The Two Confessions
Page 32
Shortly after, Samuel Trevan made what was termed 'a good death'. Pious rumour recounted that at the end he greeted persons unseen, naming both beloved wife and tutor.
Trevan's final words on earth were 'We should be careful’. Followed by: Thank God!’ They travelled on his dying breath.
His edifying example, often retold, lived long after him; a lone and unexpected legacy - but small return, surely, for such a… busy life. When you think about it….
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EPILOGUE
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cHAPTER 1
The Pope and Elf studied each other in mutual incomprehension. These meetings were always uncomfortable and Simon-Dismas II thanked his Maker for the solace, indeed the diversion, of the setting. He still missed his native plains, although there were many compensations in this new life. Like now, for instance. The Vatican gardens were an official 'Wonder of the Modern World', consciously designed to inspire thoughts of ever-higher harmonies. Likewise, the numberless fruit trees and flowers stood as metaphors for the flowing generosity of the Divine. And their totality symbolised His great favour in simply permitting beings to be, even in this short life, let alone the one to come.
Knowing his soul-less guest to be excluded from that eternal bounty, the Pope wondered why she should be as entranced as he.
She might well be the one they usually sent, though it was impossible to tell and, if so, would make her implausibly old. Simon-Dismas had learnt from the helpful notes left by his predecessor on the throne of St Peter that it was best not to speculate on the subject, but to simply arrange what was needful and then be sparing with words. He'd also counselled charity towards such poor creatures.
Across the gardens the Pope could see the Torre Dei Venti, home of the Vatican Observatory. From that venerable tower had come the calculations that set the name of Gregory XIII on the universal calendar. Likewise, the 'Meridian Room' at its top established a base time as well as zero map axes for all Christendom. In fact, most things seemed to have their beginning and end here in the Eternal Rome conquered by Christ. Through it this world was delivered to Him - and who knows, one day, places further afield too. For Simon-Dismas sometimes mused upon the star-maps his astronomers published and, sitting wine glass in hand, allowed his speculative faculties to soar….
What Simon-Dismas knew for sure was that within the Torre at that very moment Jesuit acolytes from 'The Sacred Congregation for the Cosmos' would be preparing their telescopes for the watches of the coming night. There were increasing problems with the smoke pollution of the Roman sky, and so recurrent talk of relocation to Abyssinia, but meanwhile they worked on with infectious zeal. Only last month there'd been a correctly predicted meteor return, and yesterday the Congregation’s general had come to announce discovery of yet another 'galaxy' (apparently a whole imperium of stars!) in the constellation of Orion.
Afterwards, in a parallel to Simon-Dismas’ private wine-sipping and star-map sessions, the two princes of the Church had chatted over tea and biscuits, discussing whether one day news of the Redemption might be passed to any beings inhabiting those far parts. And, if so, how?
That it would be a project for long after both men were dust; maybe another millennium of progress away, did not deter them discussing it. There need be no sprinkling of melancholy on such conversations, as with the pagans: no need to lament the little life of individual men. If God willed it then it would come to pass; and which particular here-today, gone-tomorrow, humans were around to see hardly mattered. All would get to hear of it in due course, whether whilst on earth or during what followed.
That was another advantage of serving a two thousand year old institution given cast-iron guarantees: you could adopt the long view. Which was very relaxing.
It was the same with being Pope Simon-Dismas II (Xavier-Geronimo Ludwin as was, lately Archbishop of Maryland, son of a Kiowa-Apache accountant). As rulers of half the world went (with influence in the remainder and the Hereafter), he was a fairly jolly sort of fellow, and certainly more easy-going than most emperors in history. That attitude sprang naturally from knowing all would be well. Eventually. However messy it might look from time to time.
The Pope then recalled that meanwhile there were still some on earth unblessed by that knowledge: his present companion on the balcony for example. Their evangelisation had been essayed in the past, only to be received with indifference or laughter. It was not openly admitted but no further attempts were planned.
Simon-Dismas obliged himself to consider the final item on their agenda: last but by no means least; the foremost petition in his prayers some evenings. Accordingly, it was casually broached.
‘Oh, by the way; about the... what was it: Tre-van, person...?’
‘What of him?’ queried Joan. ‘He's dealt with.’
‘Quite so. Nevertheless, suppose there's someone similar out there?’ The Pope waved his naturally copper-toned but now also tanned hand in the warm air, encompassing Rome, but meaning Christendom, or even the world.
The Elf-woman remained unconcerned.
‘We think not. A few of us can see far forward. There's nothing remotely like him visible. Trust me: that future's strangled.’
‘Trust’ was asking too much, but, with no means of checking, acceptance was always an option.
Now the play of sunlight over the potted orange trees looked even more charming than before; more... enduring.
