CHAPTER V.
THE ELIXIR VITAE.
As the Syndic crossed the threshold of the scholar's room, he uncoveredwith an air of condescension that, do what he would, was not free fromuneasiness. He had persuaded himself--he had been all the morningpersuading himself--that any man might pay a visit to a learnedscholar--why not? Moreover, that a magistrate in paying such a visit wasbut in the performance of his duty, and might plume himself accordinglyon the act.
Yet two things like worms in the bud would gnaw at his peace. The firstwas conscience: if the Syndic did not know he had reason to suspect thatBasterga bore the Grand Duke's commission, and was in Geneva to furtherhis master's ends. The second source of his uneasiness he did notacknowledge even to himself, and yet it was the more powerful: it was asuspicion--a strong suspicion, though he had met Basterga buttwice--that in parleying with the scholar he was dealing with a man forwhom he was no match, puff himself out as he might; and who secretlydespised him.
Perhaps the fact that the latter feeling ceased to vex him before he hadbeen a minute in the room, was the best testimony to Basterga's tact wecould desire. Not that the scholar was either effusive or abject. It wasrather by a frank address which took equality for granted, and by aneasy assumption that the visit had no importance, that he calmed MesserBlondel's nerves and soothed his pride.
Presently, "If I do not the honour of my poor apartment so pressingly assome," he said, "it is out of no lack of respect, Messer Syndic. Butbecause, having had much experience of visitors, I know that nothingfits them so well as to be left at liberty, nothing irks them so much asto be over-pressed. Here now I have some things that are thought to becurious, even in Padua, but I do not know whether they will interestyou."
"Manuscripts?"
"Yes, manuscripts and the like. This," Basterga lifted one from thetable and placed it in his visitor's hands, "is a facsimile, preparedwith the utmost care, of the 'Codex Vaticanus,' the most ancientmanuscript of the New Testament. Of interest in Geneva, where by thehands of your great printer, Stephens, M. de Beza has done so much toadvance the knowledge of the sacred text. But you are looking at thatchart?"
"Yes. What is it, if it please you?"
"It is a plan of the ancient city of Aurelia," Basterga replied, "whichCaesar, in the first book of his Commentaries places in Switzerland, butwhich, some say, should be rather in Savoy."
"Indeed, Aurelia?" the Syndic muttered, turning it about. It was a planbeautifully and elaborately finished, but, like most of the plans ofthat day, it was without names. "Aurelia?"
"Yes, Aurelia."
"But I seem to--is this water?"
"Yes, a lake," Basterga replied, stooping with a faint smile to theplan.
"And this a river?"
"Yes."
"Aurelia? But--I seem to know the line of this wall, and these bastions.Why, it is--Messer Basterga," in a tone of surprise, not unmingled withanger--"you play with me! it is Geneva!"
Basterga permitted his smile to become more apparent. "Oh no, Aurelia,"he said lightly and almost jocosely. "Aurelia in Savoy, I assure you.Whatever it is, however, we have no need to take it to heart, MesserBlondel. Believe me, it comes from, and is not on its way to, the GrandDuke's library at Turin."
The Syndic showed his displeasure by putting the map from him.
"Your taste is rather for other things," Basterga continued, affectingto misunderstand the act. "This illuminated manuscript, now, mayinterest you? It is in characters which are probably strange to you?"
"Is it Hebrew?" the Syndic muttered stiffly, his temper still assertingitself.
"No, it is in the ancient Arabic character; that into which the works ofAristotle were translated as far back as the ninth century of our era.It is a curious treatise by the Arabic sage, Ibn Jasher, who was theteacher of Ibn Zohr, who was the teacher of Averroes. It was carriedfrom Spain to Rome about the year 1000 by the learned Pope Sylvester theSecond, who spoke Arabic and of whose library it formed part."
"Indeed!" Blondel responded, staring at it. "It must be of great value.How came it into your possession, Messer Basterga?"
Basterga opened his mouth and shut it again. "I do not think I can tellyou that," he said.
"It contains, I suppose, many curious things?"
