The Alchemist of Rome

by M C Dulac

  Underneath the portrait were the words Mi dispiace. Was that the girl’s name? No, Mi dispiace meant ‘I am sorry’ in Italian.

  Why had Antonio given this title to the portrait of the sad, lost girl?

  He was still speaking on the phone. His tone was defeated and obedient.

  Rebecca moved into the next room to see the framed landscapes again. There was the Forum and the Colosseum in the late 1700s, with goats grazing, just as Antonio had said. On the wall behind her was another set of drawings. From a distance, the dramatically shaded faces looked intriguing, surrounded by intricately drawn tendrils of hair. She drew closer to get a better look, but stepped backwards at the unexpected sight.

  The faces were grotesque and monstrous, withered by age and malevolence. They were wild, neither entirely human or recognisably animal - almost as if the faces were in the middle of a transformation. The eyes were the most alarming. They were alive and vindictive, with an energy and power that defied the decay of age. These faces had a sinister, otherworldly look - as though death itself burned inside them.

  Antonio had let his imagination run free with these monsters, drawing them over and over, on pages that spread across the wall. His skill was impressive, although instead of the whimsical landscapes or the sensitive portrait of the girl, he had used that skill to create these terrible creatures.

  Rebecca did not know Antonio had such a dark side. But then, maybe everyone drew monsters.

  On the desk below, a pen was lying across a notepad. Rebecca glanced at the words that Antonio had written in his flamboyant handwriting:

  Paracelsus, Fulcanelli, Flamel.

  As she looked up, she saw he had written the same words, on papers pinned to the wall next to the monsters.

  “I can’t go to dinner,” Antonio was leaning in the doorway, looking impossibly handsome, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Your boss?”

  “He needs me to go to a meeting. But tomorrow night, I am free. I will take you out. Properly. To a nice restaurant.”

  “If you like.”

  “A date.”

  Rebecca smiled, “Okay, a date.”

  “I’ll take you to Katie’s party now.”

  He led her to the pizzeria where Katie was having her farewell dinner. The bar restaurant was busy. He kissed her on each cheek and said goodbye.

  Katie and her friends didn’t see them together. Rebecca sat down and joined the conversation. She didn’t tell them about Antonio. For she was not quite sure what was happening and she did not want to jinx herself.

  * * * * *

  Although Rebecca had all of Rome to explore, she could not get Antonio out of her mind. It was as though she had breathed in a potion and he possessed her thoughts. Each meeting was more intriguing than the last. Or was it just the dramatic backdrop of Rome that made her feelings so intense?

  Before she had flown home, Jane had bought Rebecca a ticket to the art gallery at the Villa Borghese. A few weeks ago Rebecca would have been thrilled to see the artworks and the gardens around the villa. But as she entered the galleries the following afternoon, her mind drifted.

  Antonio had said he wanted to see her every day. Then he had said they were leading each other out of darkness. She was always happy to help someone, but that sounded more like friendship than romance. Then yesterday he said he would always remember her. That sounded like the relationship was over before it had begun.

  She wandered through the rooms of the gallery, only half-seeing the paintings and sculptures. A crowd had gathered around Bernini’s statue of Apollo. The statue looked more like flesh and muscle than stone. It was Antonio who had first drawn her attention to Bernini’s dynamic poses.

  Antonio had let her into his world, more than any other girl, it seemed. They had had dinner and coffee and walked around Rome together. He had shown her a side of the city she had only dreamed of, and brought the old world alive. She knew a lot about Antonio, but then it seemed she knew nothing at all.

  Rebecca circled the statue of Apollo reaching out for Daphne, a young nymph, who was transforming herself into a tree to escape him. Why did Daphne fear the handsome young god? Mythology had some strange themes.

  She was still staring at the marble lovers when the bells sounded, and the guard ushered her out of the room, so the next group of tourists could begin their visit.

  When Rebecca got back to the hotel, she checked her emails. Afterwards, her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What were the words that Antonio had written on the wall? Paracelsus, Flamel and Fulcanelli. She began to type, expecting the names to be artists.

  But Paracelsus was a physician who had lived in the fifteenth century. He was the first doctor to suggest that specific medicines should be used to treat illness, instead of the cure-all medicines of the Middle Ages. He had discovered the basis of toxicology and the curative power of mineral springs. He was also said to be an alchemist.

  She found Flamel next. Flamel was a French scribe and seller of manuscripts, based on ancient alchemical texts.

  Fulcanelli was even more mysterious - a real-life stranger who appeared in 20th century Paris. Fulcanelli knew how the stained glass windows in the medieval Cathedrals had been made - although the process had been long-forgotten. He also knew the secrets of nuclear energy, decades before anyone else. It was said this man called Fulcanelli had appeared and disappeared at various periods of history, never aging.

  He too was an alchemist.

  Rebecca rubbed her forehead. Antonio had some strange interests. She searched again and found a site about alchemy:

  Alchemy, the power of transformation. The power to transform elements of the natural world, and to transform oneself.

  The Philosopher’s Stone is a mythical substance which changes base metals into an endless mountain of gold.

