“Following Bret’s work on the behavior of gases, Thon Viche Mortoin is investigating the possibilities for the artificial production of ice. Thon Friider Halb is seeking a practical means for transmitting messages by electrical variations along a wire—” The list was long, and the monks appeared Impressed. Studios in many fields — medicine, astronomy, geology, mathematics, mechanics — were being undertaken. A few seemed impractical and ill-considered, but most seemed to promise rich rewards in knowledge and practical application. From Jejene’s search for the Universal Nostrum to Bodalk’s reckless assault on orthodox geometries, the collegium’s activities exhibited a healthy hankering to pry open Nature’s private files, locked since mankind had burned its institutional memories and condemned itself to cultural amnesia more than a millennium ago.
“In addition to these studies, Thon Maho Mahh is heading a project which seeks further information about the origin of the human species. Since this is primarily an archeological task, he asked me to search your library for any suggestive material on the subject, after I complete my own study here. However, perhaps I’d better not dwell on this at any length, since it’s tending to cause controversy with the theologicans. But if there are any questions—”
A young monk who was studying for the priesthood stood up and was recognized by the thon.
“Sir, I was wondering if you were acquainted with the suggestions of Saint Augustine on the subject?”
“I am not.”
“A fourth century bishop and philosopher. He suggested that in the beginning, God created all things in their germinal causes, including the physiology of man, and that the germinal causes inseminate, as it were, the formless matter — which then gradually evolved into the more complex shapes, and eventually Man. Has this hypothesis been considered?”
The thon’s smile was condescending, although be did not openly brand the proposal childish. “I’m afraid it has not, but I shall look it up,” he said, in a tone that indicated he would not.
“Thank you,” said the monk, and sat down meekly.
“Perhaps the most daring research of all, however,” continued the sage, “is being conducted by my friend Thon Esser Shon. It is an attempt to synthesize living matter. Then Esser hopes to create living protoplasm, using only six basic ingredients. This work could lead to — yes? You have a question?”
A monk in the third row had risen and was bowing toward the speaker. The abbot leaned forward to peer at him and recognized, with horror, that it was Brother Armbruster, the librarian.
“If you would do an old man the kindness,” croaked the monk, dragging out his words in a plodding monotone. “This Thon Esser Shon — who limits himself to only six basic ingredients — is very interesting. I was wondering — are they permitting him to use both hands?”
“Why, I—” The then paused and frowned.
“And may I also inquire,” Armbruster’s dry voice dragged on, “whether this remarkable feat is to be performed from the sitting, standing, or prone position? Or perhaps on horseback while playing two trumpets?”
The novices snickered audibly. The abbot came quickly to his feet.
“Brother Armbruster, you have been warned. You are excommunicated from the common table until you make satisfaction. You may wait in the Lady Chapel.”
The librarian bowed again and stole quietly out of the hall, his carriage humble, but his eyes triumphant. The abbot murmured apologetically to the scholar, but the thon’s glance was suddenly chilly.
“In conclusion,” he said, “a brief outline of what the world can expect, in my opinion, from the intellectual revolution that’s just beginning.” Eyes burning, he looked around at them, and his voice changed from casual to fervent rhythms.
“Ignorance has been our king. Since the death of empire, he sits unchallenged on the throne of Man. His dynasty is age-old. His right to rule is now considered legitimate. Past sages have affirmed it. They did nothing to unseat him.
“Tomorrow, a new prince shall rule. Men of understanding, men of science shall stand behind his throne, and the universe will come to know his might. His name is Truth. His empire shall encompass the Earth. And the mastery of Man ever the Earth shall be renewed. A century from now, men will fly through the air in mechanical birds. Metal carriages will race along roads of man-made stone. There will be buildings of thirty stories, ships that go under the see, machines to perform all works.
“And how will this come to pass?” He paused and lowered his voice. “In the same way all change comes to pass, I fear. And I am sorry it is so. It will come to pass by violence and upheaval, by flame and by fury, for no change comes calmly over the world.”
He glanced around, for a soft murmur arose from the community.
“It will be so. We do not willit so.
“But why?
“Ignorance is king. Many would not profit by his abdication. Many enrich themselves by means of his dark monarchy. They are his Court, and in his name they defraud and govern, enrich themselves and perpetuate their power. Even literacy they fear, for the written word is another channel of communication that might cause their enemies to become united. Their weapons are keen-honed, and they use them with skill. They will press the battle upon the world when their interests are threatened, and the violence which follows will last until the structure of society as it now exists is leveled to rubble, and a new society emerges. I am sorry: But that is how I see it.”
The words brought a new pall over the room. Dom Paulo’s hopes sank, for the prophecy gave form to the scholar’s probable outlook. Thon Taddeo knew the military ambitions of his monarch. He had a choice: to approve of them, to disapprove of them, or to regard them as impersonal phenomena beyond his control like a flood, famine, or whirlwind.
Evidently, then, he accepted them as inevitable — to avoid having to make a moral judgment. Let there be blood, iron and weeping…
How could such a man thus evade his own conscience and disavow his responsibility — and so easily! the abbot stormed to himself.
But then the words came back to him. For in those days, the Lord God had suffered the wise men to know the means by which the world itself might be destroyed…
He also suffered them to know how it might be saved, and, as always, let them choose for themselves. And perhaps they had chosen as Thon Taddeo chooses. To wash their hands before the multitude. Look you to it. Lest they themselves be crucified.
And they had been crucified anyhow. Without dignity. Always for anybody anyhow is to get nailed on it and hang on it and if you drop off they beat…
There was sudden silence. The scholar had stopped talking.
The abbot blinked around the hall. Half the community was staring toward the entrance. At first his eyes could make out nothing.
“What is it?” he whispered to Gault.
“An old man with a beard and shawl,” hissed Gault. “It looks like — No, he wouldn’t—”
Dom Paulo arose and moved to the front of the dais to stare at the faintly defined shape in the shadows. Then he called out to it softly.
“Benjamin?”
The figure stirred. It drew its shawl tighter about spindly shoulders and hobbled slowly into the light. It stopped again, muttering to itself as it looked around the room; then its eyes found the scholar at the lectern.
Leaning on a crooked staff, the old apparition hobbled slowly toward the lectern, never taking its eyes from the man who stood behindit. thon taddeo looked humorously perplexed at first, but when no one stirred or spoke, he seemed to lose color as the decrepit vision came near him The face of the bearded antiquity blazed with hopeful ferocity of some compelling passion that burned more furiously in him than the life principle long since due to depart.