE LIGHTS DIM).
END OF SCENE 1
Scene 2. Cibber (reading the stage directions): “London,
1712... so that’s thirteen years ago… a reception room at the home
of Dr. John Arbuthnot. The Maid enters. Mrs. Arbuthnot sits in a chair, a tea
service on a table by her side.”
MAID: Ma’am… Mr. Bonet has arrived.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT (Throughout with Scottish accent): Show him in.
BONET: Dr. Arbu… (catches himself)…Oh!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT (As she rises from her chair to greet him): Mr. Bonet.
BONET: Mrs. Arbuthnot, your servant.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We both
frequent Lady Brasenose’s salon—
BONET: Yet have never chanced to meet.
(He
kisses her hand)
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Please, be seated.
(She
sits down, while Bonet remains standing.)
BONET (Throughout
with French accent): You are most
gracious for receiving me on such short notice.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Not at all. Our very great pleasure. (A polite pause). Will you
not sit down?
BONET:
Much obliged, but… with the greatest of respect… I have urgent
business to attend to this morning… a brief conversation with your
husband—
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I apologize on his behalf, but he is not available.
I hope I may be able to entertain you in his absence.
BONET (Disappointed): You are most kind. (beat) When will he return?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Return? (beat) He is upstairs… indisposed.
BONET: Oh. (beat).
I trust he will recover soon.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: My husband is upstairs… in his study…
not in ill health, but ill-tempered in disposition.
BONET (Aggrieved tone): Oh? I take it then he does not wish to speak to me?
MRS ARBUTHNOT: Dr Arbuthnot refuses to speak to any member of the
Committee…
BONET: Oh.
MRS ARBUTHNOT:… on the grounds it may prejudice any decision
taken by the Committee…
BONET: Oh?
MRS ARBUTHNOT: Thus I dare not mention to him that you are here.
BONET: I
see. I assume he has told you nothing of the Committee’s concerns.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Not about its concerns.
BONET: Perhaps it would be better if I took my leave.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: I trust his behavior has caused you no offence. Dr.
Arbuthnot places his principles above all else, including manners I’m
afraid to say.
BONET: No apology is required. If I seem disappointed, it
is because I had hoped… well, no matter. Good day, Mrs. Arbuthnot.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: Perhaps I may be able to dispel some of your
concerns.
BONET:
I’m afraid not. The Committee was convened to adjudicate a very delicate
matter—
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Delicacy is a subjective notion… What is
delicate to one may be tedious to another, as my husband is so fond of saying.
But since he’s not just a physician and savant… but also a writer
on human foibles… I always
take to heart such remarks.
BONET: A
wise decision… to accept your husband’s perspicuity.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I said “take them to heart,” Mr Bonet. I
did not say I always accept them.
But you called your Committee’s purpose “delicate”—
BONET (Forceful): I consider it exceedingly delicate.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I shall not contradict you.
BONET (It
looks as though Bonet is about to leave. Then he realizes something.): You are quite sure your husband did not mention
anything to you of the Committee’s brief? A matter not even disclosed to
all Fellows of the Royal Society?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Of the Committee’s brief? Yes, that he did. (Pause). But you spoke of concerns… not of a brief.
BONET: I
trust you do not take this question amiss: but why would your husband discuss
with you delicate (catches himself)…
or… if you please… confidential tasks of our Committee?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Because I am his wife!
BONET:
Yes… but—
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: You do not take your wife into your confidence?
BONET: I
have no wife… yet.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: But if you had one?
BONET: I
would not talk about such matters.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Yet with my husband… a near stranger…
you are prepared to exchange questions that you would keep from your wife? Why?
Because you trust my husband?
BONET: I
have no reason not to trust him.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Yet you’d distrust a wife? (Pause). Since you have none yet, I would advise you to
choose prudently… as did my husband. (Pause). But I’m being carried away. I should have
offered some refreshment… would you take some tea?
BONET: I
would prefer to continue with our conversation… though perhaps in a slightly
different direction.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I would be pleased to oblige.
BONET:
May I ask a question that I had intended solely for your husband’s ears?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Well, yes… if you consider it appropriate.
BONET: Do
you know if all members of the Committee are equally well informed about its
purpose?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I assume… on good authority… that this
is not the case. But you, Mr. Bonet… a diplomat? Surely, you are
informed.
BONET: Diplomats always desire more information than is
offered.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: I suspect I violate no confidence by saying that the
point at issue solely involves Sir Isaac Newton… or rather, his work on
fluxions.
BONET:
You are referring to the accusation against Mr. Leibniz?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Indeed. But there is more to it than just priority.
Consider that quite difficult
mathematics… fluxions and calculus… is at stake here… and
especially the question who invented what first. Yet nearly half the members of
your Committee are not even mathematicians: Abraham Hill… William
Burnet… the Earl of Radnor… Francis Aston… (Pause)… and you, the King of Prussia’s Minister
to London.
BONET:
What about your husband? He is Queen Anne’s physician…
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: The best she ever had.
BONET: He
is prominent in literary circles-
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: And now collaborating with John Gay and Alexander
Pope in a play…
BONET:
That I did not know.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: It’s called “Three Hours after Marriage.”
BONET: An
ambiguous title.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Depending on one’s view. It’s meant to be a comedy.
BONET (Astonished): Physician and man of letters I can understand. But
playwright of comedies?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: One comedy… and (aside) his last, I pray.
BONET:
And is mathematics another of his talents?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Indeed. Just consider his essay “On the Usefulness of
Mathematical Learning.”
BONET: I
see. (Pause). But now my question:
Has he received as yet the evidence we’re asked to weigh… the
evidence behind the accusation? Against Mr Leibniz. I’ve received
nothing.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: You are not alone, Mr Bonet.
BONET:
But there are exceptions?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Perhaps. (Quickly backtracks). But that is only intuition… a woman’s intuition and
hence of little value.
BONET: I
shall, of course, not ask about your husband, but could you venture a guess?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Mr. Moivre may be one...
BONET (Angrily):
Who was appointed last!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Time of appointment may not relate to position of
rank within the Committee.
BONET: I fail to comprehend—
MRS. ARBUTHNOT (Interrupts):
I suspect that comprehension will dawn tomorrow when your Committee will search
for light… an endeavor in which Sir Isaac is pre-eminent. But your
deliberations will focus on the moon reflecting light from the sun. I wonder
how many of you will notice that all heat is missing.
BONET: I’m afraid I do not follow you, madam.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Eventually you will, Mr. Bonet. But now, , I fear you must take your
leave before my husband comes down.
BONET: Very wise. I am in your debt, Mrs. Arbuthnot.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: In that case I’m pleased, Mr. Bonet.
Scene 3. Vanburgh reads the stage directions: “London,
1712 –as before. An antechamber of the Royal Society. Food laid out on a
table. Mr. Moivre meets Mr. Bonet. By contrast to Mr. Bonet, Mr. Moivre is
dressed in threadbare clothes.”
MOIVRE: Monsieur Bonet, your servant, sir.
BONET: Monsieur Moivre, good day to you sir.
MOIVRE (Cautiously looking around): We seem to be among the first to arrive.
BONET: We are early.
MOIVRE (Moves to side table, pointing to food): I have not eaten all day. My occupation… you
know… hardly offers an opportunity.
BONET (Reluctantly): No one will see you.
(MOIVRE starts wolfing down food)
Monsieur
Moivre… you know the reason for this meeting?
MOIVRE (Quickly takes another bite and then
surreptitiously puts some food, perhaps a roll, into his pocket): The first gathering of the full Committee.
BONET: Of course and yet…may I ask you a frank
question?
MOIVRE: I shall be more than pleased to be of service to the
minister of the Prussian King...
BONET: Why was I chosen… some three weeks after
Arbuthnot and the others?
MOIVRE: But not all others! Taylor, Aston and I were
only invited two days ago.
BONET: And why eleven Fellows?
MOIVRE: Perhaps precluding a Judas among Newton’s
Apostles? (Quick). Of course,
I’m only jesting. (Pause).
But why ask me?
BONET: You’ve been a Fellow for some years-
MOIVRE: Fifteen… to be precise.
BONET: Precision befits a mathematician… which I am
not. Yet the Committee’s charge concerns mathematics… so why
appoint me who is most deficient in this field? And who did so? I only received
a letter from the Secretary without stating a reason.
MOIVRE (Coyly):
The reasons will soon become clear, no doubt. If it had been solely for my
mathematical competence… which I claim openly… I should have been
among the first group… among Edmond Halley, one of Sir Isaac’s
greatest supporters…
BONET: I don’t know him.
MOIVRE: Seven years ago, he observed a comet in the sky and
predicted its return.
BONET: Was he correct?
MOIVRE: Alas, we must wait sixty-eight years to find
out… Or William Jones, who sensibly introduced the symbol p… (Pause). Yet
I… though a mathematician… was among the very last… even
after you.
BONET: Could you offer a simple definition of fluxions? I
would be loath to admit my ignorance when the Committee meets.
MOIVRE: Fluxions are merely the velocities of evanescent
increments… of infinitesimals, such that if a quantity is increased or
decreased by an infintesimal, then that quantity is neither increased nor
decreased.
BONET:
You mean zero?
MOIVRE:
Larger than that… yet smaller than any other number. Is that simple
enough? (Noting that Bonet is still dubious). Then try this. What Sir Isaac called the method of
fluxions, Leibniz termed calculus… a method (clear and slowly) that
finally related time with space.
BONET (with a dubious expression): I thank you.
(Moivre
can see that Bonet doesn't understand.)
MOIVRE: It is a method that determines the rate of change at
any moment of a quantity that itself is changing in relation to… oh, very well. Let me
demonstrate… with an apple. (He picks up an apple). I shall
not drop it… I shall eat it while you count the time it
takes… in seconds.
(He
starts eating. Bonet counts under his breath. Suddenly Moivre stops. Pauses.
Starts eating again. Eats faster. Stops again. Picks his teeth for a second.
Starts again. Stops again.)
MOIVRE (Conversational): The weather at present is quite inclement. Rather English, I would
say.
(He
resumes eating. Slows down. Then speeds up… and finishes the apple, pips,
core and all.)
MOIVRE: Stop! How long did that take?
BONET: I'm not sure… let us say, one minute.
MOIVRE: Very well, one minute. Now: at thirty seconds, how
fast was I eating?
BONET: How fast? It's impossible to say.
MOIVRE: Why?
BONET: Well, for one thing, your speed was not constant.
MOIVRE: Good… you paid attention. But now, (occasionally
speaks faster, even bordering on incomprehensibility) take an
interval of time… say, between fifteen and forty-five seconds. Estimate
in ounces how much of the apple I ate in that interval. Divide this quantity by
the time, namely one half of a minute and you get an average velocity in ounces
per minute. Note! Ounces per minute! Now. (Switches back to ordinary voice
and speed). Can we improve this approximation, do you suppose?