His Holiness Pope Simon-Dismas II looked into the distance - and smiled.
‘Turned out nice again,’ he said. ‘Hasn’t it?’
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cHAPTER 2
The world might well be finished with Samuel Trevan but his business there proved incomplete just yet.
Melissa had kept Samuel's large collection of 'dragon's bones' to the end, just like she'd treasured everything of his, even though they no longer met. But when the pneumonia carried her off no one coveted the boxes of dusty old rocks. Her executor, a distant cousin of pious disposition, wanted nothing to do with such vaguely blasphemous relicts. Years later he sold them, unpacked and unseen, for a shilling at public auction.
They were bought by one Dr Mantell of Lewes, a surgeon and 'natural philosopher' of enquiring mind. He examined them the very day of purchase, sitting in his study and pondering the giant teeth and jaws and vertebrae over a glass of port.
Out of nowhere came the shocking idea that these were much, much more ancient than 4004 BC, the date Genesis and the Church gave for the creation of the world. Yet how could that be? One or the other notion could be right - but not both.
Likewise, professionally familiar with the developing human frame, Mantell half-glimpsed a suggestion of mutating forms therein, one species morphing over eons into another. Yet surely that also contradicted tenets of Holy Writ?
Perturbed, somewhat guiltily, he thought on all that evening, sipping at his drink until Mrs Mantell called him to bed. Even then his scandalous ideas would not go away, though he rather wished they might.
Next morning the Doctor was still unsure and, being an honourable Christian gentleman, felt obliged to act upon his doubt. He considered the advisability of a privately printed essay; or maybe a lecture to the Lewes 'Philosophic Society of St Luke'. It was at least arguable he concluded, that there might be service to religion in these fossils, and in proving the scriptural account of the Flood. He saw no harm in jotting a few ideas about that.
Intending only the most respectful choice of words, that evening Dr Mantell took up his pen and - to the Bogomils' eventual delight - commenced subverting a civilisation.
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THE END (1)
cHAPTER 3
The world might well be finished with Samuel Trevan but his business there proved incomplete just yet.
Melissa had kept Samuel's large collection
of 'dragon's bones' to the end, just like she'd treasured everything of his, even though they no longer met. But when the pneumonia carried her off no one coveted the boxes of dusty old rocks. Her executor, a distant cousin of pious disposition, wanted nothing to do with such vaguely blasphemous relicts. Years later he sold them, unpacked and unseen, for a shilling at public auction.
They were bought by one Dr Mantell of Lewes, a surgeon and 'natural philosopher' of enquiring mind. He examined them the very day of purchase, sitting in his study and pondering the giant teeth and jaws and vertebrae over a glass of port.
Out of nowhere came the shocking idea that these were much, much more ancient than 4004 BC, the date Genesis and the Church gave for the creation of the world. Yet how could that be? One or the other notion could be right - but not both.
Likewise, professionally familiar with the developing human frame, Mantell half-glimpsed a suggestion of mutating forms therein, one species morphing over eons into another. Yet surely that also contradicted tenets of Holy Writ?
Perturbed, somewhat guiltily, he thought on all that evening, sipping at his drink until Mrs Mantell called him to bed. Even then his scandalous ideas would not go away, though he rather wished they might.
Next morning the Doctor was still unsure and, being an honourable Christian gentleman, felt some obligation to act upon his doubt. He considered the advisability of a private-printed essay; or maybe a lecture to the Lewes 'Philosophic Society of St Luke'. It was at least arguable he concluded, that there might be service to religion in these fossils, and in proving the scriptural account of the Flood. He saw no harm in jotting a few ideas about that.
Finally, after distracted hours of chasing consequences, and likewise pursuing them in prayer, Doctor Mantell carried his problem (as Mother Church advised) to his confessor.
Fr. Perry, priest of St Michael's, proved persuasive. He argued the wisdom of not lifting a shroud deliberately draped by God, and of ditching these disquieting remains in the Winterbourne.
With residual regret, Mantell complied. On a cold, wet morning early in the third millennium of Man's salvation, he stood and watched that fast flowing stream bear the rocks away; taking a certain future - much pleasing to the Bogomils - along with them.
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THE END (2)
cHAPTER 4
The world might well be finished with Samuel Trevan but his business there proved incomplete just yet.
Melissa had kept Samuel's large collection of 'dragon's bones' to the end, just like she'd treasured everything of his, even though they no longer met. But when the pneumonia carried her off no one coveted the boxes of dusty old rocks. Her executor, a distant cousin of pious disposition, wanted nothing to do with such vaguely blasphemous relicts. Years later he sold them, unpacked and unseen, for a shilling at public auction.
They were bought by one Dr Mantell of Lewes….
….
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THE END (> ∞)