"Curious?" Basterga replied impulsively, "I should say so! Why, it wasin that volume I found----" And there in apparent confusion he brokeoff. He laughed awkwardly, and then, "Well, you know," he resumed, "westudents find many things interest us which would fail to touch the manof affairs". As if he wished to change the subject, he took themanuscript from the Syndic's hand and threw it carelessly on the table.
Messer Blondel thought the carelessness overdone, and, his interestaroused, he followed the manuscript, he scarcely knew why, with hiseyes. "I think I have heard the name of Averroes?" he said. "Was he nota physician?"
"He was many things," Basterga answered negligently. "As a physician hewas, I believe, rather visionary than practical. I have his _Colliget_,his most famous work in that line, but for my part, in the case of anordinary disease, I would rather trust myself," with a shrug ofcontempt, "to the Grand Duke's physician."
"But in the case of an extraordinary disease?" the Syndic askedshrewdly.
Basterga frowned. "I meant in any disease," he said. "Did I sayextraordinary?"
"Yes," Messer Blondel answered stoutly. The frown had not escaped him."But I take it, you are something of a physician yourself?"
"I have studied in the school of Fallopius, the chirurgeon of Padua,"the scholar answered coldly. "But I am a scholar, Messer Blondel, not aphysician, much less a practitioner of the ancillary art, which I taketo be but a base and mechanical handicraft."
"Yet, chemistry--you pursue that?" the other rejoined with a glance atthe farther table and its load of strange-looking phials and retorts.
"As an amusement," Basterga replied with a gesture of haughtydeprecation. "A parergon, if you please. I take it, a man may dip intothe mystical writings of Paracelsus without prejudice to his Latinity;and into the cabalistic lore of the school of Cordova without losing histaste for the pure oratory of the immortal Cicero. Virgil himself, ifwe may believe Helinandus, gave the weight of his great name to suchsports. And Cornelius Agrippa, my learned forerunner in Geneva----"
"Went something farther than that!" the Syndic struck in with a meaningnod, twice repeated. "It was whispered, and more than whispered--I hadit from my father--that he raised the devil here, Messer Blondel; thevery same that at Louvain strangled one of Agrippa's scholars who brokein on him before he could sink through the floor."
Basterga's face took on an expression of supreme scorn. "Idle tales!" hesaid. "Fit only for women! Surely you do not believe them, MesserBlondel?"
"I?"
"Yes, you, Messer Syndic."
"But this, at any rate, you'll not deny," Blondel retorted eagerly,"that he discovered the Philosopher's Stone?"
"And lived poor, and died no richer?" Basterga rejoined in a tone ofincreasing scorn.
"Well, for the matter of that," the Syndic answered more slowly, "thatmay be explained."
"How?"
"They say, and you must have heard it, that the gold he made in that wayturned in three days to egg-shells and parings of horn."
"Yet having it three days," Basterga asked with a sneer, "might he notbuy all he wanted?"
"Well, I can only say that my father, who saw him more than once in thestreet, always told me--and I do not know any one who should have knownbetter----"
"Pshaw, Messer Blondel, you amaze me!" the scholar struck in, risingfrom his seat and adopting a tone at once contemptuous and dictatorial."Do you not know," he continued, "that the Philosopher's Stone was andis but a figure of speech, which stands as some say for the perfectelement in nature, or as others say for the vital principle--thatvivifying power which evades and ever must evade the search of men? Doyou not know that the sages whose speculations took that direction wereendangered by accusations of wi
tchcraft; and that it was to evade theseand to give their researches such an aspect as would command theconfidence of the vulgar, that they gave out that they were seekingeither the Philosopher's Stone, which would make all men rich, or theElixir Vitae, which would confer immortality. Believe me, they werethemselves no slaves to these expressions; nor were the initiated amongtheir followers. But as time went on, tyros, tempted by sounds, andcaught by theories of transmutation, began to interpret them literally,and, straying aside, spent their lives in the vain pursuit of wealth oryouth. Poor fools!"
Messer Blondel stared. Had Basterga, assailing him from a differentside, broached the precise story to which, in the case of Agrippa orAlbertus Magnus, the Syndic was prepared to give credence, he hadcertainly received the overture with suspicion if not with contempt. Hehad certainly been very far from staking good florins upon it. But whenthe experimenter in the midst of the apparatus of science, andsurrounded by things which imposed on the vulgar, denied their value,and laughed at the legends of wealth and strength obtained by theirmeans--this fact of itself went very far towards convincing him thatBasterga had made a discovery and was keeping it back.
