The Cabinet of Curiosities

by Paul Dowswell

  The next time they were all in the Three Violins he gathered his courage. ‘I’ve heard people from the Castle are coming. I can’t do it – they’ll know me.’ There were angry noises around the table. Karel took out his knife and began to clean his nails.

  ‘I’ll tell you how to make an easy penny,’ said Oldrich abruptly.

  Lukas breathed out again, relieved that they were talking about something else.

  ‘The University, the school of anatomy, pays twenty crowns a corpse. If you poke around the South Gate first thing on a cold morning, there’s usually an old beggar died in the night. But you can’t just march in with the stiff and plonk him down on the counter. You have to know the right people.’

  Karel spoke up. ‘They don’t pay twenty for an old beggar. You get ten if you’re lucky.’ Then he looked straight at Lukas. ‘To get twenty you have to bring them something fresh. Something . . . young.’

  Lukas didn’t know whether they were being serious, but a sliver of fear ran through his guts. He wanted to leave that instant and never come back. He looked at his glass of beer. It was almost full. Intuition told him not to rush out. Besides, at that moment he felt too frightened to move, let alone swallow anything.

  Hlava put a friendly hand on his shoulder and dismissed his concerns with a reassuring smile. ‘You have ideas above your station, young Lukas. No one takes any notice of a humble stable boy. Besides, in the demonstration you will be invisible to all,’ he said. ‘There will be no problems.’

  It was too late to stop now. They were determined to carry it through and Lukas was a crucial part of it. There was a lot of money to be made, Hlava had promised them. Lukas had to play his role to perfection. If he let them down, he didn’t like to think about what would happen to him.

  .

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘She’s been babbling again,’ said Anselmus the following evening. ‘Babbling about the neighbours stealing things from her house. She’s convinced someone has broken in and been moving her possessions about. I knew I should have insisted she come to live with me. She’s not safe on her own, especially with her bad eyes. And that place she lives in is such a hovel.’

  ‘At least it’s warm,’ said Lukas, who was finding it hard to keep his thoughts away from Hlava’s forthcoming demonstration, which was now only three days away. His Auntie Elfriede was the least of his worries.

  During breakfast the next day a note arrived from Dorantes, asking Anselmus if he could spare Lukas that morning to show Celestina and Perpetua around the city. ‘You may go, of course,’ said Anselmus, ‘but I would like you to visit your aunt on the way, to take her some bread and see if she is well.’

  Lukas couldn’t believe his bad luck.

  ‘Tidy yourself up a little too,’ said Anselmus.

  Lukas asked his uncle if he could have a bath and Otka boiled up some water. But when he came to dress, Lukas was perturbed to discover that none of his clothes were clean. They were all ingrained with dirt and sweat. Just recently he had neglected his laundry. He had so few clothes he grew tired of constantly washing them. When he asked if Otka could clean them, Anselmus told him frostily that she had quite enough to do already.

  ‘I need some more clothes, Uncle,’ he said truculently.

  ‘Then you shall have to buy some,’ said Anselmus tartly.

  There was one tunic in his clothes chest which was just about presentable. It was a little threadbare, and had a hole in the elbow, but it would have to do.

  Lukas arrived at the Doranteses’ quarters clutching a loaf of bread. Celestina said she did not mind making a diversion into Prague by way of his aunt, but she did refer to him teasingly as ‘the delivery boy’.

  She also noticed the hole in his tunic. At first she hinted that Perpetua might like to mend it, but her maid gave her such a poisonous look she dropped the idea at once.

  ‘Perhaps we will find a tunic for you in the city,’ she suggested.

  Lukas felt mortified. He had no money. ‘My uncle disapproves of me spending money on clothes,’ he lied.

  Perpetua and Celestina exchanged surprised glances.

  ‘Then I shall treat you,’ she said. ‘To thank you for showing us the city.’

  When they reached Elfriede’s house she peered from the door with her usual sour suspicion. Marushka emerged between her black skirts and mewled pitifully. The girls both stood back and crossed themselves.

  Lukas handed over the loaf and enquired whether Elfriede was well. She looked towards Celestina and Perpetua and asked him if he was courting. Lukas squirmed with embarrassment, but neither of them was listening. They were talking rapidly to each other in Spanish. He said a hasty goodbye.