BONET (Pretends reflection): Taking a shorter interval of time?
MOIVRE: Excellent! (Again speaks very fast, bordering on
incomprehensibility). So take the interval between twenty-five and
thirty-five seconds. Determine the average velocity over this period. Or if you
are able, determine the average velocity in ounces per minute between
twenty-nine seconds and thirty-one seconds. The smaller the increment, the
better the solution. Thus, our velocity at any given moment is the
“limit,” as we say, of our average velocities over smaller and smaller
time intervals containing that given moment. (Switches back to ordinary
voice and speed). You follow me?
BONET: I believe so.
MOIVRE (Relieved):
In that case, I congratulate you. You have mastered what Leibniz called the
differential calculus.
BONET: You mean, there is another kind?
MOIVRE: Integral calculus.
BONET (Reflects, then tentative): The inverse?
MOIVRE: We will make a mathematician of you yet! I shall
demonstrate once more!
(He
reaches for another apple. Bites into it. Hurts his mouth.)
MOIVRE: Ouch… ouch…
BONET: That one is made of wax. (beat) I
believe you have another in your pocket—
MOIVRE (Embarrassed): I'm saving it for later. But enough of experimentation.
(He
puts the wax fruit back where it belongs.)
BONET: Very well. But, what if I give you this—
(Bonet
points to a large fruit like a watermelon. Moivre waves it away.)
MOIVRE:
Your contribution to the Committee’s deliberation will not depend on your
understanding further details. A quick tutorial is insufficient. However the calculus
of probability has caught my attention for a number of years now. First,
to study gambling odds, but then to address the probability of life
itself… to calculate annuities and similar properties… even the
date of my own death.
BONET: Your own?
MOIVRE:
Now, at age 45, I have increasing need of sleep… very small increments
each night. I shall pass into eternal sleep when the total reaches 24
hours… which I calculate will occur at age 87.
BONET: But your wife may keep you awake from time to
time… thus ruining your arithmetical progression… and at the same
time prolonging your life.
MOIVRE: I
am not married.
BONET: Your future wife then.
MOIVRE (Interrupts
almost angrily): I cannot afford a
wife.
BONET: Are numbers your whole life?
MOIVRE:
There is literature. I know many works by heart…
Rabélais…
Molière. I could recite for you Le Misanthrope in its entirety—
(Starts
reciting pompously some lines in French from Le Misanthrope)
Tous
les pauvres mortels, sans nulle exception,
Seront enveloppés dans cette aversion?
Encor, en est-il bien, dans le siècle où nous sommes...
.
BONET (Hastily): Ça suffit! Some other time. But now to the
matter at hand: to what circumstances do I owe my selection to the committee?
MOIVRE
You would not be pleased to hear my explanation.
BONET:
Still… may I hear it?
MOIVRE:
They want a foreigner, who does not understand the issue.
BONET:
But you… who understands the issue… are also a foreigner.
MOIVRE:
Do you resent being picked solely for your foreign credentials and ignorance of
mathematics?
BONET (Laughs): You do not mince your words! But frankness deserves
a frank answer. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have taken it as an
insult.
MOIVRE:
What is different this time?
BONET:
Diplomats often adjust their agenda to the circumstances facing them.
MOIVRE: (Sees
Arbuthnot approaching). Ah…
here comes…
(Moivre
quickly stuffs another item of food into his pocket)
ARBUTHNOT:
Mr. Moivre, your servant.
MOIVRE:
Monsieur Bonet, may I introduce Dr. Arbuthnot.
BONET:
Ah… Dr. Arbuthnot… your delightful wife… (He stops
himself.)
ARBUTHNOT:
My wife? You know my wife?
BONET:
Ah, no, I apologize. A case of mistaken identity.
ARBUTHNOT:
Monsieur Bonet, if you have spoken with my wife, it would be better for you if you
said so.
BONET: Dr. Arbuthnot… my
mistake, I do assure you.
ARBUTHNOT (deciding
to let matter rest for the moment):
Well, since my wife has nothing to do
with the business at hand, we shall let the matter lie.
(Bonet bows graciously. Lady Brasenose enters)
ARBUTHNOT (Taken
aback): Lady Brasenose!
LADY BRASENOSE: Gentlemen.
DR ARBUTHNOT:
With the greatest of respect, this is the Royal Society.
LADY BRASENOSE: And hardly known for its welcome of women. But this is not its inner
sanctum. Solely an antechamber.
DR ARBUTHNOT:
Still, how did you gain entry?
LADY BRASENOSE: I am a lady of some reputation, Dr. Arbuthnot.
BONET: My
lady, we are all aware of that. (Kisses her hand).
LADY BRASENOSE: I do not ask permission to enter an antechamber.
BONET:
May I ask why you are here?
LADY BRASENOSE: I might ask you gentlemen the same. You, M. Bonet, are a diplomat.
Fluent in words, but hardly so in fluxions. (Turns to Arbuthnot). And you, my good doctor? You could have claimed
concern for a patient.
ARBUTHNOT:
Why should I do that, Lady Brasenose? I’m a Fellow of the Royal Society
and as such, it is my duty to deliberate on matters of concern to that Society.
LADY BRASENOSE (Ironic): And to its
President?
ARBUTHNOT (Angry): And its President!
LADY BRASENOSE (Abruptly turns to MOIVRE).
And you, Mr. Moivre? (Offers her hand, which he kisses). You’re
a skillful mathematician… I am told… but were you not appointed
just two days ago to the Committee? Why did he wait so long?
MOIVRE: He?
LADY BRASENOSE: (Ironic): Would you
prefer me to say “they?” Very well, I shall oblige you. (Looks
him over). Why did they?
MOIVRE:
Because it dawned on them that they had need of some foreigners!
LADY BRASENOSE: Undoubtedly also the reason why my diplomatic friend (points to
Bonet) was chosen… unless (smiles
coquettishly) he hides from me a competence in mathematics of which
I was hitherto unaware-
BONET:
Few things escape Lady Brasenose.
LADY BRASENOSE: True so far... and I hope still for years to come. So why, Mr. Moivre? There are other
Fellows who are distinguished mathematicians and yet not English. Or are they
not foreign enough?
MOIVRE:
In England, not being English is already too foreign.
LADY BRASENOSE: Touché. But why
was it you were appointed?
MOIVRE (Vexed): I already told your Ladyship—
LADY BRASENOSE: Because you are a mathematician, a Fellow… and not considered
English? None of those reasons would have caused him… (pretends to
catch herself)… I beg your
pardon… I meant them… to appoint you but two days ago!
Barely in time for a gathering of your Committee… the first
… and likely also last meeting!
ARBUTHNOT
(Irritated): I see. Lady
Brasenose, you’ve now added fortune telling to your other skills.
BONET:
These days, news seems to reach my Lady even before it occurs.
LADY BRASENOSE: You seem to forget that you now live in England—an assembly of voluntary spies. (Turns
to Arbuthnot). And why did you
accept?
DR ARBUTHNOT:
Your ladyship, forgive me. This is not a woman’s concern.
LADY BRASENOSE: I doubt that your wife would agree with you, Dr Arbuthnot. I’m
sure she had much to say to Mr. Bonet yesterday.
ARBUTHNOT:
So you did meet her!
BONET: My
apologies sir.
ARBUTHNOT:
Enough of this. What are you doing here?
LADY BRASENOSE: I fear Newton is making your bed and is about to blow out the candle
to put your Committee to sleep.
MOIVRE: No, that’s
inconceivable!
ARBUTHNOT: Unthinkable!
BONET: So
what is your aim?
LADY BRASENOSE: To keep the candle lit.
ARBUTHNOT: The Committee is about to meet the
President. Lady Brasenose you must
depart at once.
LADY BRASENOSE: Very well. I shall take
my leave because I have said what I came to say. (Offers him her hand, which
he kisses rather stiffly). I only hope that you have heard it. Good day,
gentlemen. And remember that you are always welcome at my salon, where I shall forever be the soul of
discretion.
(She goes out slyly.)
DR ARBUTHNOT:
Gentlemen, I urge you to make no mention to anyone of this unfortunate
interruption by Lady Brasenose.
MOIVRE:
Of course.
BONET:
Understood.
ARBUTHNOT:
Nor to give any credence to her words. Otherwise the very foundations of the
case may be prejudiced irreparably.
MOIVRE:
Indeed.
BONET:
Naturally.
ARBUTHNOT:
Good, we are agreed, then. (A bell sounds from outside the antechamber for
the Committee to convene.) And now,
gentlemen, it is time. Shall we enter?
(They enter the chamber.)
(Once inside, they take a seat around the long
table at which other committee members are already seated. Everyone sits in
expectant silence.)
(The door at the back opens slowly to reveal a
shadowy figure: Newton. He says nothing. He brings in copies of the report for
all members. The copies are passed along the table.)
(When all have copies, Newton stands at the far end
of the table mysteriously. Then, without a word, he leaves.)
(A pause, then:)
ARBUTHNOT:
What are we to make of that?
(The other two shake their heads, equally baffled.)
(All three look at the report, as do all the
members of the committee. They read the frontispiece.)
ARBUTHNOT
(After a little while):
Um…excuse me, gentlemen. Have you read the first page?
(Moivre nods.)
ARBUTHNOT:
Mr. Bonet?
BONET:
Yes. Yes, I’ve just read it.
ARBUTHNOT:
I fail to comprehend this document. May I suggest we read that page
again… aloud?
BONET: If
you so wish. (Reads in ceremonious tone). “An account of the book entitled Commercium Epistolicum
Collinii & Aliorum.” (Turns
to Moivre). “Commercium
Epistolicum Collinii?”
MOIVRE (Impatient): An exchange of letters with Mr. Collins.
ARBUTHNOT:
And others!
BONET: Of
course. But who is Mr. Collins?
ARBUTHNOT
(Even more impatient): James
Collins… an intimate acquaintance of Sir Isaac… but now deceased.
Please proceed.
BONET (Resumes
reading out loud): “Published by order of the Royal Society, in
relation to the dispute between Mr. Leibniz and Mr. Newton, about the right of
invention of the method of fluxions, by some (looks at Moivre) called
the differential calculus.”
MOIVRE (Reads
in similarly affected tone):
“This commercium is composed of several ancient letters and papers. And
since neither Mr. Newton nor Mr. Leibniz could be witnesses, the Royal Society
therefore appointed a numerous committee of gentlemen of several
nations.” (In loud, ordinary tone). That’s us—
ARBUTHNOT:
Please go on.
MOIVRE:
“… to search old letters and papers, and report their opinions upon
what they found.” I presume these letters and papers will be provided to
us to form our judgment.
BONET: I
wonder. It says, “And by
these letters and papers it appeared to them that Mr. Newton had the method in
or before the year 1669, and it did not appear to them that Mr. Leibniz had it
before the year 1677.” (A beat).
ARBUTHNOT:
May I request that you repeat that?
