Historical Fiction
“What is truth?” Sitting
in his dismal cell in the Tower of London, Francis Bacon started his inquiry
into the metaphysics of truth. He was
found guilty on no less than 23 charges of corruption. If Edward Coke, his lifelong enemy, was not
the leader of the investigation team, he would have been found innocent.
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| The Tower |
“What is truth?” asked
Pilate to Jesus. Bacon continued his inquiry. He was writing an essay. Pilate did not wait for the answer. Nor did Jesus answer. The answer would have served no purpose for
either. Truth is what serves your
purpose.
“Truth is like pearl
looking best in daylight,” wrote Bacon. “But
it will not rise to the price of a diamond that looks best in varied
lights. A mixture of lie always adds
pleasure. The lie converts the pearl
into diamond. Prose into poetry. What would a man’s life be without his mind’s
vain opinions, flattering hopes, and false valuations? Men would be poor shrunken creatures full of
melancholy, unpleasant even to themselves, without the delights proffered by
falsehood.”
He had defended himself
delightfully well with the help of the dazzling sparkles of falsehood. “With respect to the charge of bribery I am
as innocent as any man born on St Innocent’s Day,” he had declared to the royal
tribunal. “I never had a bribe or reward
in my eye or thought when pronouncing judgment or order.”
That was equivocation par
excellence. I, Francis Bacon, am a
philosopher. He gloated. When you people of puny minds conquer with
the sword, I make my conquests with my brain.
You conquer lands; I conquer truths.
Did I utter any falsehood
when I claimed to be as innocent as any man born on St Innocent’s Day? How many men born on that day or any day are
innocent? Ever? It is also true that I did not think of the
bribes when I pronounced the judgments.
Didn’t my personal
secretary, none other than the chaplain William Rawley, a man of God, declare
me innocent? Didn’t he say that I
examine the cases with the severity of an honest judge but pronounce the
judgment with the compassion of a tender heart?
And Reverend Rawley is an
honest man. Isn’t he? Well, there was no need for him to go the
extent of declaring that Alice Barnham loved me truly. She never loved me. He knew it too. She was a little girl of 14 when I married
her. I was 45. Ten years ago, as a more energetic and
handsome young man, I wooed Elizabeth Hatton.
She accepted my proposal too. But
just before the marriage was finalised, she discovered Edward Coke. Sir Edward Coke, whom the Queen had made the
Attorney-General just to despise me. What Elizabeth loved was neither me nor
Edward. Like most women, she loved the
power that her husband would wield. I
was just a straggler who never made it to the good books of the Queen. I was a pauper who lived on the generosity of
Lord Essex, Robert Devereux, whom I could not save from charges of treason much
as I tried. The Queen edited my
reports. I created truths to save
Robert. The Queen re-created truths to
execute Robert. What is truth?
Alice betrayed me
too. If Elizabeth’s truth lay in power
and prestige, Alice’s lay in the delights of life. She relished my sonnets about her while she
made love to John Underhill.
Truth is like
diamond. It sparkles better in varied
lights.
I am a philosopher. I conquer with my brain. I create truths and their varied colours. But the conquerors of lands conquered my women. For the sake of the record, however, Reverend
Rawley is going to write in his biography of me that Alice had “much conjugal
love and respect” for me. He might even
lay it on a little too thick. He
might write that she always carried with her the souvenir I had presented
her. Jokes. Jokes.
How unbearable would human
life be without those jokes?
In order to throw me in
the Tower, they extracted my confession by blackmailing me. “The charge of sodomy will be brought against
you,” they said, if I didn’t confess to corruption and bribe-taking. They would field some handsome young men as
witnesses. As victims of my sodomy.
They can’t ask the King
for the testimony, you see. That is the
biggest joke.
The King, James I, shared
some of my proclivities in matters of carnal love. Now you know why he paid up the enormous fine
of £40,000 on my behalf. He will soon take me out of this prison
too. I know that. And he will raise me to high positions. But I won’t take revenge on Coke and
Underhill and others. Reverend Rawley
was right: I have a tender heart, after all.
“‘What is truth?’ asked
the jesting Pilate...” Sitting in his dismal
cell in the Tower of London, Francis Bacon started his inquiry into the metaphysics
of truth.
Note: Francis Bacon
(1561-1626) was was an English philosopher, statesman, scientist, jurist,
orator, essayist and author. His essay
on Truth is one of the many
classical essays I studied as a student of literature.
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Bacon's succinct essays intrigues any reader. Still the way you rendered it in your fiction justifies my claim that you are the most intelligent brains that have ever born. Many points discussed from the HEL are beyond my comprehension. Yet there is that simplicity of thought that intrigues me a lot in your writings, especially stories. I'm speechless. Your story here in some way depicts my current situation at my work. A marvellous interpretation of truth. It is true.
ReplyDeleteI owe my present brain to what happened to me in the last two years of my life in Delhi. You know pretty much about it. My thinking and writing used to be much simpler before the Bulldozer marched into my life. I was highly intrigued by whatever happened in those two years. For example, by how people with the most angelic smiles were actually the most diabolic people at heart. By how people who asserted vehemently that they would run the school "for a hundred years - is that enough for you?" killed the school in a matter of two years. By how pretentious people were. The masks they wore were beyond my imagination and understanding. Even the politics that occurred in Bacon's England was far too simple in comparison!
DeleteThe lady who I spoke highly about and was trying to introduce you to also came in my life with that sort of angelic smile. Things went topsy turvy after my points stood high among the 4 for the job applied. You understand. They could not appoint their chosen one.
ReplyDeleteBesides their will the proprietor and chairperson wanted me to teach in 11th. My 'good' times started there. 'Happily' going on. When you whatsapped the first message what kind of relief you brought to my utterly depressed soul, you don't know, sir.
I was silently waiting and kept quiet about the blogs. So the other door is always open for us to flee from these medusas!
I'd already become deeply mistrustful of people when you made that suggestion. I left Delhi because of that mistrust. It took me quite a while even to overcome my foul mood.
DeleteKerala's countryside is doing me good. So far, at least.
Hope your 'good' and 'happy' journey continues.
Bacon's cynicism is my temporary escape route.
I wish I had studied Literature too at a masters level! Enhances the understanding of the word in such a profound way. Very-well written!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Leena. You can still study literature :)
Delete