  As they walked towards the Stone Bridge the girls started sniggering. Lukas felt excluded from their joke and asked Celestina what was so funny. She looked bashful. ‘Perpetua –’ she raised her eyebrows and tried to sound affronted – ‘thinks your auntie looks like a witch! I’ve told her not to be so disrespectful!’

  Lukas grew more despondent when they crossed the Vltava and into the Old Town, where the stench and filth of the narrow streets caused the girls to wrinkle their noses in distaste. Celestina said she was glad she had not brought her dog.

  Lukas sulked and wondered what she had expected to encounter outside the Castle walls. When they arrived at the magnificent church of Our Lady before Tyn, the twin towers failed to elicit more than polite appreciation. ‘We have much better churches in Madrid,’ said Celestina. But they were both fascinated by the Town Hall’s Astronomical Clock.

  ‘Now, this we have nothing like,’ said Celestina. Lukas took this as an opportunity to impress her with his knowledge and explained how the great golden dials and numerals showed the orbits of the Sun and Moon around the Earth and the signs of the Zodiac, and the varying lengths of night and day as the seasons changed. He was starting to explain that the numerals around the rim of the clock represented Old Bohemian, Present Day and Babylonian Time, when she began to talk to Perpetua in rapid Spanish and they both pointed and giggled at a tiny dog being carried by an elderly lady. She stopped to let them pet it, and Lukas realised they were no longer listening to him.

  Celestina hadn’t entirely lost interest. ‘It is pleasing to know the clock shows the natural order of the heavens,’ she said to Lukas, who was eager to be included in the conversation again.

  ‘There are many learned men at the palace, such as my uncle and Doktor Grunewald, who believe the sun is in fact at the centre of the heavens, and not the Earth,’ he said.

  Celestina shook her head sadly. ‘It distresses me that such learned men can hold views contrary to the Holy Scriptures.’

  Lukas didn’t have a strong opinion either way so he let the matter drop.

  They seemed to be enjoying themselves a little more now and watched in queasy fascination as a young man had a tooth drawn by a street surgeon. Then they were entertained by a hurdy-gurdy player, accompanied by a small monkey who went among the crowd collecting coins.

  What they enjoyed most were the market stalls in the square. Perpetua bought some cheese and fruit, and both of them admired a selection of velvet and lace fabrics. ‘I will make you a tunic,’ said Celestina, and asked Lucas to choose a colour. He was embarrassed, but felt it would be rude to refuse and picked a dark blue velvet. They both approved of his good taste.

  Loaded down with their purchases they returned to the Castle. The girls were in a buoyant mood and both of them curtsied as they thanked Lukas for a most enjoyable excursion. While Perpetua hurried up the stairs with their provisions, Celestina turned to look him straight in the eye and said, ‘I shall send your tunic round as soon as I have finished it.’

  Lukas felt pleased with himself. He wondered what he might be able to give Celestina in return.

  .

  Later that afternoon Anselmus announced he was to pay another visit to the Cabinet and asked Lukas if he would like to come. Lukas leaped at the chance. Back in the great chamb
er he let his eyes wander around the tables while Anselmus left him to search for a particular set of Chinese porcelain in the room next door. Just the day before, a trader had arrived with a beautiful luminous white vase, a dragon painted exquisitely on the side. What had fascinated Anselmus was that the dragon was depicted with fur and spots – like a leopard but with a lion-like mane.

  ‘Dragons are a great fascination for the Emperor,’ he said, raising his voice so Lukas could still hear him from the next room, ‘and for myself too. They are reported in many civilisations other than our own – from Asia Minor, and even as far as the islands of Japan. Agamemnon knew of them. They occur in the Bible from Job to Revelation. Yet they do not seem to live now. This depiction is particularly interesting, for most dragons are shown as scaly, lizard-like creatures. I think the Emperor will be keen to acquire the vase. It will be something to show him when he returns from his country estate.’

