Liberi Sursum Coeli, Page 3

  Vicar Godwinson took a duty with sexton and returned the girl to her home; after which a task much worse remained: Knocking the village doors to deliver the sad news. One house took it with greater grief than another: Father and mother of six surviving children just sat down eyes glazed and said nothing, but at the blacksmith's house there grew a great weeping by wife and a tremulous cry from husband; for after the firstborn, the wife was fertile no more and now their only light had vanished, smashed and burned by the stones and speculum of Scyllaclough Grange; upon which the smith vowed a horrible retribution. This got vicar Godwinson more worried, for the smith was very known not only by his great strength and size, but also from his gentleness which now was badly shaken and might release something most unexpected. At these pitch black prospects the village of Dainsdale and Scyllaclough Grange descended to an almost complete silence.

  ~~~~

  The mourning village remained mostly silent as the waters were liberated from ice and guttered along the countryside revealing new stages of life. Vicar Godwinson had hoped in vain that the grim season would change along the increasing daylight and warm; but villagers went about their business in silence. It was only natural that no child was let even close to Scyllaclough Grange. But from the manor an increasing clamor could be heard. Vicar had made a few attempts to visit the manor but Robinson had turned him off, saying only that his master wishes to be left alone with his business. At every short-lived visit vicar had caught Anna Tollerson's horrible weary face from the upper windows as he drove away. Vicar's only source for the dying winter weeks was sexton McNally who seemed to have created something of a trust in Robinson, who discussed some manor matters along with a pint at the inn. Only thing McNally knew certainly was that squire had restored the foundry room and the design was going forward with help from elsewhere.

  At last, when tiny leafs appeared to trees and bushes, Anna Tollerson appeared to gates of vicarage in a heavily loaded carriage. To vicar's horror, his earlier observations were proven true. She had tried to make her face up, but no substance could hide twists and dark spots borne under mental burden. Even her stance had descended. Vicar hurried for tea to her and urged her to lighten her shoulders. After a moment of silence during which she stared her feet, Anna begun her description and every word seemed to be accompanied with a tear: After initial disaster her husband had withdrawn into his study for two weeks and wanted to see only Robinson carrying provisions. Robinson had told her that squire had stolen to his wife's chamber to see her condition after disaster, but she was asleep after physician's visit. She remained to impression that his husband was somehow ashamed, for he avoided any means of contact; but when she tried to steal into library to catch a glimpse of her husband, he had rejected the visit with such a cry that could not be repeated in vicarage. The design, however, was proceeding and it was true that the foundry had been restored. A total of four mirrors had been casted, ground and polished; from which two survived the inspection. Anna herself had no opportunity to partake these proceedings. She had repaired clock gears of the small telescope when she noticed that her husband had been delivered new pinions. She had observed him to use the newly repaired telescope, but with dark face and no new paintings appeared nor did he express any gratitude upon the matter. The frame of the great telescope would arrive soon with workmen and the observatory would be put the final touch. Having learned this vicar Godwinson now put the weight to Anna's countenance: Was she leaving? The answer was positive; she had even tried to walk in the village in her grief but there was no response. A pair of ignoring eyes here and there, a little hatred glimpsed from windows but finally she realised the merciless solitude surrounding her. Currently Anna was travelling to her brother who had accepted her begging for lodging, at least for some time. Her last words in vicarage comprised of conjuring the vicar to intervene squire's mental state before it was too late. According Anna, squire had now been under obsession for months and even Robinson was growing weary under such insane authority; which was very strong expression for vicar's ears and he made a promise to get audience by any means. Having dried her eyes, Anna expressed her gratitude and left.

  “What is it with this manor? Coincident and misfortune? A curse, God forbid?” vicar contemplated as he watched Anna Tollerson's carriages disappearing behind trees.

  ~~~~

  As soon as vicar Godwinson explained his sexton the urgency of matters, a shadow landed on McNally's face as the state of poor Robinson was mentioned. As soon as they got on their way, vicar observed a keg stowed with them but made no inquiries about it. He knew McNally would come out with a design. Vicar Godwinson shivered as he disembarked before the carriage reached the manor yard, hiding himself among the flanking trees. Sexton drove to front doors and in a moment Robinson appeared but seemed to spread his hands in refusal to anything McNally was saying; but he looked more weary than mad; and when McNally pointed to the keg in the carriage, Robinson suddenly descended the steps and embarked the carriage, gesturing towards the stalls. Vicar Godwinson shivered as he realised the collusion performed to a person so familiar; but in no time he observed the front windows and stole through the doors, closing them behind him. He kept repeating himself Anna's words that so far squire's celestial obsession had not expressed violent nature, except the matter was not really tried in close range. All of a sudden a bell tolled, and after a long while tolled again. Vicar stood still in the dim hall.

  “Robinson!”

  The sudden and loud summons echoed through a large space; vicar started towards the library door and after knocking opened it and entered the high, dark corridor of bookcases.