The vital principle, the essential element, the final good, these werefine phrases, though they had a pagan ring. But men, the Syndic argued,did not spend money, and read much and live laborious days, merely tocoin phrases. Men did not surround themselves with costly apparatus onlyto prove a theory that had no practical value. "He has discoveredsomething," Blondel concluded in his mind, "if it be not thePhilosopher's Stone or the Elixir of Life. I am sure he has discoveredsomething." And with eyes grown sharp and greedy, the magistrate rakedthe room.
The scholar stood thoughtful where he had paused, and did not seem tonotice him.
"Then do you mean," Blondel resumed after a while, "that all your workthere"--he indicated by a nod the chemical half of the room--"has beenthrown away?"
"Well----"
"Not quite, I think?" the Syndic said, his small eyes twinkling. "Eh,Messer Basterga, not quite? Now be candid."
"Well, I would not say," Basterga answered coldly, and as it seemedunwillingly, "that I have not derived something from the researches withwhich I have amused my leisure. But nothing of value to the general."
"Yet something of value to yourself," Blondel said, his head on oneside.
Basterga frowned, then shrugged his shoulders. "Well, yes," he said atlength, "as it happens, I have. But a thing of no use to any one else,for the simple reason----"
"That you have only enough for yourself!"
The scholar looked astonished and a little offended.
"I do not know how you learned that," he said curtly, "but you areright. I had no intention of telling you as much, but, as you haveguessed that, I do not mind adding that it is a remedy for a diseasewhich the most learned physicians do not pretend to cure."
"A remedy?"
"Yes, vital and certain."
"And you discovered it?"
"No, I did not discover it," Basterga replied modestly. "But the storyis so long that I will ask you to excuse me."
"I shall not excuse you if you do not favour me with it," the Syndicanswered eagerly. As he leaned forward there was a light in his eyesthat had not been in them a few minutes before. His hand, too, shook ashe moved it from the arm of his chair to his knee. "Nay, but, I prayyou, indulge me," he continued, in a tone anxious and almost submissive."I shall not betray your secrets. I am no philosopher, and no physician,and, had I the will, I could make no use of your confidence."
"That is true," Basterga replied. "And, after all, the matter is simple.I do not know why I should refuse to oblige you. I have said that I didnot discover this remedy. That is so. But it happened that in trying, byway of amusement, certain precipitations, I obtained not that which Isought--nor had I expected," he continued, smiling, "to obtain that, forit was the Elixir of Life, which, as I have told you, does notexist--but a substance new in my experience, and which seemed to me topossess some peculiar properties. I tested it in all the ways known tome, but without benefit or enlightenment; and in the end I was about tocast it aside, when I chanced on a passage in the manuscript of IbnJasher--the same, in fact, that I showed you a few minutes ago."
"And you found?" The Syndic's attitude as he leaned forward, with partedlips and a hand on each knee, betrayed an interest so abnormal that itwas odd that Basterga did not notice it.
Instead, "I found that he had made," the scholar replied quietly, "asfar back as the tenth century the same experiment which I had justcompleted. And with the same result."
"He obtained the substance?"
Basterga nodded.
"And discovered? What?" Blondel asked eagerly. "Its use?"
"A certain use," the other replied cautiously. "Or, rather, it was nothe, but an associate, called by him the Physician of Aleppo, whodiscovered it. This man was the pupil of the learned Rhazes, and thetutor of the equally learned Avicenna, the link, in fact, between them;but his name, for some reason, perhaps because he mixed with hispractice a greater degree of mysticism than was approved by the Arabianschools of the next generation, has not come down to us. This manidentified the product which had defied Ibn Jasher's tests with asubstance even then considered by most to be fabulous, or to beextracted only from the horn of the unicorn if that animal existed. Thatit had some of the properties of the fabled substance, he proceeded toprove to the satisfaction of Ibn Jasher by curing of a certain incurabledisease five persons."
"No more than five?"
"No."
"Why?"
"The substance was exhausted."
Blondel gasped. "Why did he not make more?" he cried. His voice wasquerulous, almost savage.