BONET (More
slowly and emphatically): “And by these letters and papers
it appeared to them that Mr. Newton had the method in or before the year 1669,
and it did not appear to them—”
ARBUTHNOT (Interrupts): How can this be?
(Other members of the committee, now noticing the
oddity, react.)
MOIVRE:
How can what be?
ARBUTHNOT:
“It appeared to them.” (Louder). “It appeared to them?”
Exactly what does Sir Isaac require of us? (Pause) Are we a committee or aren’t we? Are we
convened here to judge the issue or not?
MOIVRE:
It’s a very long report. (Shuffles pages to look at the last one). Fifty-one pages. Perhaps the statement “it appeared to
them” is designed to hurry things along.
ARBUTHNOT:
Nonsense! (Pause). Rather it
appears to me that Sir Isaac is presenting his evidence and expects us to
affirm and sign it without further scrutiny.
BONET:
Exactement.
ARBUTHNOT:
It is an outrage!
MOIVRE:
So it seems.
BONET: An
insult.
ARBUTHNOT:
Far worse than any common or garden insult! This is a scandal! As men of
principle and conscience, we must not… cannot… will not…
tolerate being manipulated like this by Mr Newton!
BONET:
Never.
ARBUTHNOT:
We shall of course refuse to sign such a cynical document, Mr Bonet.
BONET:
Bien sûr.
ARBUTHNOT:
Mr. Moivre?
MOIVRE (A
moment’s hesitation): Yes... (A beat)
ARBUTHNOT:
Is there something you wish to add, Mr. Moivre?
MOIVRE:
Let me recall to you gentlemen how I discovered Newton’s Principia
Mathematica.
ARBUTHNOT (Impatient): I fail to comprehend its relevance to the matter at
hand.
MOIVRE:
You will. Calling one day on the Earl of Devonshire, I saw in the antechamber a
copy of the Principia that Newton
had come to present to the Earl that very day. I opened it and found, to my
astonishment, that, strong as I thought myself to be in mathematics, I could
only just follow the reasoning. The next day I procured a copy and tore out the
pages. You see, London is very large, and being a tutor to moneyed English
dullards, much of my time is employed solely in walking. That is what reduces
the profit and cuts into my leisure for study, but by tearing leaf after leaf from the Principia and carrying a few at a time in my pocket, I could
peruse it on my walks. Soon thereafter, I was elected to Fellowship in the
Royal Society.
BONET: I wonder
how many other Fellows were elected for mutilating a book.
MOIVRE:
Whatever the reason, I was grateful to have been elected. For me, the creator
of the Principia Mathematica can
do no wrong.
(Bonet and Arbuthnot exchange looks.)
ARBUTHNOT:
Oh…I see. (beat) Mr. Bonet?
You are of course with me on this.
BONET: Of
course.
ARBUTHNOT: And I am sure between the two of us we can persuade
Mr Moivre to consider placing the obligations of morality above the quite
understandable feelings of gratitude towards—
BONET (Quickly):
Quite so. Nevertheless, it would be
better if the committee adjourned before deciding whether to sign this
document.
ARBUTHNOT: One moment! Why would the committee require time to
consider? Do you not agree—
BONET: Of course, my dear doctor. Of course I agree. I agree
entirely… in principle.
ARBUTHNOT: In principle?
BONET: Yes.
ARBUTHNOT: If you have an objection to my reasoning, you had
better out with it at once, Mr Bonet, before I mark you down as an ally.
BONET: Come, come, what is this talk of “allies”?
Of course I have no objection… none whatsoever!
ARBUTHNOT: Good.
BONET: I merely recommend the committee adjourn for a period
of individual reflection.
ARBUTHNOT: Reflection upon what?
BONET: Who can say? (perhaps indicating Moivre) Upon one’s conscience, perhaps.
ARBUTHNOT (Glancing at Moivre): Ah, indeed, upon one’s conscience.
COMMITTEE (ad lib):
Aye, aye, one’s conscience, hear, hear, let’s adjourn.
MOIVRE (after a moment): Well, shall we adjourn then, gentlemen?
COMMITTEE (once more, ad lib): Aye, aye… adjourn.
ARBUTHNOT: In that case, let us all meet again tomorrow at the
same hour.
(They
all get up.)
ARBUTHNOT: Good day, gentlemen.
COMMITTEE (ad lib):
Good day.
(They
all leave, including Arbuthnot. Moivre detains Bonet.)
MOIVRE: M.
Bonet, a propos of Herr Leibniz: As he is President of your Academy in Berlin,
I had hoped he would secure a university chair on my behalf.
BONET: I would advise you not to inform Dr. Arbuthnot of
that.
MOIVRE: No indeed, he is a man of principle, and acts
according to his precepts. But it matters not, since my request fell on deaf
ears.
BONET: Ah. How
inconsiderate of Herr Leibniz.
MOIVRE: I
believe your King appointed Leibniz President for life?
BONET: That he
did! And with a handsome stipend… also for life.
MOIVRE: We have no president for life in the Royal
Society… nor does he receive remuneration.
BONET: I’m aware of that.
.
MOIVRE: Of
course you are a member of your own Berlin Academy?
BONET: I am not.
MOIVRE: Yet you became a Fellow of the Royal Society but a few
months ago. Would it be discourteous to inquire why you are not a member of
your own Academy?
BONET: I believe I shall become one, and soon.
MOIVRE: Oh? Splendid! In which class? Not mathematics, I
presume?
BONET: Theology.
MOIVRE: For which Leibniz will propose you?
BONET: Who
knows, M. Moivre… who knows?
(Not
wishing to push his luck any further, Moivre merely smiles politely. They go.)
MOIVRE (as they leave): Do you suppose there’ll be a dinner laid on for us?
END OF SCENE 3
Scene 4. Cibber again reading stage directions: “London, 1712, the same day as the previous
scene. Lady Brasenose’s salon.”
LADY BRASENOSE: Why? (Pause, then with increasing intensity). Why? Why? Why? (Longer pause). Mr. Bonet! Why?
(Bonet
walks to the window, remains quiet, whereupon Lady Brasenose assumes formal
tone)
Mr. Bonet, did you hear me?
BONET: Yes.
LADY BRASENOSE: Then why do you not reply?
BONET: Because your Ladyship wouldn’t understand.
LADY BRASENOSE: I lack intelligence?
BONET: My dear Lady Brasenose…those are your
words… not mine.
LADY BRASENOSE (Falsetto and French accent): “My dear Lady Brasenose. Not solely your
beauty and breeding… it’s your brain that always lures me
here.” (Resorts to ordinary tone). Those were your words.
BONET: A long time ago.
LADY BRASENOSE: Is 6 years that long ago? Long enough for my beauty
to have wilted? Long enough for my breeding to have deteriorated? Long enough
for my brains to have desiccated? Is that it?
BONET: No…
LADY BRASENOSE: Then why not let me into your confidence? Do you
intend to sign?
BONET (Facing her, firmer): My lady is not a Fellow.
LADY BRASENOSE: You will not tell me because I’m not a Fellow?
The Royal Society does not believe it needs women—
BONET: Of course we need women…
(Sexual
tension between them.)
LADY BRASENOSE: Do you?
BONET: That’s why I always accepted your invitations.
LADY BRASENOSE: That had nothing to do with the Royal Society.
BONET: Being part of your circle surely helped me become a
Fellow. Everyone seeks your invitations.
(She
gets closer to him and with her fan touches his heart.)
LADY BRASENOSE: Then do not sign that paper…
(He
breaks away from her.)
BONET: A man of God must not be swayed by temptation.
LADY BRASENOSE (Disappointed, she changes tack): You have changed Mr. Bonet. Discreet temptation used
to tempt you. But morality… not temptation… should persuade a man
of God not to sign that paper.
(At
this point CIBBER interrupts the action and it freezes.)
CIBBER: Morality! What the plague! Is there to be no
romance, no dallying, between these two?
VANBRUGH: No,
Colley.
CIBBER: Sir
John, I think you will find it will be missed.
VANBRUGH: Be that as it may—
CIBBER:
Allow me to compose a passionate scene for you—
VANBRUGH: Colley!
CIBBER: I know, I know. He is a man of God, that’s his
character. It’s deuced inconvenient of him.
VANBRUGH: The critics damned me for licentiousness, Colley.
This time, I will not give them the satisfaction.
CIBBER: Nor give the public theirs, it seems. Very well,
let’s carry on, and see if our Lady Brasenose may find another…
altogether more refined… form of persuasion.
(Back
to the scene)
LADY BRASENOSE: I suspect Dr. Arbuthnot will refuse—
BONET: That may be a mistake.
LADY BRASENOSE: He is a Fellow. Did not Newton himself select him
for the Committee?
BONET: Sir Isaac may yet regret it.
LADY BRASENOSE: Is that what counts? Newton’s regrets?
BONET: Yes… that is important. But you would not
understand.
LADY BRASENOSE: I beg to differ, Monsieur Bonet… I beg to
differ quite firmly. But let us consider Sir Isaac Newton. He’s 69 and
single… I know of no women in his life… not one… and I know
why—
BONET (Interrupts):
But that is true of many other men. I’m not married.
LADY BRASENOSE: You are almost 30 years younger. You will marry some
day… and of course produce children.
BONET: Why “of course”? Your ladyship is
married… yet you have no children.
LADY BRASENOSE: Men produce children… women bear them. (Pause). I
chose not to bear that load.
BONET: Few women have that choice.
LADY BRASENOSE: Because most men won’t grant them that
privilege. But I am privileged—
BONET: In more ways than one, my lady.
LADY BRASENOSE: As you especially should know. Now... you are
cautious… but you will marry. You do not dislike women... as I,
especially, should know.
(A
moment as he considers the meaning of this.)
BONET: Sir Isaac dislikes women?
LADY BRASENOSE: Even worse… he fears them. He will never
marry.
BONET: He took you into his confidence?
LADY BRASENOSE: Once…(beat)
BONET: That I can believe. I’ve often heard your
salon called London’s confessional.
LADY BRASENOSE: I would hardly consider that a tribute… coming
from so Protestant a mouth as yours.
BONET: My Lady, accept it as praise, since I… a
confirmed Protestant… have visited you so often out of my own free will.
LADY BRASENOSE: Spare
me your compliments. But as I
said, I know why Newton has remained single.
BONET (Intensely curious): That I find intriguing! Could you divulge your
source’s identity?
LADY BRASENOSE: If I
did, my salon would turn into a confessional of ill repute if confidentiality
were not honored. But my dear Bonet, how well do you… a diplomat…
know Sir Isaac?
BONET (Hesitates):
Not well.
LADY BRASENOSE: But you have met him?
BONET: But once.
LADY BRASENOSE: In private?
BONET: At the Royal Society when I signed the book as a new
Fellow.