  “For Heaven's sake, Robinson, come here, now! What's the matter with you?”

  “Sir, it's me, the vicar, please!” Vicar Godwinson stuttered but kept his position. In the other end a figure started in the fluttering light of hearth.

  “What? Who is there? Why, you..!”

  Something was hurled towards vicar and Flamsteed's work slammed onto floor in front of him, the distance being too long for such a throw. Vicar Godwinson now cleared his throat for the last effort:

  “Vicar, Sir! It's the vicar!”

  A figure in the far stood still next to his desk, then sat down in resignation. Vicar approached with great caution. Squire Tollerson raised his face to meet him. If his wife's countenance had caused pity, the squire's face asked for dread. They were ghostly pale, which underlined his eyes, they were sunk and red, almost glowing and the dark spots under them had grown larger than his nocturnal profession had previously claimed. Vicar saw the squire had been on the verge of insanity for months now.

  “Vicar. Please take a seat. Where is Robinson?” squire asked in submission.

  “He is at the stalls having a chat with my sexton; it is not his fault. He needs some rest. And so do you, Sir.”

  “What? First God decides to spill children's blood to my hands and then He sends his solicitor to deceive my servants and me to halt our duties? I know you clergymen, in the end it is always you who stand in the way of knowledge. Why do you think I did not want to see you?”

  Vicar Godwinson's figure took a more rigorous position.

  “I assure you, I have never been instructed from above or by any bishop to encumber any scholar's work. I rather tell my flock that there are no witches around, which was quite difficult due your predecessor and now these sad incidents. I assure you; my faith was also put into test. For months my church has been visited only by dead looking people; what would I tell them?”

  Squire looked somewhere into much larger distance than the room, then walked into dim corridor and picked up the book, which had performed a short duty of weapon. Observing the state of the book he then presented it to vicar.

  “Original Historia Coelestis Britannica. I can disclose the way I acquired it: My father saved it in time from the bonfire Flamsteed himself had put up at Royal Observatory to burn as many as possible. This was due discontent against some Newton's actions with Flamste
ed's work: A magnificent example of our advancement, yet a sad result of dispute gone too far. No God is needed there, we scholars can make it complicated enough.”

  Vicar sat with sulky expression on his face. After no response was given, squire continued:

  “Next year you will see a quite different face between my shoulders; it will be the face of victory. And you will see poor Anna will be back with gaiety. And this spot will be known through England, if not everywhere; not for tragedies but for the greatest achievement in celestial sciences. It will halt the scholastic arguing and book-burning. And I will present it in front of Royal Society. Such a notion on celestial movement cannot be published without echo through the whole world!”

  Squire's eyes were glowing deep in their sockets, and a more superstitious clergyman could have escaped; but vicar Godwinson could make the difference between possessed and madness-like obsession. The eyes lost the red glimmer and squire settled.

  “Of course, if there was a God for me, I would return those children unscathed. Poor Anna, I could not let her close; not before I have fulfilled my assignment, my duty. She was more a disadvantage after the incident; she would take my mind elsewhere. Better for her to keep some berth now and let me perform it all.”

  Now vicar had his thoughts adjusted.

  “I would that you, Sir, would give wide berth to all this for some time, for your and Anna's sake. Please, gather new strength elsewhere. Then return to complete your work together, like you have done before.”

  Squire turned his pale features to vicar and stared him under eyebrows.

  “No. And now, vicar, I beg you to leave. You are not part of this, you are an obstacle, Sir. Good night.”