  Lukas smiled. He suspected that Anselmus wanted the vase too – and why not? Why should his uncle not also gain pleasure from collecting what he desired? As he thought this his eye alighted on a small silver pomander – made to be worn on a ribbon around the neck. It was shaped like an orange, and when Lukas picked it up he discovered it opened into hinged segments filled with sweet-smelling lavender. Some of the lavender fell on to the table and he hastily closed it again. In an instant he realised it would make a beautiful gift to win the favour of Celestina, or it might be something that he and Etienne could sell for a hefty fee. How wonderful it would be to have a little spare money to buy some fine breeches to go with the new tunic Celestina was making him.

  He slipped it into his pocket and wandered off to look at a bizarre painting propped against the wall, showing sinister figures with human bodies and frog faces emerging from a river to seize a young woman sheltering under the shade of a tree.

  Guiltily looking back at where the pomander had been, he noticed again the grains of lavender on the table. He began to tremble a little and knew at once he had to put the item back exactly where he’d found it.

  Just as he slipped it back into place his uncle returned. ‘Come now, Lukas, we must away. There are herbal remedies to prepare, and Doktor Grunewald and his assistants are coming to dine with us.’

  As they passed one of the tables, Anselmus pointed to a beautiful polished agate bowl and said, ‘Look, there’s the Holy Grail! Well, that’s what some say it is.’ He clearly didn’t think so. Lukas looked at it and saw it had a distinctive pattern in the stone that could be taken for writing, but he was not paying attention any more.

  They walked out of the rooms and Anselmus locked the door behind him. ‘You look troubled, my lad,’ he said.

  Lukas was flustered and began to blush. He was covered in a thin film of sweat. ‘It is a picture I saw in the Cabinet, Uncle,’ he lied. ‘A painting showing the tortures of the damned. It is most distressing.’

  Anselmus ruffled his hair. ‘But you’re a good boy, so I’ll not have you worrying about eternal damnation. You are a good boy, aren’t you?’ he teased.

  ‘Yes, Uncle,’ said Lukas, trying his best to feel convinced.

  .

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anselmus Declercq sat at the back of an upstairs room in a respectable tavern in the centre of the city. It was a warm afternoon and the room was already uncomfortably full. Anselmus recognised one or two faces from the Castle, but most of the audience were wealthy merchants from the Old Town. Ruzicka had not appeared, nor any of the other eminent natural philosophers or physicians of the court. Anselmus felt a little foolish to have come but told himself he was doing his duty.

  At the front of the room a space had been cleared. Behind it was a door to the landing beyond, where Lukas crouched to peer in through a crack in the frame. He spotted his uncle and was relieved to see he was not sitting near the front. That was good, at least.

  Neither Strom nor Etienne had turned up. Hlava just shrugged. ‘More spoils for the rest of us,’ he said. Lukas wished he’d had the courage to stick with his instincts and turn this venture down, but now it was too late.

  The others stood around the landing, biding their time. Hlava was delighted that he had managed to attract such a large crowd. He was wearing a magnificent purple robe with gold and silver stitching. A large white turban hid his missing ear, a thick black beard covered his face. They had all looked astonished when they saw the costume earlier in the day. ‘Lesson one, my friends,’ said Hlava. ‘If you want people to think you have the means to create great wealth, you have to look the part.’

  He stood between Radek and Dusan and slapped their broad backs. ‘Wait behind the door. Stay hidden. I will call if I need to frighten anybody.’ He chuckled. ‘Now let us proceed!’ He opened the door and the crowd immediately fell silent.

  Peering over the heads of the audience Anselmus thought there was something familiar about the man. But when, speaking in a barely decipherable Russian accent, he introduced himself as Doktor Novakovich, he decided he did not.

  ‘I have demonstration for you. I learn from the ancients to turn your lead, your tin, your zinc . . . to gold.’

  He clapped his hands and Oldrich and Karel staggered into the room via a door at the back with a heavy, iron-bound chest laden with crucibles, tongs, bellows and other laboratory equipment. Built into it was a brick-lined charcoal brazier. Hlava’s assistants were also dressed as visitors from the far reaches of the Muscovite dominions, and they too sported sumptuous beards.

  ‘My gift is one that is much abused,’ said Hlava. ‘There are many trickeries, many . . .’ he paused, as if grasping for a difficult word, ‘charl . . . atans. So I ask for one of you –’ he smiled broadly at the audience – ‘to do my experiment.’