LADY BRASENOSE: I conclude then that you do not know him at all! Yet
you should not only be aware of his qualities—
BONET (Interrupts):
His merits are well known—
LADY BRASENOSE (Interrupts in turn): But also his foibles, quirks… and more. For
instance take his fondness for anagrams.
BONET: Anagrams? Is that of relevance?
LADY BRASENOSE: I have heard it said that when Newton first thought
of his method of fluxions, he wrote it down in his notebook—
BONET: Surely that is not unusual. Where else should he
have written it?
LADY BRASENOSE: But disguise it in secret anagrams? Or have anagrams
now become the mode in scholarly writings? (Waves her hand in dismissal). No matter.
Newton has gone beyond mathematics in that regard. He once showed me the
words Jeova sanctus unus. Of
course, he would deny it now.
BONET: Why deny it? Surely the Latin words for
“God’s holy one” are not sacrilegious?
LADY BRASENOSE: Consider that in Latin the letters J and I are used
interchangeably.
BONET (Annoyed): I fail to see the relevance.
LADY BRASENOSE: You would
if you rearranged the letters in Jeova sanctus unus and then arrived at
“Isaacus Neutonus.”
BONET: Sir Isaac’s Latin names?
LADY BRASENOSE: Indeed. And should the President of the Royal
Society consider himself “God’s holy one”? Because he was
born on Christmas Day with no father alive? Daubing himself the divine
messenger possessed with the confidence of a holy son to construct a picture of
God’s design for nature?
BONET: He may
have diverted himself with anagrams. No one means all he says!
LADY BRASENOSE: That may be true of diplomats… like you. But
those who know him, will tell you that Newton says all he means. (Pause). You claim to be a man of God now. Will you sign
your name in support of such a low, heretical… if not also
perverted—
BONET (Interrupts angrily): I refuse to be questioned in this fashion! Even by
you, Lady Brasenose. In time you shall learn the answer. (Pause). If not from me, then surely from some one less
restrained.
LADY BRASENOSE: A temptation I shall not resist… even if it
requires loosening tighter lips than yours.
(He
leaves.)
END OF SCENE 4
Scene 5. Vanburgh reads directions: “London, 1712,
later that same day. Dr. Arbuthnot and Mrs. Arbuthnot in heated
discussion”.
ARBUTHNOT: Why? Why? Why? (Longer pause, then with
increasing intensity). Margaret! Why
don’t you answer me?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I cannot.
ARBUTHNOT: But why? After I gave strict instructions that no
one associated with the committee should be admitted.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I did not invite him, John. He arrived wishing to
speak with you. What could I do?
ARBUTHNOT: What did you do?
MRS ARBUTHNOT: I offered him refreshment. We exchanged
pleasantries.
ARBUTHNOT: You didn’t talk?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: We did not sit there… struck deaf and dumb.
ARBUTHNOT: Margaret, do not trifle with me. Did you discuss the
Committee?
MRS ARBUTHNOT: How could I? What do I know of that, since you
won’t tell me anything of substance?
ARBUTHNOT: I did tell you … too much, in fact. And now regret it. What else transpired?
MRS ARBUTHNOT: Nothing. He left… disappointed that you would
not talk to him.
ARBUTHNOT: Very well, we will let it lie. (beat) You’re absolutely certain you didn’t say
a word?
MRS ARBUTHNOT: No… nothing. John… will you not favor
your wife with your confidence, now that the Committee has met and its business
is finished?
ARBUTHNOT: The business is not finished.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: What do you mean… it is not finished?
(Pause
as he considers telling her.)
Who was there?
ARBUTHNOT: All eleven.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: No one else?
ARBUTHNOT: Newton.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Of course Newton… but who else?
ARBUTHNOT: No one. Newton is clever… but also cautious.
Why invite unnecessary witnesses? The Committee is already inundated with
Newton’s toadies.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Would it not have been politic of Newton to include
some Fellows less beholden?
ARBUTHNOT: There were a few.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Mr. Bonet?
ARBUTHNOT: He’s one.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: And you.
ARBUTHNOT (Tired nod):
And I.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT (Impatient):
Oh John! Tell me what happened.
ARBUTHNOT: I wanted to be honest.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Was that not ill-judged?
ARBUTHNOT (Nods):
Yet, does truth not bear the same relation to understanding as music does to
the ear or beauty to the eye?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Newton is concerned with understanding the universe.
That truth concerns him… but no other music reaches his ear. What did he say?
ARBUTHNOT: Nothing.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Nothing at all?
ARBUTHNOT:
Absolutely nothing
MRS. ARBUTHNOT (More exasperated): John! I’ve never had to push you like this.
Do you not trust me?
ARBUTHNOT: It’s a matter of shame… not trust.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT (Warmer):
Then confide in me… I’m your wife.
ARBUTHNOT: I thought of Flamsteed, our Astronomer Royal. He
once sent me a note that said, “Those that have begun to do ill
things, never blush to do worse to secure themselves.” I
thought he was talking about Newton at the time, and now I am sure of it.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: What do you mean?
ARBUTHNOT:
We were presented with the finished report before the Committee had properly
met. And worse was to come! Newton’s conceit exceeds perversity.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT (Impatient):
How could it be worse? John! You must tell me!
ARBUTHNOT: Newton alone had written it—
MRS. ARBUTHNOT (Shocked):
That I cannot believe! Not even Newton could be that brazen.
ARBUTHNOT: He was… and cunningly termed the report,
“An exchange of letters between Collins and others.”
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: John Collins?
ARBUTHNOT: Aye.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: But he’s dead!
ARBUTHNOT: Aye… letters written to the late John
Collins and other deceased correspondents by Leibniz and Newton… and now
selected by Newton… to bolster his case in his own words without
contradiction by the dead.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: That is barefaced. And you were expected to
sign… without further debate?
ARBUTHNOT: All of us were.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: And you
did? I would not want you to suffer the wrath of Sir Isaac. We both know his
unparalleled cunning. You did sign, didn’t you?
ARBUTHNOT: No pen was set to paper!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Oh!
ARBUTHNOT:
The committee is reconvening tomorrow. By then we must decide.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: So there is still time. (Pause). John… I’m
afraid.
ARBUTHNOT: Of me… your husband?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Not of you… but for you! I’m afraid of the
consequences if you don’t sign.
ARBUTHNOT: Margaret,
I’m a Fellow of the Royal Society—
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: But he’s the president.
ARBUTHNOT: He’ll understand when I explain—
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: He may understand… but he will never forgive you.
ARBUTHNOT: Nonsense!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: John… you’re being foolhardy.
ARBUTHNOT: I promise to be diplomatic… but honest. An
untruth is best contradicted by truth… not another untruth.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Have you not been listening to me, John? That will never work with
him. Diplomacy? Perhaps. But honesty?
ARBUTHNOT: That is an unwarranted conclusion!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: However diplomatically delivered, Newton will never accept an honest
explanation that criticizes him…
ARBUTHNOT:
I shall not criticize him.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: He will consider your refusal to sign public criticism.
ARBUTHNOT:
I shall explain in private.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Your name’s absence from that document alone will be sufficient
insult.
ARBUTHNOT: I shall prove you wrong
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: John! Sign. You cannot afford the risk. He will spit on you… (beat) and then convince you it’s raining.
ARBUTHNOT: Margaret!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: Have you forgotten his cruelty? As Master of the Mint, Newton
applauds the flaying and hanging of many a man who crosses his path.
ARBUTHNOT:
It is the duty of the Master of the Mint to ensure the soundness and safety of
our country’s coinage. Forgers must be punished!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: But attend in person the execution of every forger and clipper…
and do so for years? Hardly a requirement for an occupant of so high an office.
(beat) John, you must sign that
report! For my sake if not your own.
ARBUTHNOT:
Why will you not support my decision?
MRS ARBUTHNOT: Sign. Or he will flay and hang you!
ARBUTHNOT:
Margaret, he is no monster!
MRS ARBUTHNOT: John, for pity’s sake. Sign!
ARBUTHNOT:
Everywhere I turn, I am surrounded by… moral… turpitude! And now
you, my own wife—
MRS ARBUTHNOT: Do it! Please!
ARBUTHNOT:
No, madam, I will not sign away my reputation! Do you not know your own
husband? Let them hang me from Tyburn as a traitor to my country, but I
will… not… sign that foul document!
(He storms out. She goes after)
(CIBBER turns to VANBRUGH.)
CIBBER:
If I were you, Sir John, I’d place an interval right here.
VANBRUGH:
Sound advice. In any case, I need a piss.
(They
exit.)
END OF SCENE FIVE
END OF ACT 1
Scene 6. Cibber:
“London 1712. Mr. Newton
waits in the shadows of an antechamber at the Royal Society. Dr. Arbuthnot
enters carrying the report. Mr. Newton gestures for him to sit down while he
remains towering over him”.
ARBUTHNOT:
Sir Isaac: I deduce that not a word is to be altered in this report?
(Newton is silent.)
ARBUTHNOT:
And thus be published unamended… even if some members demur?
(Somewhat
threatening silence from Newton.)
ARBUTHNOT:
I see… yes… of course. (Long pause). Such
protest would be apostasy in your eyes?
(Faint
nod by Newton)
ARBUTHNOT:
Unacceptable to the President of the Royal Society?
NEWTON (Threatening
tone): Second inventors have no
rights, Dr Arbuthnot. None!
ARBUTHNOT:
Indeed not… none whatsoever. Yet for myself, Sir Isaac… and I speak
solely for myself… I hold open disputes in distaste.
NEWTON:
But so do I, Dr. Arbuthnot. No open disputes.
ARBUTHNOT:
If I may make a proposal, Sir Isaac?
(Newton is silent.)
ARBUTHNOT:
What is needed here is a published… unanimous report-
NEWTON (Raises
index finger—or other gesture—for emphasis): Unanimous! All eleven!
ARBUTHNOT:
Naturally. No exception. None! (Pause).
But for that the identity of the
Committee could remain undisclosed.
NEWTON (Nods): A
“Numerous Committee of Gentlemen of several Nations”.
ARBUTHNOT:
Precisely. But once granted that, would logical reasoning then not support my
request (questioning, perhaps even pleading look at Newton)…
(Silence from Newton.)
ARBUTHNOT:
… that unanimity by vote of an anonymous Committee… need not
further be confirmed by signature?
(Silence from Newton.)
ARBUTHNOT:
Publication should suffice. (beat).
Surely it does, Sir Isaac… does it not?
(Silence from Newton.)
ARBUTHNOT:
And further, may I venture to assert that …under such conditions
unanimity might be assured… Sir Isaac? By all eleven!
(A brief pause. Newton rises. Arbuthnot rises.
Giving nothing away, Newton leaves.)
END OF SCENE 6
Scene 7. Cibber:
“London, 1712, The Arbuthnot
home. Mrs. Arbuthnot paces impatiently. Looks up as her husband enters”.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: John—
ARBUTHNOT: It’s over. And there is nothing more to say!
