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RAVENSCAR:What is wrong with that?

WATERHOUSE:Some would argue that as Natural Philosophers we are supposed to consider their physical causes and seats! This morning, Roger, I sat in this empty courtyard, in the midst of a whirlwind. The whirlwind was invisible; how did I know ’twas here? Because of the motion it conferred on innumerable scraps of paper, which orbited round me. Had I thought to bring along my instruments I could have taken observations and measured the velocities and plotted the trajectories of those scraps, and if I were as brilliant as Isaac I could have drawn all of those data together into a single unifying picture of the whirlwind. But if I were Leibniz I’d have done none of those things. Instead I’d have asked, Why is the whirlwind here?

ENTR’ACTE
Noises off: A grave Procession ascending Fish Street Hill, coming from the TOWER OF LONDON.
Traders exhibit startlement and dismay as the Procession marches into the Exchange, disrupting Commerce.
Enter first two platoons of the King’s Own Black Torrent Guards, armed with muskets, affixed to the muzzles whereof are long stabbing-weapons in the style recently adopted by the French Army, and nominated by thembayonets. Leveling these, the soldiers clear all traders from the center of the ‘Change, and compel them to form up in concentric ranks, like spectators gathered round an impromptu Punchinello-show at a fair.
Enter now trumpeters and drummers, followed by a HERALD bellowing legal gibberish.
As drummers beat a slow and dolorous cadence, enter JACK KETCH in a black hood. The assembled traders are silent as the dead.
Jack Ketch walks slowly into the center of the empty space and stands with arms folded.
Enter now a wagon drawn by a black horse and loaded with faggots and jars, flanked by the ASSISTANTS of Jack Ketch. Assistants pile the wood on the ground and then soak it with oil poured from the jars.
Enter now BAILIFF carrying a BOOK bound up in chains and padlocks.

JACKKETCH:In the name of the King, stop and identify yourself!

BAILIFF:John Bull, a bailiff.

JACKKETCH:State your business.

BAILIFF:It is the King’s business. I have here a prisoner to be bound over for execution.

JACKKETCH:What is the prisoner’s name?

BAILIFF: A History of the Late Massacres and Persecutions of the French Huguenots; to which is appended a brief relation of the bloody and atrocious crimes recently visited upon blameless Protestants dwelling in the realms of the Duke of Savoy, at the behest of King Louis XIV of France.

JACKKETCH:Has this prisoner been accused of a crime?

BAILIFF:Not only accused, but justly convicted, of spreading contumacious falsehoods, attempting to arouse civil discord, and leveling many base slanders against the good name of The Most Christian King Louis XIV, a true friend of our own King and a loyal ally of England.

JACKKETCH:Vile crimes, indeed! Has a sentence been pronounced?

BAILIFF:Indeed, as I mentioned before, it has been ordered by Lord Jeffreys that the prisoner is to be bound over to you for immediate execution.

JACKKETCH:Then I’ll welcome him as I did the late Duke of Monmouth.

Jack Ketch advances toward the Bailiff and grips the end of the chain. The bailiff drops the Book and dusts off his hands. To a slow cadence of muffled drums, Jack Ketch marches to the wood-pile, dragging the book across the pavement behind him. He heaves the book onto the top of the pile, steps back, and accepts a torch from an assistant.

JACKKETCH:Any last words, villainous Book? No? Very well, then to hell with thee!

Lights the fire.

Traders, Soldiers, Musicians, Executioner’s Staff, amp;c. watch silently as the Book is consumed by the flames.
Exeunt Bailiff, Herald, Executioners, Musicians, and Soldiers, leaving behind a smouldering heap of coals.
Traders resume commerce as if nothing had happened, save for EDMUND PALLING, an old man.

PALLING:Mr. Waterhouse! From the fact that you are the only one who brought something to sit on, may I assume you knew that this shameful poppet-show would disgrace the ‘Change today?

WATERHOUSE:That would appear to be the unspoken message.

PALLING: Unspokenis an interesting word… what of the truths that were spoken in the late Book, concerning the persecutions of our brethren in France and Savoy? Have they now been unspoken because the pages were burnt?

WATERHOUSE:I have heard many a sermon in my life, Mr. Palling, and I know where this one is bound… you’re going to say that just as the immortal spirit departs the body to be one with God, so the contents of the late Book are now going to wherever its smoke is distributed by the four winds… say, weren’t you Massachusetts-bound?

PALLING:I am only bating until I have raised money for the passage, and would probably be finished by now if Jack Ketch had not muddied and stirred the subtle currents of the market.

Exits.
Enter Sir Richard Apthorp.

APTHORP:Burning books… is that not a favorite practice of the Spanish Inquisition?

WATERHOUSE:I have never been to Spain, Sir Richard, and so the only way I know that they burn books is because of the vast number of books that have been published on the subject.

APTHORP:Hmmm, yes… I take your meaning.

WATERHOUSE:I beg of you, do not say ‘I take your meaning’ with such ponderous significance… I do not wish to be Jack Ketch’s next guest. You have asked, sir, over and over, why I am sitting here in a chair. Now you know the answer: I came to see justice done.

APTHORP:But you knew ‘twould happen-you had aught to do with it. Why did you set it in the ‘Change? At Tyburn tree, during one of the regularly scheduled Friday hangings, ‘twould’ve drawn a much more appreciative crowd-why, you could burn a whole library there and the Mobb would be stomping their feet for an encore.

WATERHOUSE:They don’t read books. The point would’ve been lost on ’em.

APTHORP:If the point is to put the fear of God into literate men, why not burn it at Cambridge and Oxford?

WATERHOUSE:Jack Ketch hates to travel. The new carriages have so little leg-room, and his great Axe does not fit into the luggage bins…

APTHORP:Could it be because College men do not have the money and power to organize a rebellion?

WATERHOUSE:Why, yes, that’s it. No point intimidating the weak. Threaten the dangerous.

APTHORP:To what end? To keep them in line? Or to put thoughts of rebellion into their minds?

WATERHOUSE:Your question, sir, amounts to asking whether I am a turncoat against the cause of my forebears-corrupted by the f?tid atmosphere of Whitehall-or a traitorous organizer of a secret rebellion.

APTHORP:Why, yes, I suppose it does.

WATERHOUSE:Then would you please ask easier questions or else go away and leave me alone? For whether I’m a back-stabber or a Phanatique, I am in either case no longer a scholar to be trifled with. If you must ply someone with such questions, ask them of yourself; if you insist on an answer, unburden your secrets to me before you ask me to trust you with mine. Assuming I have any.

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