  Having said this, squire turned to desk and his attention to his surveys with seemingly stoic attitude. Vicar did not feel himself too safe to say anything, so he murmured his goodnights and left through the dim corridor of books, in which the gilded letters seemed to burn in reflection of distant hearth. Squire’s bent shadow danced in front of vicar up to the hall door.

  ~~~~

  Next weeks saw the observatory completion. Much to his chagrin, vicar Godwinson testified a presence of hired guards occupying the previously empty gatehouse of Grange. Sexton had told that Robinson was still running errands to nearby town but would not have any business with vicarage. Robinson had yielded to the power of sextons beer keg but in the end the old loyalty towards his master had prevailed, although not before the sexton had questioned poor servant's burden to a lesser scale.

  The Grange observatory reminded vicar of great gun position. This particular late summer evening--between dusk and dark--he noticed lanterns navigating from manor to observatory, then squeaking noise as the squire's figure was elevated in a lift to the great aperture of telescope. The observer thus did actually settle in front of large tube, not behind nor to the sides; vicar had understood that the speculum, the mirror was at angle which disallowed the observer's head to block the incoming light; a slight geometric distortion of image represented no encumbrance. More squeaking was heard along some vertical and lateral movement of the telescope. Vicar could not tell whether there remained any hands on the ground, the telescope seemed to be adjustable by the observer. He turned for a few miles’ return walk to vicarage, but halted abruptly as he started to hear shouting from the direction of observatory. At first he took it merely the commands of squire but the wind started to carry quite a strange monologue as far as to the main road. Squire Tollerson, a scholar and man of celestial sciences, was shouting and cursing towards the void. It was nothing of usual, as there appeared more lanterns at the observatory, Robinson's voice broke through begging his master to come inside; the gatehouse guards also stepped out, first confused but then making jokes of “poor cloud painter.” Aware and sad of the fact that the squire of Scyllaclough Grange had gone over the edge of insanity, vicar turned and proceeded to walk until his pace was interrupted again, this time by a crashing sound and increasing shouting for assistance. Vicar concluded to call the guards and demanded them to open the gate “in the name of anything that is holy.” After a slight hesitation they rushed to open the gate and all three headed towards the observatory hill. There they met an inconsolable scene: Couple of workmen and crying maids were testifying as Robinson was kneeling and held his master's lifeless body, weeping. Squire had fallen from the elevator from which a banister had given up. Squire's head was in most unnatural position, the fall had broken his neck. A tiny rivulet of blood ran from his mouth. Vicar Godwinson kneeled and gently closed the eyes of the perished; vicar observed that a great terror must have preceded the fall, such was the horrible expression stiffened in squire's face.

  Now vicar Godwinson's own health started to falter. He changed his position to sitting on the gravel and stared at the heavens where thousands of white dots glimmered. Vicar sat still with Robinson and squire's body until he seemed to get himself together, eyed the elevator lighted by lanterns, painfully stood up and asked the men to lower the elevator for him. No objections were made by the workers, such was the quiet confusion between them. Vicar was pulled up to the aperture as he held tight the banisters still intact. Up there he found an impromptu stand for canvas attached to side of the wall. There were neither papers nor notes, but a painting which seemed completed along with the painter’s signature in the right hand corner. In the lower left hand a bit more indistinct phrase could be observed; this was deciphered only with great effort to Latin words. Soon vicar begged for another lantern, which was handed him with a pole. Vicar attached the lantern and started to review the painting in a more elaborate way. At first his eyes caught the familiar dots against dark blue paint, more colored than one could see naturally without any glasses. His eyes became gradually aware of some less sharp patterns, painted meticulously in such a way that a quick glimpse at any gallery would dismiss them. Down at ground the guards produced a cart into which the squire was gently lifted. They were interrupted by vicar who let out an astonished exclamation:

  “The children! They are the children!” was heard twice, then pause and a half-sniveled “It says Liberi Sursum Coeli! I see it now! Such conscience...Great work gone to waste!”

  Robinson raised his face as vicar continued with whispering voice:

  “Your master's insanity was not malevolent. Those children just did not let go in his conscience. Look, in his pain he has drawn them to the skies. I would wager they appear in his notes, too. What a waste, what a waste. Had he just bothered to open to me, or Anna...”

  It could not be said from Robinson's face if he perceived what was said to him. Nevertheless, he continued to stare the clergyman who proceeded to have a glimpse into the aperture.

  “What was your master's last model? A most beautiful pair of stars. They truly are wonders of God. And nebulae around them...No wonder he thought of them...Aah! No! They cannot be...”

  Along with his shock vicar covered his eyes, stepped backwards a little too far and towards the last human tragedy of Scyllaclough Grange.

  ~~~~

  The next dawn saw the physician's arrival to verify the deaths of squire Tollerson of Scyllaclough Grange and vicar Godwinson of Dainsdale. Squire's neck was broken, vicar had survived only a few moments after the fall and had almost every bone broken; a courtesy of fragile constitution and late age, which barely had survived the foundry disaster.

  Robinson paid the maids, and all proceeded to gather their belongings. They drove away with the help of sexton McNally who delayed his mourning until everything necessary was attended to.

  After a few days, village men--for whom the fate of their shepherd was the last drop--arrived to manor's yard with horses, blacksmith in forefront and started to tear and burn. Lanterns were smashed in the library and the flames started to swallow notes, annotations, calculations and celestial charts; and finally the paintings; and men ran through the rooms shouting “down with the Evil!” The foundry was smashed down once again, this time with sledgehammers. When the fl
ames burst out of all windows, the mad troop moved to observatory: The telescope was pulled down with horses; machinery was smashed so that pinions flew high. Finally, the pair of strong walls was too much and as the madness wound down, blacksmith picked up a painting he was just about to step upon. All of the sudden he burst out a loud cry, then sat down. Other men sat away from him but stared as he muttered gentle words to his only child, painted beautifully from the speculum which had mirrored the wonders far, far away.

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  Thank you for the time taken to read this piece. Author has taken an involuntary chuckle in thinking about the modern frames this ancient-looking text has been read from, and in depth of his little head hopes that Horace Walpole, Ann Radcliffe and Sir Walter Scott could see this modern way of enjoying also their literature. Or perhaps they do.

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