"The experiment," Basterga answered, "of which it was the product wascostly."
Blondel's face turned purple. "Costly?" he cried. "Costly? When thelives of men hung in the balance."
"True," Basterga replied with a smile; "but I was about to say that,costly as it was, it was not its price which hindered the production ofa further supply. The reason was more simple. He could not extract it."
"Could not? But he had made it once?"
"Precisely."
"Then why could he not make it again?" the Syndic asked. He wasgenuinely, honestly angry. It was strange how much he took the matter toheart.
"He could not," Basterga answered. "He repeated the process again andagain, but the peculiar product, which at the first trial had resultedfrom the precipitation, was not obtained."
"There was something lacking!"
"There was something lacking," Basterga answered. "But what that waswhich was lacking, or how it had entered into the alembic in the firstinstance, could not be discovered. The sage tried the experiment underall known conditions, and particularly when the moon was in the samequarter and when the sun was in the same house. He tried it, indeed,thrice on the corresponding day of the year, but--the product did notissue."
"How do you account for that?"
"Probably, in the first instance, an impurity in one of the drugsintroduced a foreign substance into the alembic. That chance neveroccurred again, as far as I can learn, until, amusing myself with thesame precipitation, I--I, Caesar Basterga of Padua," the scholarcontinued, not boastfully but in a tone thoughtful and almost absent,"in the last year of the last century, hit at length upon the sameresult."
The Syndic leaned forward; his hands gripped his knees more tightly."And you," he said, "can repeat it?"
Basterga shook his head sorrowfully. "No," he said, "I cannot. Not thatI have myself essayed the experiment more than thrice. I could notafford it. But a correspondent, M. de Laurens, of Paris, physician tothe King, has, at the expense of a wealthy patient, spent more thanfifteen thousand florins in essays. Alas, without result."
The big man spoke with his eyes on the floor. Had he turned them on theSyndic he must have seen that he was greatly agitated. Beads of moisturestood on his brow, his face was red, he swallowed often and withdifficulty. At l
ength, with an effort at composure, "Possibly yourproduct--is not, after all, the same as Ibn Jasher's?" he said.
"I tested it in the same way," Basterga answered quietly.
"What? By curing persons of that disease?"
"Yes," Basterga rejoined. "And I would to Heaven," he continued, withthe first spirt of feeling which he had allowed to escape him, "that Ihad held my hand after the first proof. Instead, I must needs try itagain and again, and again."
"For nothing?"
Basterga shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said, "not for nothing." By agesture he indicated the objects about him. "I am not a poor man now,Messer Blondel. Not for nothing, but too cheaply. And so often that Ihave now remaining but one portion of that substance which all thescience of Padua cannot renew. One portion, only, alas!" he repeatedwith regret.
"Enough to cure one person?" the Syndic exclaimed.
"Yes."
"And the disease?" Blondel rose as he spoke. "The disease?" he repeated.He extended his trembling arms to the other. No longer, even if hewished it, could Basterga feign himself blind to the agitation whichshook, which almost convulsed, the Syndic's meagre frame. "The disease?Is it not that which men call the Scholar's? Is it not that? But I knowit is."
Basterga with something of astonishment in his face inclined his head.
"And I have that disease! I!" the Syndic cried, standing before him apiteous figure. He raised his hands above his head in a gesture whichchallenged the compassion of gods and men. "I! In two years----" Hisvoice failed, he could not go on.
"Believe me, Messer Blondel," Basterga answered after a long andsorrowful pause, "I am grieved. Deeply grieved," he continued in a toneof feeling, "to hear this. Do the physicians give no hope?"
"Sons of the Horse-Leech!" the Syndic cried, a new passion shaking himin its turn. "They give me two years! Two years! And it may be less.Less!" he cried, raising his voice. "I, who go to and fro here andthere, like other men with no mark upon me! I, who walk the streets insunshine and rain like other men! Yet, for them the sky is bright, andthey have years to live. For me, one more summer, and--night! Two moreyears at the most--and night! And I, but fifty-eight!"
The big man looked at him with eyes of compassion. "It may be," he said,after a pause, "that the physicians are wrong, Messer Blondel. I haveknown such a case."