(He
storms across the stage and out. Then returns. Sits down. She waits.
ARBUTHNOT: I started out on the wrong foot.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: You mean with honesty? (Seeing him nod wearily,
she continues more gently). John, I
had warned you. (Reaches over to pat his hand or other gesture of affection). What did you say?
ARBUTHNOT: I thought of Francis Bacon: “There is little
friendship in the world… and least of all between equals.” I wanted
to ask, “Why not prove Bacon wrong?”…
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: And did
you?
ARBUTHNOT: No, the Committee’s concern is with
superiority… of British science. Friendship is irrelevant. If it was
proper for Germans to pin on Leibniz another’s garland, it was the duty
of the committee to restore to Newton what is really his own.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: And
that’s what you told Newton?
ARBUTHNOT: We hardly had to… We’re all toadies
now…
MRS ARBUTHNOT: At least the sordid business is over.
ARBUTHNOT: Is it?
MRS ARBUTHNOT (Worried):
John, please tell me you signed.
ARBUTHNOT: I did
not sign, madam.
MRS ARBUTHNOT: Oh, God!
ARBUTHNOT: None of us signed because the report is to be published
anyway. With our “anonymous” approval. That was my proposition and
Newton is satisfied with it. And I hope, madam, that you’re satisfied as
well. (He makes to leave.)
MRS ARBUTHNOT: John… that is unjust. My concern was the
protection of my husband and my children. We both know what he would have done
if you had crossed him.
ARBUTHNOT: “Those that have begun to do ill things, never
blush to do worse to secure themselves.” I thought Flamsteed’s
words referred to Newton. Now, I am not so certain. (beat) I am off to my study… to compose my thoughts. I
would be grateful if you left me in peace.
(He’s
gone.)
CIBBER: A pithy scene.
VANBRUGH: Pithiness has its place… even on the stage.
CIBBER: Granted…
in this case. But as for Newton, I fear your public needs to learn more.
VANBRUGH: Hm.
CIBBER: Everyone knows why he became President of the Royal
Society… the greatest natural philosopher and mathematician of our time,
and so on. But…we need more scandal!
They
think for a bit. Cibber pours a drink for them both.
VANBRUGH: Of course, some asked why he left Cambridge to
accept his Majesty’s appointment as Master of the Mint.
CIBBER: That is obvious: a great deal of money—
VANBRUGH:
“The love of money is the root of all evil.” 1 Timothy 6.10.
CIBBER: Quoting the New Testament is hardly scandalous,
John.
VANBRUGH: Excessive love of money might be…
CIBBER: Well then we should use it!
VANBRUGH: Well…
CIBBER: Yes,
out with it, man!
VANBRUGH:
There was his South Sea Company speculation… but (brusquely): I prefer not to raise that painful subject. It
showed we did not learn from the Dutch tulip mania.
CIBBER: You also bought shares?
VANBRUGH: And lost them all!
CIBBER (Thinking):
Any other character in the play suffer the same fate by any chance?
VANBRUGH: I believe Arbuthnot. (beat). And
also Alexander Pope. “’Tis ignominious not to venture,” he
wrote to his broker.
CIBBER: Hm….But
Sir Isaac?
VANBRUGH: He had
made an 100% profit on his investment as the stock rose. Further evidence of
his genius with numbers…
CIBBER: Hardly
a point worth emphasizing in the play.
But, continue.
VANBRUGH:
The stock kept rising… and rising…
CIBBER: A
familiar story even today.
VANBRUGH: Until
even the great Newton… by then Master of the Mint… speculated
again.
CIBBER: And
lost?
VANBRUGH: Twenty thousand pounds.
CIBBER (Shocked, yet gleeful): Twenty thousand! Shall we use it?
VANBRUGH
(Wags his head in doubt):
It’s tempting… yet all too common… especially today. It will
dilute the point I wish to make.
(They
have another drink and another think.)
CIBBER: Very well, we must have something else equally
scandalous.
VANBRUGH: Alchemy?
CIBBER: Alchemy
sounds promising.
VANBRUGH: Newton
wasn’t just interested in alchemy… he was obsessed by it. But
unfortunately… for us… he was after the philosopher’s
stone… the unity of nature… not after gold. But Sir Isaac was
careful! He never wrote or spoke in public on the subject. Furthermore,
it’s not relevant to the dispute at issue, which deals with mathematics.
CIBBER (Annoyed and impatient): Oh,
mathematics! The public would hardly stomach more mathematics! (beat). Of course if you suggest that sex is in some way
akin to mathematics?
VANBRUGH (Sarcastic):
I must admit that such resemblance has escaped me… so far. I know of your
competence in one endeavor… but both?
CIBBER: If competence in mathematics is required for a
playwright, no plays will ever be written about mathematicians.
VANBRUGH (Amused):
In that case, enlighten me about the kinship between sex and mathematics.
CIBBER: Both can produce practical results… even
unexpected ones… but that is not foremost in the practitioners’
minds when they indulge in it. (beat).
Most often it is pleasure.
VANBRUGH: Not curiosity?
CIBBER: Satisfying one’s curiosity often leads to
pleasure.
VANBRUGH: Colley,
I fear this is getting us nowhere.
(They
drink – a hiatus in the conversation.)
CIBBER: Well,
so much for Newton and scandal.
VANBRUGH: Colley,
as I said before–-
CIBBER: Yes,
yes, the minions… those damned minions! But, for heaven’s sake, why bring in the King of
Prussia’s Minister to England… hardly a scandalous occupation?
VANBRUGH: None of my characters have scandalous
occupations… least of all Bonet. It’s their scandalous behavior I
wish to unmask.
CIBBER: Germans are never scandalous. Learned? Yes…
Hard working? Always… Dull? Often… Cruel? Perhaps… But
scandalous?
VANBRUGH: Our Bonet is not German. Some would call him
Swiss—
CIBBER: Swiss? Good heavens, John! Even worse than German!
For the Swiss… what is not prohibited is proscribed. I advise eliminating
him from the play.
VANBRUGH: This Bonet is from Geneva.
CIBBER: Why didn’t you say so? That is a mitigating
fact… possibly even promising. French scandals are the best… and
Geneva is right at the border.
VANBRUGH: He studied medicine in Leyden at age 15.
CIBBER: I would never mention that in the play!
VANBRUGH: Because Leyden is in Holland?
CIBBER: I am referring to his age. Precocity is never
appreciated on the stage. No, no, we can’t have any of this in the play.
It won’t do, John, and that’s my final word on the subject.
VANBRUGH: I
see. You will join me as my collaborator no further than your whimsy allows.
CIBBER: My
whimsy? Or the public’s appetite for amusement?
(Stalemate.
Vanbrugh impishly suggests:)
VANBRUGH: Would you allow me to refer to the fact that in
London Bonet first joined the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel and
four years later the Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge?
CIBBER: What the plague! I am beginning to dislike the
man—
VANBRUGH: But why?
CIBBER: I cannot stomach pious proselytisers. Besides they
do not care for the theatre.
VANBRUGH: That may be so… but his religion is relevant
to our play as I will now demonstrate.
CIBBER: Indeed…well
this had better be good!
END OF SCENE 7
Scene 8. Vanbrugh: ”London, 1712. At Lady
Brasenose’s salon. Lady Brasenose, Dr. Arbuthnot and Bonet in
animated… even contentious conversation”.
LADY BRASENOSE: Now tell me: did Sir Isaac get his way?
ARBUTHNOT:
Why ask us?
LADY BRASENOSE: Because you were there!
ARBUTHNOT:
But so were nine others.
LADY BRASENOSE: I had more confidence in you… both of you.
BONET: My
Lady uses the past tense. You have no confidence now?
LADY BRASENOSE (Sharp, yet smiling): You
listen to nuances…
BONET: In
diplomacy, precision in language leads to imprecision in meaning.
LADY BRASENOSE (Laughs outright): I am
tempted to pursue this line of conversation… it does suit a salon. But I
shall resist. So out with it! The report is at the printers. Was your
Committee’s decision unanimous?
BONET: It
was.
LADY BRASENOSE: Without giving notice to Leibniz? Without inviting him to offer documents
in his defense?
ARBUTHNOT:
Without such actions.
LADY BRASENOSE: Yet you all signed? Shame on you!
BONET:
You’re overlooking the nuances, Lady Brasenose! I said the decision was
unanimous—
ARBUTHNOT:
But we did not sign.
LADY BRASENOSE (Taken aback): How did
the two of you accomplish that?
BONET:
None signed!
LADY BRASENOSE: Sir Isaac is more malleable than I thought.
ARBUTHNOT:
Not more malleable… just more subtle.
LADY BRASENOSE: Or more devious? (Makes dismissive gesture). No matter. What caused his change of mind?
BONET (Points
to Arbuthnot): Our doctor’s
diplomacy.
LADY BRASENOSE: If our physicians now turn into diplomats, what happens to our
diplomats?
ARBUTHNOT:
I’m afraid my Lady’s question is not applicable to the case at hand.
Both the physician (points to himself)
and the diplomat (points to Bonet)
chose prevarication.
BONET:
Dr. Arbuthnot… you’re too severe.
ARBUTHNOT
(Turns to Bonet): Am I? What is a
prevaricator in your eyes?
BONET: A
quibbler… or equivocator.
LADY BRASENOSE: In other words… a diplomat.
ARBUTHNOT
(Quietly): We were cowards…
LADY BRASENOSE: Cowardice and diplomacy are not mutually exclusive! But Dr.
Arbuthnot! I’ve never before seen you wear a hair-shirt… at least
not in my house. It’s time you discarded it. Enlighten me… both of
you! I have always thought of you as men of principle.
BONET:
Principles exist to be broken… at least at times.
LADY BRASENOSE: Is that the diplomat
speaking...?
BONET: Or
the churchman. “Thou shalt not kill” has never prevented religious wars.
LADY BRASENOSE (Impatient): I want to
hear about the prevarication… not its rationalization.
BONET:
The identity of the Committee will remain undisclosed. (Points to Arbuthnot). The good doctor can explain… as it was his
initiative.
ARBUTHNOT:
Unanimity by a “Numerous Committee of Gentlemen of several Nations” doesn’t need to be confirmed by
signature. Publication suffices.
LADY BRASENOSE: Like the death warrant for Charles I?
ARBUTHNOT:
An apt comparison. Killing a scholar’s reputation is also murder.
BONET: (Pause). Dr. Arbuthnot’s proposal was carried
unanimously.
LADY BRASENOSE (Admiringly): I never
realized prevarication could be so effectual.
ARBUTHNOT:
Lady Brasenose… and Mr. Bonet. Forgive me, but I must take my leave. A
patient waits who must not be kept waiting.
(Exits)
LADY BRASENOSE (Turns to Bonet): But you
could have been the honorable exception to unanimity. You have the least to
fear of Newton. His wrath will not follow you to Geneva. But now that we are alone,
I trust you will answer honestly.