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows and read on:

  The alchemist knows the secrets of fantastical potions such as the elixir of life and youth. Conveying an otherworldly beauty on the drinker, it gives the alchemist great power over others.

  The true alchemist fears neither death, age nor disease, instead possessing an irresistible charm that matches the worldly riches which he creates in his laboratory.

  Rebecca leaned forward and felt a tingle down her spine.

  Although the aqua regia, the ingredient said to form the basis of the elixir of life, continues to evade mankind, many other elixirs discovered by the alchemists form the basis of medicines in use until this day.

  Rebecca’s phone buzzed with a message. It was Antonio confirming their date that night.

  Rebecca read on:

  Have the secrets of alchemy been subsumed into modern day medicine or is there more knowledge, forgotten - either by accident or deliberately - which awaits us? Or is the transformation promised by alchemy inside us?

  Why was Antonio interested in alchemy? Was it the elaborate images that formed part of the alchemical texts - the dragons appearing in fire, the moon and the sun gods, the lifting of the veil of stars to find a world of discovery beyond? Or the illustrations of alchemists’ laboratories, where the scientific, the allegorical and the spiritual collided? In one illustration, the alchemist gazed with wonder at the light appearing above his experiments. Alchemy was the obsession of sorcerers and magicians, scientists and physicians.

  She felt a spark of excitement. Alchemy was as familiar as a long-forgotten dream, a quest that had obsessed mankind from the beginning of time.

  Two men were talking loudly in the courtyard. A motorbike roared past, then stopped, engine dawdling. Rebecca frowned and considered closing the window, but the spell was already broken. She closed her computer.

  She had an hour to get ready before Antonio arrived.

  chapter four

  Rebecca wore her new black dress and heels as she waited in the square outside the hotel that evening. Antonio was crossing the street. He wore a business suit and tie. With his hair neatly combed, he no longer looked like a wild young arti
st. This new look made him even more handsome.

  He kissed her on the hand, “You look beautiful,” he said.

  “You look fine yourself. Have you been at work?”

  “I spent all day in the office.”

  This was new aspect of Antonio. Maybe he did sit in business meetings all day.

  “Now I will take you out properly,” he reassured her.

  They caught a cab to a restaurant close to the River Tiber. Tiny lights were strung across the trees in the courtyard. Antonio ordered pasta but ate little.

  She told Antonio she had been to the Villa Borghese and he told her of paintings, statues and rooms she had not seen. The way he described the artworks was inspiring and exciting. Although how did he know the gallery and its passages so well?

  “Then after the gallery, I went back to the hotel. I was reading about Paracelsus,” Rebecca said without thinking.

  Antonio blinked slowly, although his expression did not change, “Paracelsus?”

  She placed her glass on the table, aware she had finished her wine, while Antonio had not touched his, “The alchemist.”

  “Alchemy,” he said after a long pause, “The secret of how to make gold and the elixir of life. Endless riches and eternal youth - the hidden desire of every human being. Would you like to know the secret of making gold?”

  “I guess if I knew the secret of making gold, I wouldn’t have to worry or work. I’d be free.”

  “Not free. There is always a price to pay.”

  “I’m not really interested in making gold,” Rebecca reflected, “But what if the elixirs existed?”

  “The elixirs?”

  “The elixir of life.”

  “That would be a very powerful elixir.”

  “But a lot of alchemists were genuine doctors and scientists. And what they discovered became part of modern medicine. Maybe there is some ancient knowledge that we haven’t discovered.”

  “Perhaps the knowledge is too dangerous to share.”

  “But we could test it, scientifically.”

  “Alchemy is magic, and magic doesn’t obey the rules of science.”

  He looked so handsome in the light of the candles. He was the image of the young man in the painting of “Albert Price, the scientist and his apprentice”. A painting created in 1761, when Rome looked like the city in Antonio’s sketches. She wanted to ask him why he had drawn the old city so many times and why he had written down the names of alchemists. She wanted to ask him about the girl in the portrait and the monsters on the walls. There was so much she wanted to know. Antonio was young, rich and charming. But she could hardly ask him if he was an alchemist.

  “Could the elixir of life defeat death?” Rebecca stared into the flame of the candle. She left her other thoughts unsaid. If there was an elixir of life, then maybe Laura could have been cured, and didn’t have to die.

  “You are thinking of your sister again,” Antonio said, softly, “If only it could. From what I understand, the elixirs of the alchemists are not mere medicines. There is something else at work - something beyond the realm of science and reason, beyond the physical world. No one should try to defy the laws of alchemy. The eternal truths will disappear like a cloud in the wind or the ripples on a lake. The magic only reveals itself to the right ones, at the right time.”

  “So the elixir of life is a myth.”

  “The greatest elixir is the essence of the life we already have. Our challenge in life is to find that essence, and the purpose of our existence. There are no shortcuts. Be careful when magic falls across your path. You may live, but you will live to regret it.”

  Rebecca frowned and traced her finger over the tablecloth.

  Antonio glanced at her kindly, “Although what you speak of would be a wonderful elixir, in the right hands. Perhaps there is some truth in the old books.”