  Anselmus saw one of the alchemists step forward. Hlava recognised his type at once. ‘You, sir, are learned man. But I want man who know nothing of our calling. A man who has no knowledge of natural world.’

  A suspicious murmur rumbled around the room as the alchemist started to return to his chair. But Hlava surprised them all by asking him to stay.

  ‘You, sir – you watch. You watch careful, for tricks.’

  This seemed to please his audience. Then he picked a finely dressed fellow sitting in the front row of the audience. ‘And what is your profession, sir?’

  The man declared himself to be an importer of wines.

  ‘And will you help?’

  He stood up to an appreciative murmur. The audience was getting excited.

  Hlava settled them down with an upheld hand.

  ‘Now, I tell you what I do. We mix litharge –’ he held up a small glass jar of powdered dark ore – ‘and orpiment.’ A jar of glittering crystals. Then he gestured to two other containers: ‘Then borax, and salt.’ All were handed to the alchemist to examine. He sniffed, tasted or shook each jar and nodded his approval.

  Hlava turned to the merchant and handed him a small measuring vessel.

  ‘You must mix one-third each for borax and salt, then half each for litharge and orpiment. Place here,’ he said, pointing to the stout iron crucible atop his apparatus.

  As he spoke, Oldrich and Karel began to light the small charcoal brazier built into the chest. Hlava announced he had other assistants too. ‘I have a gift,’ he said solemnly, ‘for I can speak with angels.’

  The atmosphere in the room changed at once. The alchemists began to scoff and the merchants laughed.

  ‘I understand your disbelief,’ said Hlava, who was completely unruffled by their contempt. ‘All I ask is that you continue to watch my demonstration.’

  The audience settled again. Hlava raised his hands and eyes to the ceiling and began to speak in an unknown tongue. Some wondered if this might be Enochian, the language of angels.

  When he had finished his angelic discourse, Hlava turned his gaze to his audience.

  ‘Now we must leave the room so our heavenly accomplices can do their work undisturbed.’

  There was an outcry
. Angry voices shouted, ‘Impostor!’, ‘Fraud!’ Hlava settled them again. ‘We will all leave. And I will seal the room.’ This seemed to reassure the crowd.

  As he spoke, Oldrich and Karel set about marking the door behind them with wax seals. Then they proceeded to the two window handles. Hlava gestured to his audience, inviting them all to leave by the other door. He asked the merchant and alchemist to be the last to go and ensure no one was in the room. Out in the corridor Oldrich and Karel sealed that door too. ‘Who will watch the windows?’ asked Hlava. Two men volunteered.

  ‘How long will it take?’ said one of the audience.

  ‘Ten minute,’ Hlava assured them. ‘Is very delicate procedure,’ he explained. ‘Vibration in the air, or noise . . . anything at all disturb the peace of room, and process not work.’

  It seemed a reasonable enough explanation and the audience were happy to wait outside the tavern.

  .

  Inside the chest, Lukas was drenched in sweat from the heat of the fire. He could feel it burning his back and was desperate to emerge from his hiding place. He tried to stifle the cough that rose in his throat and cursed himself for being stupid enough to agree to this stunt. If anything went wrong, Anselmus would be there to witness his humiliation and collusion. At best, Lukas would be sent back to Ghent. But Hlava had managed to convince him that he was the only choice for the job. ‘Karel is not heavy,’ he had confided, ‘but he is stupid. You will not let me down.’

  He listened for the shuffle of feet as the crowd left the room, and counted, as he had been instructed, to one hundred. Then, once he was sure he was alone, he slipped the catch in the back of the chest and tumbled out. When he tried to stand up a terrible pain shot up his back. His legs, which had gone completely numb, collapsed beneath him. He lay on the floor praying for the strength to stand, although he realised how absurd it was to ask God to help him in his mischief.

  After a short while, sensation returned to his legs and he carefully stood upright. In his pocket was a small leather bag containing gold filings, and he scattered the flakes in among the smouldering chemicals in the crucible. That was all he needed to do. He took a deep breath and folded his body back inside the chest. His shoulder, which had been pressed against the burning brazier, began to hurt terribly. He realised he had to change his position and shuffled out again. There was a commotion at the door. Hlava was announcing in a loud voice, ‘I shall now break the seals and we may all re-enter the room.’