BONET: I
did not vote for Newton… I voted against Leibniz.
LADY BRASENOSE: You proclaimed Leibniz a plagiarizer?
BONET: I
am not qualified to pass judgment in mathematics.
LADY BRASENOSE: But that was the issue!
BONET: To
me it was a question of higher truth… not subject to adjustments, however
infinitesimal. In a religious calculus, adjustments cannot be tolerated.
Leibniz’s latest writings justify theodicy, which I find unacceptable. (Pause). And so does Newton.
LADY BRASENOSE: The “Odyssee”? How does Homer enter the argument?
BONET (Impatiently): Not the Odyssey. (Spells it, loud and slowly
using French alphabet). T H E O D I C Y.
LADY BRASENOSE (Laughs): Oh,
Theodicy! And I take it Newton
shares your views on religion?
BONET (Quick): We both abhor reunification of Protestantism and
Popery. Yet Leibniz, though claiming to be Lutheran, moves easily in Catholic
circles… and wishes more of us to do so. (Vehement). That crypto-Catholic! And on theodicy, Newton and I
see eye to eye.
LADY BRASENOSE: On theodicy, I’d take Leibniz’s side. Does not theodicy
argue that an omnipotent God would allow evil to exist, because sin is
unavoidable? That sin is not the agency of God but arises out of the necessary
limitation of Man?
BONET (Shocked): Argument?
It’s idle speculation of the worst kind. True heresy!
LADY BRASENOSE: Speculating about the existence of evil in a world created by a good
God does not seem idle to me. Theodicy would claim that as Man cannot be
absolutely perfect, Man’s knowledge and power is limited. Thus we are not
only liable to wrong action, but it is unavoidable or we would have absolutely
perfect action from a less than absolutely perfect creature. How otherwise
explain that God allowed Newton’s manipulations? (Pause). Or do you attribute absolute perfection to Sir
Isaac?
BONET:
Lady Brasenose… now you are toying with me.
LADY BRASENOSE: Did you truly support Newton in an argument about the mathematical
calculus by invoking religious reckoning… whatever that may be? There
must be more.
BONET (Losing
his temper): There is more.
The Royal Society honored me… a foreigner… by election to its
illustrious fellowship. But my own King’s academy has not! Which
academy’s president would you support?
LADY BRASENOSE: Supporting Newton is unlikely to garner you election in
Leibniz’s academy.
BONET:
But voting against Leibniz will.
LADY BRASENOSE: You have now piqued my curiosity.
BONET:
You will hold this in confidence?
LADY BRASENOSE: If it merits such treatment.
BONET: It
does.
LADY BRASENOSE: Very well.
BONET:
Election to the theology class of our Academy is my desire. Its director,
Daniel Ernst Jablonski, who also preaches at the King’s Court, supports
me. He founded the Academy with Leibniz. Whereas Leibniz as President receives
a salary for life from the King, Jablonski and his colleagues receive nothing.
LADY BRASENOSE: Whereupon envy raised its ugly head!
BONET:
Perhaps… but Leibniz’s attention has since wandered far from the
Academy.
LADY BRASENOSE: So that a stipend for
life is not further justified?
BONET:
Putting it at the disposal of Jablonski… who labors night and day for the
King’s Academy… seems only just.
LADY BRASENOSE: And if you report Newton’s victory to your King,
Leibniz’s merits will diminish?
BONET (Admiringly): My lady’s acumen has not been blunted in six
years.
LADY BRASENOSE: On the contrary, it has sharpened. (Pause). So as Minister, it will be your duty to report the
Royal Society’s conclusions to your court?
BONET: I
shall dispatch a copy of the Commercium Epistolicum to Berlin. No commentary on my side will be
necessary. It is damning enough.
LADY BRASENOSE: Because Newton wrote it.
BONET: No
outsider is privy to that information.
LADY BRASENOSE: And your participation in the Committee?
BONET:
Why disclose it when the Royal Society itself will not?
LADY BRASENOSE (Ironic): My dear Bonet.
You have just provided unimpeachable evidence in favor of theodicy…
(He is about to protest when Moivre enters.)
MOIVRE: Lady
Brasenose, I kiss your hand. Monsieur Bonet, your servant.
(Looks around, addresses Bonet but is overheard by
Lady Brasenose).
It appears I arrived too tardily for refreshments.
BRASENOSE:
Have you no shame, sir? (He looks at her.)
MOIVRE:
Your Ladyship is already informed of the Committee’s decision, I take it?
(She smiles coldly. Pause. He smiles benignly.)
MOIVRE: I am moved by your Ladyship’s concern for the
moral welfare of our Committee, although I do not fathom the reason.
LADY BRASENOSE: Is that not obvious?
MOIVRE: Obvious? Perhaps… (He smiles again.) But are
you aware that at age 20, I was incarcerated for refusing to convert to
Catholicism? I fled to England and have lived here ever since… yet they
still call me French. (Bitter). As
a Huguenot émigré, I eke out a living from tutoring listless
students… from solving problems of chance in coffee houses… even
from calculating odds for gamblers…
LADY BRASENOSE: I find that shocking.
MOIVRE: And so do I, my dear lady… though probably for
other reasons. I have still to find a true patron to open the door to a
position of merit… in this country or the Continent.
LADY BRASENOSE (Following his train of thought): But now?
MOIVRE: Precisely! For the first time... the burden has
turned into an advantage… that I shall use to the fullest. Because you
see, the President needed foreigners.
LADY BRASENOSE (Coldly).
I congratulate you for not having been born in England.
MOIVRE: I am not in the habit of refusing
congratulations… especially not if offered by your Ladyship. (beat) Whatever the reasons may be.
(Bonet
looks at Lady Brasenose. She remains quiet.)
(All
rise. Moivre kisses Lady Brasenose’s hand.)
MOIVRE: My lady… your most humble and obedient
servant.
(Moivre
goes to the door and waits.)
BONET: (Kissing her hand) Lady Brasenose, it is time I also took my leave.
LADY BRASENOSE: As you wish. But you are always welcome in my salon.
(A moment between them. He offers a smile
but she rejects him with a look away. Bonet parts from Lady Brasenose and the
two men leave.)
(She is left alone in deep thoughts. Then
ARBUTHNOT returns.)
LADY BRASENOSE: Oh, Dr. Arbuthnot… you startled me. I thought
you were long gone.
ARBUTHNOT: No, I waited… I realised I’d forgotten
something.
LADY BRASENOSE: And
what was that?
ARBUTHNOT: A confession… and a request.
LADY BRASENOSE (Highly curious): In that case, please, be
seated.
(They sit. A silence. Then.)
ARBUTHNOT: Has your Ladyship ever met Flamsteed, the Astronomer
Royal?
LADY BRASENOSE: More than once… in this very house.
ARBUTHNOT: You know of his enmity with Newton?
LADY BRASENOSE (Nodding): Newton hates Flamsteed, in
spite of his position as Astronomer Royal.
ARBUTHNOT: Or because of it. Though hardly a justification to
have the Astronomer Royal ejected from Fellowship of the Royal Society for late
payment of fees. (Pause) And did
you know that I demanded of Flamsteed that he deliver up his life’s
work… his lunar tables… to Newton?
LADY BRASENOSE: At her Majesty’s command, no doubt…
ARBUTHNOT: After furious prompting by Newton.
LADY BRASENOSE: He used you.
ARBUTHNOT: As so many others. My wife is afraid of
Newton’s wrath… even
at the cost of abandoning my honour.
LADY BRASENOSE: Your wife’s concerns are colored by affection
and practicality. Mine by morality and…curiosity.
ARBUTHNOT: Mere curiosity?
LADY BRASENOSE: Is that not sufficient… a lady’s
curiosity.
ARBUTHNOT: My lady, you’re so much more than just a lady.
Why did this matter concern you so deeply.
LADY BRASENOSE: (A beat) Do I have your confidence,
Dr. Arbuthnot?
ARBUTHNOT: You may be sure of it Lady Brasenose.
LADY BRASENOSE (Pause): Newton wounded me once and
ever since, I must confess, I have… disliked him… intensely.
ARBUTHNOT: I see.
LADY BRASENOSE: And you? After all, most men can deal with
conflict… but the real test is how authority is deployed when all can see
it.
ARBUTHNOT: Indeed.
LADY BRASENOSE: For Newton, your Committee was nothing but a
collection of barkless watchdogs.
(Arbuthnot is silent.)
LADY BRASENOSE: But such dogs expect to be fed. And not all canines
have the same appetite. For instance, Moivre is thankful for some scraps.
(Pause.)
Whereas…. you?
ARBUTHNOT (After a moment’s thought): Whereas I
think… this would be a fine subject for a morality play…
LADY BRASENOSE: You write for the theatre, Dr. Arbuthnot?
ARBUTHNOT: Not yet. But with the right partner?
(A moment of bonding between them.)
(CIBBER
enters the scene reading the last page of the script. VANBRUGH follows.)
CIBBER (Reading):
“…But with the right partner?” (Pause). A
puzzling last line.
VANBRUGH: Some day you’ll understand.
CIBBER: If you
say so. In any event, that’s
where I’d end the play. “CURTAIN. THE END.”
(A
pause.)
VANBRUGH: Well?
CIBBER: I have a question.
VANBRUGH: Certainly.
CIBBER: Who is the source for all of this?
VANBRUGH: I cannot say.
CIBBER: Ah. ‘Tis a pity. Then I fear it will not be
possible to produce this play at Drury Lane.
VANBRUGH: Oh?
CIBBER: Libel,
John… the danger of libel. I
shall need to know.
VANBRUGH: My source does not wish to be revealed.
CIBBER (Beat, impishly): Lady Brasenose, perhaps?
VANBRUGH: What makes you say that?
CIBBER: So it is
Lady Brasenose. She appears in the play… a very mysterious creature… and privy to every false
step or nefarious motive. A fascinating woman! May I meet her?
VANBRUGH: I have promised to protect the reputation of my
source—
CIBBER: Yes, yes, of course. As you wish. Still, it’s a
shame. (beat). Well, with some
tinkering here and there, we may yet have ourselves a play.
VANBRUGH: Good. Excellent. Thank you, Colley.
CIBBER: For what?
VANBRUGH: For taking a gamble.
CIBBER: Not at all. I’m a theatre manager. Gambling is
my life. And what is life without
risk?
VANBRUGH: So, I shall await your further instructions?
CIBBER: Yes…
yes, leave it with me. As soon as I judge the time to be right, I will
set the wheels in motion. Leave it with me.
VANBRUGH: Excellent.
CIBBER: Welcome back to the theatre, John. But…
VANBRUGH: Yes?
CIBBER: We
cannot use your name.
VANBRUGH: True…
CIBBER: An
anagram, perhaps?
VANBRUGH: You have one for “Vanbrugh”?
CIBBER: I do. (He
takes a deep bow). “H…
Van… Grub.”