  She smiled, conscious of how much she had been talking.

  After dinner they wandered through the cobblestone streets. Rebecca’s head cleared, and there was only the intoxicating presence of Antonio. Thankfully he hadn’t found her ramblings on alchemy unusual.

  They passed a large fountain. There were a few tourists gathered in the shadows, but the spotlights were on the marble statues, and the water cascading into the turquoise basin. With her high heels and Antonio on her arm, she felt as though she were in a movie.

  “It’s like La Dolce Vita,” she said.

  “The carefree freedom of the 1960s,” Antonio smiled, before a shadow passed his face, “But is freedom ever possible? The son always returns to the father.”

  He spoke so seriously, Rebecca wondered what events he was remembering. He fell silent for a moment, and appeared reluctant to say more. She gave him a curious glance, “You don’t talk much about your father.”

  “He died. A long time ago. So did my mother. That was in Naples,” he rubbed his neck, as though the memory upset him.

  “I’m sorry. Was that before you came to Rome?”

  Antonio blinked, as though he had to think hard, “No. Afterwards. Many years had gone by. I was living in Rome then and so much had changed.”

  He fell silent again. Rebecca decided not to ask him about Otto von Schumann.

  They walked through the squares until they came to the river. On one side rose the domes of Vatican City and on the other, the fortress tower of Castel Angelo. Ahead was the Bridge of Angels. Antonio breathed deeply, as though the view lifted his heart.

  “Here is the answer to your question yesterday. Old Rome fell and in its place rose the city of saints and angels,” he said, “The Forum was left to rot and a new Rome was created with its marble. The Rome of popes and churches. Have you been to the Castel Angelo?”

  “I haven’t been inside.”

  “There is a statue in the courtyard of an angel with wings of metal. The original marble wings were struck by lightning, and the Pope of the time rebuilt the statue, so that it would never again be destroyed.”

  “The angels in Rome are very strong,” Rebecca’s hair caressed her cheek, “I mean, angels are usually dreamy and ethereal. But the statues here have muscles and are brave.”

  “You have to be, if you want to defeat evil.”

  Antonio’s eyes were brooding as he watched the river. They were silent for a few minutes.

  “I wish I had met you earlier,” he said at last.

  “It’s not too late?”

  “I hope not. My life is complicated.”

  Rebecca wondered how complicated Antonio’s life could be.

  “How much earlier do you wish we’d met?”

  “A lot earlier,” he grinned, “But that - might not have been possible.”

  Rebecca thought of Laura, and the events that had led her to being on this bridge, so far from her home on the other side of the world. It was true that life was full of shadows and sunlight and tragedy and happiness. An unexpected meeting could change the course of life - like a decision to join Jane in the Pincio Gardens one sunny afternoon.

  “I’m here now,” she said.

  “Yes, it is unbelievable, but you are here now.”

  Antonio leaned forward. Then he kissed her. Her heart soared as if it had wings like the marble angels in the distance.

  “Let’s make the most of every minute,” he said, “Although what is a minute, when I have waited an eternity?”

  “I really don’t know what you are saying sometimes.”

  Antonio grinned, “One day it will all make sense.”

  He placed his arm around her as they walked along the river. Rebecca’s heart was racing with excitement. For the last few days she had not been sure of his feelings. They would work out any problems, she was sure of it. She was in love with Rome and she was in love with Antonio! If it was this wonderful so far, what would happen next?

  Antonio breathed deeply, as though a great weight was off his mind, “Perhaps it is possible to change things. One day, I will tell you about my work.”

  “Your art?
”

  “Other things. That we spoke of tonight.”

  His eyes had the faint blue glow again. What did he mean? What had they been talking about in the restaurant? The elixir of life? Was he teasing her about alchemy? But then, wasn’t there something unusual about him?

  “Maybe we can go to Tivoli on Saturday,” he added brightly.

  “I’d love to.”

  “The gardens of the Villa d’Este in Tivoli are beautiful. And the ruins of the Emperor Hadrian’s Villa are nearby. Although I am always talking about history.”

  “You can talk about history as much as you like,” Rebecca smiled.

  They crossed the bridge and reached a broad boulevard.

  The sound of engines rose in the distance. Two large motorcycles streaked along the road. Rebecca had never seen anyone drive so fast. She only caught a glimpse of the gleaming silver engines and the black helmets and jackets of the riders.

  The motorcycles disappeared into the night and the deafening noise fell away. Shortly afterwards another two motorcycles passed them. The air vibrated with their power. The riders were not the carabinieri, the Italian Police, but the advance guards for a powerful car, whose engine she could hear approaching.

  Antonio had taken his phone out of his jacket. The screen was blue and his eyes reflected the glow.

  “He called you, hasn’t he?” Rebecca sighed.

  Antonio said nothing, and then he spoke, his voice dry and soft.

  “He’s here,” he said.

  Antonio stared into the distance. His hand slipped out of hers and fell to his side. Rebecca had the feeling he had let go of her hand not to reject her, but to protect her.