(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: djerassi@stanford.edu
URL:http://www.djerassi.com
1101
Green Street, Apt. 1501 25
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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economist John Maynard Keynes of a huge trove of unpublished papers and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. ARBUTH