VANBRUGH: Sounds Dutch, Colley… but why not? (Mock
bow). Your servant. Mr. Cibber.
CIBBER: And I,
Mr. Van Grub, am yours.
(Vanbrugh
leaves. Cibber takes a drink.
Leaves. We hear the sound of an audience in the theatre, perhaps mixed with a
few lines from a play. Then it’s over. Applause.)
END OF SCENE 8
Scene 9. London 1731. Applause as CIBBER (offstage) gets
into Newton’s wig etc. The lights change – footlights and the
curtain come down. CIBBER comes on and takes a deep bow to the applause. Then
he hushes the audience for his epilogue speech.
CIBBER: Thus
have you seen the sorry consequence
When principles desert our
men of sense.
And yet, our moral critics
here will find
No greater vice than scandal
- of the mind.
Since Lust is locked away in
dusty attics,
While foppish wits brush up
their mathematics;
When Lady Brasenose finds her
salon dull;
And Sin, it seems, grows
intellectual.
But pray you, gallants, think
no wrong of us
For making sport with
Newton’s Calculus.
He stood on giant’s
shoulders; if I may,
I’ll dare to stand up
for our humble play;
And if, while we were
striving for your pleasure,
Sir Isaac frowned – we
shall repent at leisure.
Besides, in conscience,
nothing should be said
Against the play, because the
writer’s dead.
Though H. Van Grub in life
was known by few,
His immortality now rests
with you.
He bows again to applause. With a theatrical sweep upstage he exits behind the curtain. A moment of applause. The quality of the sound changes to become muffled, and the lights change to Cibber’s study. He reappears through the door in his costume. Closes the door. He gets a bottle from his desk and has a drink. Then he pulls back the curtain to reveal a portrait of Newton that has been placed on the wall behind the curtain. He offers a toast to the portrait.
CIBBER: To
us… in fame… and infamy. Long may it-–
He
is interrupted by a knock at the door. He answers. At the door is a young
actress in Lady Brasenose’s dress from Scene 8. She is breathlessly
excited.
ACTRESS: Colley!
CIBBER: My pet!
She
rushes in, leaving the door open. They embrace. Clearly they’re having an
affair.
CIBBER: Quite promising a performance! (Attempts a kiss,
which she deflects, whereupon he
continues). In fact… rather
good!
ACTRESS: Rather?
(beat). Not very good? (Quickly
kisses him).
CIBBER: Flirting with your fan with Monsieur Bonet in the
salon scene...
He
demonstrates what she did in the salon scene 4 to Bonet. She laughs.
ACTRESS: It wasn’t too much?
CIBBER:
No, no! Quite subtle!
ACTRESS: Oh,
Colley-–
They
embrace. He throws his wig off with:
CIBBER: Wigs
get in the way!
ACTRESS: Colley…
I want more…
CIBBER: Then
my pet, you shall have more!
He
makes to unlace her dress.
ACTRESS (Stops him): More dialogue, Colley… more
scenes… more in line with my talent—
CIBBER: I’m
sure that can be arranged….
Proceeds
to unlace her.
ACTRESS: You
promise?
CIBBER: With
a little persuasion…
ACTRESS: Oh,
Colley!
She
drops to her knees and starts loosening his breeches.
CIBBER: Lock
the door, for God’s sake…
ACTRESS (Excited, ignoring that last remark): Oh,
Colley!
Too
late. Cibber notices Arbuthnot
standing in the open doorway. Seeing him, Cibber changes tack at once.
CIBBER: Hussey! Don’t
you know I’m married? Out! At once!
ACTRESS (Taken aback). Colley!
But why?
CIBBER: Out I say, strumpet!
Cibber
bundles the actress out of the door past Arbuthnot.
CIBBER (Dismissive): Those pressing actors! Please come in, sir.
Dr
John Arbuthnot (now age 64, in poor health, suffering from gout and kidney
stones from which he will die within 4 years) enters slowly and laboriously
with the aid of a cane, while Cibber shuts the door on the actress.
CIBBER: A silly creature… she will not leave me alone.
ARBUTHNOT: Evidently.
CIBBER: And whom do I have the honor of—
ARBUTHNOT: My name is Arbuthnot, sir.
Cibber’s
expression drops.
CIBBER: Dr. Arbuthnot? I am, sir, your must humble, most
obedient…
ARBUTHNOT: Never mind that, Mr Cibber. Why? Why? Why? (beat) Why?
CIBBER: Why what?
ARBUTHNOT: Why did I have to wait 6 years to witness this perversion—
(He indicates the
portrait of Newton on the wall).
CIBBER
(Interrupts): I take it you mean my performance?
ARBUTHNOT: Your performance was the least of it!
CIBBER: Thank you. So you saw it just now?
ARBUTHNOT: I did.
CIBBER: The sixth performance…and still a full house.
ARBUTHNOT:
A mob flocking into the theatre sheds little light on a play’s
quality… or veracity.
CIBBER:
Since when is veracity on stage judged a virtue?
ARBUTHNOT:
When it is not used to hide distortion.
CIBBER:
Ours was applauded… your play Three Hours after Marriage was hissed. Yours was virtually stillborn in 1717 and
did not make it past the second performance. I know of no revival.
ARBUTHNOT:
That is hitting below the belt.
CIBBER: Whose belt? John Gay’s, Alexander Pope’s
or yours? (Scornfully). Requiring three cooks for a thin theatrical
pudding… meant to contain wit but in the end not tasting of wit at all. (Short
sarcastic laugh). Asking the actors
to do a good job while burdened with a bad script… meaning they had to be
good at being bad!
ARBUTHNOT: Much too clever… and thus not worth recapture.
You’re more likely to be remembered for your sharper pen than for your
tongue.
CIBBER (Prickly):
How so?
ARBUTHNOT: You had the audacity… some even called it
impertinence… to adapt Richard III, but you added a line… “Off with his head… so much
for Buckingham”… that I wager will be remembered longer than all
the words you ever spoke on stage.
CIBBER: Is that a compliment or an affront?
ARBUTHNOT: The choice is yours! It is your play Calculus I wish to address… a true affront. Is a stage
the place to wash dirty linen in public?
CIBBER: Where else do such laundry? The stage is the only
place where nothing need be hidden.
ARBUTHNOT: You put Sir Isaac upon the stage and called him by
his real name. A country requires heroes… unsullied ones. What purpose is served by showing that
England’s greatest natural philosopher is flawed… like other
mortals?
CIBBER: Why not take him for what he was: a tainted hero.
Inventor of the calculus? Yes! But also corruptor of a moral calculus.
What about Leibniz… does he not deserve some defense?
ARBUTHNOT: Let that be the concern of the Germans.
CIBBER: Our Newton rests in Westminster Abbey under a
hero’s monument. But whatever their tomb, both continue to rot.
ARBUTHNOT: A medical or another moral judgment?
CIBBER (Conciliatory): As you are a doctor, let it be medical. We’ve wrangled enough.
ARBUTHNOT: And
what was your hand in this?
CIBBER: Sir John created the setting, he chose the
characters, he dug up the dirt and he spread it around. I only helped with
broom and shovel… except for the very end. On his deathbed, Sir John asked me to complete the
play… even offering me the epigraph: frango ut patefaciam.
ARBUTHNOT: “I break in order to reveal.”
CIBBER: Your Latin is faultless. I acceded… with some
reservation to finish the play.
ARBUTHNOT: You did not just finish the play, you played in it!
CIBBER: I’m an actor as well as writer.
ARBUTHNOT: A better actor than an author.
CIBBER (Aside):
A judgment I’ve heard before. The play was meant as revenge… though
revenge, like love, is rarely consummated by surrogates. Yet directing retribution at the
arbiters of our mores suited me. Was I not also the object of their derision? (Pause) Kindness is not a virtue in a play… nor are
playwrights kind.
ARBUTHNOT: What about fairness? This is England… we have
laws about fairness. (Pause).
Consider libel.
CIBBER: I did. When Sir John died, Newton was 84 and ailing.
I thought I’d wait—
ARBUTHNOT: For Newton to die?
CIBBER: The dead cannot be libeled… even if
illuminating human frailty were considered a ground for libel.
ARBUTHNOT: A legal opinion?
CIBBER: A logical one… in a country where the best
laws often protect its worst people…. Vanburgh was right: deepest
corruption… and thus vilest scandal… is intellectual… not
sexual.
ARBUTHNOT: Yet the mirror you use in your play was our
committee.
CIBBER: Well put, Dr. Arbuthnot!
ARBUTHNOT: And since I was on the Committee—
CIBBER: You were also in our play.
ARBUTHNOT: Hardly as a minor character! Are actors not supposed
to show rather than tell? There were eleven members of that committee, but
I’m the one you have doing most of the talking.
CIBBER: Is this a cause for complaint?
ARBUTHNOT: A major one… considering how you depict me. (Angrily). I’m still alive!
CIBBER: And brimful of vigor as you just demonstrated.
ARBUTHNOT:
I’m in terrible health! I suffer deeply from mysterious fevers and
a great stone in my right kidney… And now the gout! (Grimacing, points
to his foot with his cane). I have
buried six of my children and recently my wife…. and now find my
reputation buried as well!
CIBBER (Uncomfortable): Please accept my condolences-
ARBUTHNOT: From you… who lashed me with a whip?
CIBBER: A moral whip… gently at that… and only
in a play
ARBUTHNOT: And therefore worse… with exposure all too
public and thus with pain that much greater. But was it justified? You think
you’ve been so clever Mr. Cibber, but where did you learn the facts you
purport to describe?
CIBBER:
From Vanbrugh.
ARBUTHNOT:
Aha! And he?
CIBBER: I suspect from Lady Brasenose. What we learn all
leads to her…even the infamous anagram.
ARBUTHNOT (Dismissive):
Oh yes… anagrams! (Affected tone). As in “Calculus:
a Morality Play by H. Van Grub and
Colley Cibber.” (Dismissive).
How utterly transparent!
CIBBER: Sir John had planned to use an alias, and I proposed
he choose
“H. Van Grub”… I
thought it clever. After all, to “grub” is to dig… usually
for dirt.
ARBUTHNOT: I’m all too familiar with that meaning, Mr
Cibber. And where do you suppose Lady Brasenose got her information?
CIBBER: From various sources… for instance Bonet.
ARBUTHNOT: How do you know that Lady Brasenose had met Bonet?
CIBBER: Because…
ARBUTHNOT: Yes?
CIBBER: Because… (Pause)… because she said so.
ARBUTHNOT: You heard her say so?
CIBBER: Our paths have never crossed. She told Sir John.
ARBUTHNOT: He said so?
CIBBER: I assumed… because he so implied.
(Pause.)
CIBBER: Was my assumption wrong?
(Arbuthnot
gives nothing away.)
CIBBER: Are you saying all Lady Brasenose knew about Bonet
she learned from someone else?