"They are, they shall be wrong!" Blondel replied. "For you will give meyour remedy! It was God led me here to-day, it was God put it in yourheart to tell me this. You will give me your remedy and I shall live!You will, will you not? Man, you can pity!" And joining his hands hemade as if he would kneel at the other's feet. "You can pity, and youwill?"
"Alas, alas," Basterga replied, much and strongly moved. "I cannot."
"Cannot?"
"Cannot."
The Syndic glared at him. "Why?" he cried, "Why not? If I give you----"
"If you were to give me the half of your fortune," Basterga answeredsolemnly, "it were useless! I myself have the first symptoms of thedisease."
"You?"
"Yes, I."
The Syndic fell back in his chair. A groan broke from him that borewitness at once to the bitterness of his soul and the finality of theargument. He seemed in a moment shrunk to half his size. In a momentdisease and the shadow of death clouded his features; his cheeks wereleaden; his eyes, without light or understanding, conveyed no meaning tohis brain. "You, too!" he muttered mechanically. "You, too!"
"Yes," Basterga replied in a sorrowful voice. "I, too. No wonder I feelfor you. I have not known it long, nor has it proceeded far in my case.I have even hopes, at least there are times when I have hopes, that thephysicians may be mistaken."
Blondel's small eyes bulged suddenly larger. "In that event?" he criedhoarsely. "In that event surely----"
"Even in that event I cannot aid you," the big man answered, spreadingout his hands. "I am pledged by the most solemn oath to retain the oneportion I have for the use of the Grand Duke, my patron. And apart fromthat oath, the benefits I have received at his hand are such as to givehim a claim second only to my necessity. A claim, Messer Blondel,which--I say it sorrowfully--I dare not set aside for any privatefeeling or private gain."
Blondel rose violently, his hands clawing the air. "And I must die?" hecried, his voice thick with rage. "I must die because he _may_ be ill?Because--because----" He stopped, struggling with himself, unable, itseemed, to articulate. By-and-by it became apparent that the pause hadanother origin, for when he spoke he had conquered his passion. "Pardonme," he said, still hoarsely, but in a different tone--the tone of onewho saw that violence could not help him. "I was forgetting myself.Life--life is sweet to all, Messer Basterga, and we cannot lightly seeit pass from us. To have life within sight, to know it within this room,perhaps within reach----"
"Not quite that," Basterga murmured, his eyes wandering to the steelcasket, chained to the wall beside the hearth. "Still, I understand;and, believe me," he added in a tone of sympathy, "I feel for you,Messer Blondel. I feel deeply for you."
"Feel?" the Syndic muttered. For an instant his eyes gleamed savagely,the veins of his temples swelled. "Feel!"
"But what can I do?"
Blondel could have answered, but to what advantage? What could wordsprofit him, seeing that it was a life for a life, and that, as all thata man hath he will give for his life, so there is nothing another haththat he will take for it. Argument was useless; prayer, in view of theother's confession, beside the mark. The magistrate saw this, and madean effort to resume his dignity. "We will talk another day," hemurmured, pressing his hand to his brow, "another day!" And he turned tothe door. "You will not mention what I have said to you, MesserBasterga?"
"Not a syllable," his host answered, as he followed him out. Theabruptness of the departure did not surprise him. "Believe me, I feelfor you, Messer Blondel."
The Syndic acknowledged the phrase by a gesture not without pathos, and,passing out, stumbled blindly down the narrow stairs. Basterga attendedhim with respect to the outer door, and there they parted in silence.The magistrate, his shoulders bowed, walked slowly to the left, where,turning into the town through the inner gate, the Porte Tertasse, hedisappeared. The big man waited a while, sunning himself on the steps,his face towards the ramparts.
"He will come back, oh, yes, he will come back," he purred, smiling allover his large face. "For I, Caesar Basterga, have a brain. And 'tisbetter a brain than thews and sinews, gold or lands, seeing that it hasall these at command when I need them. The fish is hooked. It will bestrange if I do not land him before the year is out. But the bribe tohis physician--it was a happy thought: a happy thought of this brain ofCaesar Basterga, graduate of Padua, _viri valde periti, doctissimique_!"
The Long Night Page 5