ARBUTHNOT: Heavens, man! Are you obtuse as well as dissipated?
CIBBER: If I knew what you meant… I might be. But how
then does Moivre fit into all this?
ARBUTHNOT (Sarcastic):
What do we learn from him… in Calculus? That he was poor? Every Fellow of the Royal Society
knew of his poverty… and those that could have helped him overcome
it… didn’t… not to this day.
CIBBER (Even more defensive): He spoke about fluxions... and calculus…
and—
ARBUTHNOT (Short sardonic laugh): Mathematics? There is precious little about that in
your Calculus… other than
eating an apple. But why should
there be? It is about two giants in their field.
CIBBER: And their moral calculus. By showing how even small
incremental changes over time… call them fluxions in our behavior…
lead to measurable conflicts between their minions: The traders of
flattery… begetters of lies… spreaders of gossip… the toadies
of this world… the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern characters… whom we
actors know all too well… and find again in this play. When Sir John
spoke of revenge… he meant revenge by shedding light upon such men and a
society that fosters them.
ARBUTHNOT: I did not favor any of their conflicts. I prefer to resolve discord…
CIBBER: Even at great personal cost, it would seem.
ARBUTHNOT: Sometimes.
I have come here to ask … no, to insist… that you cancel all
future performances of my play—
CIBBER (Interrupts sharply): I beg
you to repeat your last remark.
ARBUTHNOT: I said… I insist on you canceling all future
performances of—
CIBBER: “My play.”
ARBUTHNOT: Indeed.
CIBBER: You said “my play.”
ARBUTHNOT (Irritably):
Yes, yes… your play.
CIBBER: You did not say “your play,”…
meaning me. You said, “my play”… meaning you.
ARBUTHNOT: A slip of the tongue.
CIBBER: Was it?
ARBUTHNOT: What are you driving at, Mr. Cibber?
CIBBER: It was you! Wasn’t it?
ARBUTHNOT: What was?
CIBBER: You provided Lady Brasenose with the clues,
didn’t you?
ARBUTHNOT: Why would I do that?
CIBBER: Revenge, perhaps?
ARBUTHNOT: No… certainly not revenge.
CIBBER: But it was you, wasn’t it? (Pause). Or can you persuade me otherwise?
ARBUTHNOT: No one could have told anything to Lady
Brasenose… because she never existed.
CIBBER (Totally taken aback): I beg your pardon?
ARBUTHNOT: Lady Brasenose is the product of pure invention.
CIBBER: What the plague? You mean Sir John created her?
ARBUTHNOT: He did... at my suggestion.
CIBBER: Yet never told me? Impossible! Sir John was a man of
honor.
ARBUTHNOT: Of course. He gave me his word to protect my
identity… and evidently stuck to his promise.
CIBBER: And thus lied to me?
ARBUTHNOT: He did not lie. He chose not to volunteer unasked
information. Perhaps a sin of omission… but surely not commission of a
lie.
CIBBER: But why did you approach Vanbrugh in the first
place?
ARBUTHNOT: I once belonged to a writing club with such wits as
Pope, Swift and Gay. We often ridiculed pretentious erudition and scholarly
jargon. But Newton’s and Leibniz’s erudition was neither pretense
nor their scholarly dispute jargon. Much of it was poison that demeaned them
both. Ridicule was not a cure. I tried compromise and reason… yet in the
end failed. And since all parties die at last of swallowing their own
lies…
CIBBER: I
seem to have read that somewhere.
ARBUTHNOT:
It’s from The Art of Political Lying… a book I wrote myself.
CIBBER:
Self-quotation does not guarantee veracity.
ARBUTHNOT:
Nor exclude it. I felt a serious message was indicated… a form of moral
revenge. Why not a play… a morality play… but suitably disguised
and libel-proof… to teach a lesson? I even chose the title. After all,
everyone was calculating in one way or another… even the ones who knew no
calculus.
CIBBER: But
if you disapproved, why did you not write the play yourself?
ARBUTHNOT(Sarcastic): As Newton preached, though never practiced,
“no man is a witness to his own cause.” But was not Vanbrugh
skilled in writing plays about real persons well disguised? I turned to him
with a proposition: I would provide him … step-by-step… with
information… which he would then plot well… but also
discreetly… into a play to teach a lesson… a moral lesson…
not the libelous assault you produced.
CIBBER:
And Sir John agreed?
ARBUTHNOT:
With one condition. I would not see the text until the first performance.
CIBBER:
And you agreed to that?
ARBUTHNOT:
I did… I trusted his discretion as a gentleman and his good judgment as a
playwright. Though I now regret having acceded to his demand for untrammeled
authorship.
CIBBER:
And my role in all this?
ARBUTHNOT:
Unknown to me… until tonight.
CIBBER: I
am dumbfounded.
ARBUTHNOT:
And so was I… tonight when I sat in the audience. I expected a play that
even Newton could have seen. Of course, not liked… but seen…
because the author’s subtlety would have prevented open accusations.
CIBBER: I thought, it was to teach a lesson.
ARBUTHNOT:
Yes but morality plays should teach a lesson the accused can witness. I wanted
to wound Newton without leaving a mark. But with your Calculus… to besmirch him permanently… you had to wait for
his burial.
CIBBER:
Sir John insisted on naming Newton.
ARBUTHNOT:
Oh… Sir John insisted, did he?
When I’d specifically asked that he not do so?
CIBBER (Backtracks):
Well… perhaps not insist… but he did not object.
ARBUTHNOT:
In spite of my insistence that Newton not appear in the play?
CIBBER:
He never told me not to… because he never told me that you told him not to tell me—
ARBUTHNOT:
Because I never knew of your participation—
CIBBER:
Nor I of your involvement.
(Silence.)
CIBBER:
He never told me how he wanted to end the play… and then he died.
ARBUTHNOT:
And how did you expect it to end, Mr. Cibber? With the triumph of truth
and justice over moral turpitude? I wanted somebody to write a play about the cost
of destroying reputations… whereas (sarcastic)… “H. Van Grub” and you simply chose to destroy
reputations... whatever the cost incurred. You could have changed it, Mr.
Cibber. It was within your power. You could have changed everything.
CIBBER: I
only wrote some of the words to fit the information openly disclosed to me. But
if you dislike the role you played, you could have cast yourself as the hero.
ARBUTHNOT:
There are no heroes in this play.
CIBBER (Surprisingly
kind voice): Nor are you the villain.
But none of us cast you as such. Not even you. The true fault rested elsewhere.
ARBUTHNOT:
My wife went to her grave with the
knowledge that her husband was not the man of unshakeable principle she took
him for. Is that not enough for me to bear, without the public knowing it too?
CIBBER:
Perhaps we all miscalculated.
ARBUTHNOT:
Perhaps we did, Mr. Cibber… perhaps we did
CIBBER:
Your servant, sir.
(Arbuthnot
painfully rises, leaning heavily on his cane and starts hobbling away).
CARL DJERASSI, novelist, playwright and professor
of chemistry emeritus at Stanford University, is one of the few American
scientists to have been awarded both the National Medal of Science (for the
first synthesis of an oral contraceptive) and the National Medal of Technology
(for promoting new approaches to insect control). He has published short
stories (The Futurist and Other Stories),
poetry (The Clock runs backward)
and five novels (Cantor’s
Dilemma; The Bourbaki Gambit; Marx, deceased; Menachem’s Seed; NO)—that illustrate as
“science-in-fiction” the human side of science and the personal
conflicts faced by scientists-as well as an autobiography (The
Pill, Pygmy Chimps and Degas’ Horse)
and a memoir (THIS MAN’S PILL: Reflections on the 50th
birthday of the Pill).
During the past seven years he has focused on writing
“science-in-theatre” plays. The first, AN IMMACULATE MISCONCEPTION, premiered at the 1998
Edinburgh Fringe Festival and was subsequently staged in London (New End
Theatre in 1999 and Bridewell Theatre in 2002), San Francisco (Eureka), New
York (Primary Stages), Vienna (Jugendstiltheater), Cologne (Theater am Tanzbrunnen), Munich (Deutsches Museum),
Berlin (Gorki Theater), Sundsvall (Teater Västernorrland), Stockholm
(Dramaten), Sofia (Satire Theatre), Geneva (Theatre du Grütli), Tokyo
(Bunkyo Civic Hall Theatre), Seoul, Los Angeles (L.A. Theatre Works), and
Lisbon (Teatro da Trindade) with a Singapore production (Singapore Repertory
Theatre) scheduled for November 2004.The play has been translated into 10
languages and also published in book form in English, German, Spanish and
Swedish. It was broadcast by BBC World Service in 2000 as “play of the
week” and by the West German (WDR) and Swedish Radio in 2001 and NPR in
the USA in May 2004.
His second play, OXYGEN,
co-authored with Roald Hoffmann, premiered in April 2001 at the San Diego
Repertory Theatre, at the Mainfranken Theater in Würzburg in September
2001 through April 2002 (with guest performances in 2001/2002 in Munich,
Leverkusen and Halle), at the Riverside Studios in London in November 2001, and
subsequently in New Zealand (Circa Theatre, Wellington), Korea (Pohang and
Seoul), Tokyo (Setagaya Tram Theatre), Toronto, Madison, WI, Columbus,OH,
Ottawa, Bologna (Italy), Bulgaria (Sofia Satire Theatre) as well as many other
German and American venues. Both the BBC and the WDR broadcast the play in December
2001 around the centenary of the Nobel Prize—one of that play’s
main themes. It has so far been translated into 10 languages and has already
appeared in book form in English, German, Spanish, Italian, French, Portuguese,
Chinese, and Korean.
His third play, CALCULUS,
dealing with the infamous Newton-Leibniz priority struggle, has had staged
rehearsed readings in Berkeley (Aurora Theatre), London (Royal Institution),
Vienna (Museum Quartier), Munich (Deutsches Museum), Berlin (Brandenburg
Academy), Dresden (Semper Oper) and Oxford (Oxford Playhouse). A full
production opened in San Francisco (Performing Arts Library and Museum) in
April 2003, with a London premiere opening in the New End Theatre in July 2004.
A music version (composed by Werner Schulze) will open in Zurich in May 2005.
It has already appeared in book form in English as well as German. His first “non-scientific”
play, “EGO,”
premiered at the 2003 Edinburgh Festival Fringe; its themes are further
explored in “THREE ON A COUCH,” which opened in London (King’s Head
Theatre) in March 2004. A German translation has already appeared in book form
and has been broadcast by the WDR in June 2004.
Djerassi
is the founder of the Djerassi Resident Artists Program near Woodside,
California, which provides residencies and studio space for artists in the
visual arts, literature, choreography and performing arts, and music. Nearly
1400 artists have passed through that program since its inception in 1982.
Djerassi and his wife, the biographer Diane Middlebrook, live in San Francisco
and London.
(There is a Web site about Carl Djerassi’s writing at http://www.djerassi.com)