August 29th. – As soon as I could get away from my duties, I hurried home, eager to discover the meaning of the mysterious words on the parchment. I washed it gently in warm water in order to remove the dirt, and then, with the aid of a strong magnifying glass, I made out the words. They were in black-letter type, and I translate them word for word into modern writing. The following is a copy of the writing translated from the blackletter type:
IV. X. II. seremun sudlariG, V silev erics arutuf is … amenev saecsim euqsatib alli taedua atiretearp erecipsa? … is sumina mutnat utitser alos etsev simina ni te silev ereuxe ilos metsev VVRLXXLR.
It was evidently a cryptogram – that is, the words had been purposely thrown into confusion to conceal some secret. I was determined to find it out. Giraldus von Breen, although an obscure chemist, might by some strange chance have discovered a great secret of nature which had escaped his more famed contemporaries. The task which I now set myself to do was to unravel the cryptogram and find out the secret it contained. The question which immediately presented itself was how to begin. There did not seem to be any starting-point, so I laid down the parchment in order to consider some method. By a singular coincidence I had a few months before been reading Jules Verne’s scientific romance, ‘A Journey to the Centre of the Earth,’ and I remembered the clever elucidation of the cryptogram therein. I went to my bookcase, and took down the romance of Monsieur Verne in order to read the part I refer to. Having done so, I again took up my own puzzle, and endeavoured to find out its meaning.
In the first place the figures VVRLXXLR at the end were underlined, which evidently showed that they were of great importance. They were rather disconnected from the rest of the writing. I noticed there were two figures of each kind, two fives and two tens. The thought then came into my head to add them up. The total was thirty. I then counted the words of the cryptogram (including also the Roman numerals), and I found they also came to the number of thirty. I was certain now that the figures were a key to the writing, and puzzled over it for four or five hours in order to find out the meaning. At last I gave it up in despair, and went to bed, where I had a nightmare, and thought that I was a cryptogram somebody was trying to elucidate.
August 30th. – All day long I have puzzled over that cryptogram, trying to find out the connection between the figures and the writing. When I went home I shut myself up in my study, and proceeded to steadily work out the mystery. Again the figures VVRLXXLR met my eyes; and this time I noticed the letters. What might RL and LR mean? One was the reverse of the other. In puzzling over this, I noticed a Hebrew Talmud lying on my desk, which I had borrowed in order to verify a quotation. While looking at it, the thought came into my head of the strange peculiarity of the Hebrew language, being read backwards, and from right to left. As this struck me, I looked at the figures, and immediately thought of applying it.
VVRL evidently meant, read V and V from right to left; XXLR read X and X from left to right. The number of words was thirty; and the total of the underlined figures the same. The cryptogram was, without doubt, divided into two sections of five words each, and two sections of ten words each, which made a total of thirty. If I counted five words from the first, and read from right to left, I would get at the meaning. Then the question came, should I count two fives in sequence, and then two tens? I thought not. If there were two fives and two tens, it would be more likely that the maker of the cryptogram only put them thus: VV, RL, XX, LR, to mislead, and that the proper way to arrange the words would be to divide them into sections of five, ten, five, ten, and read them as instructed.
Pursuing this method, I read the first five letters from right to left, the next ten from left to right, and did the same with the other two sections. This was the result:—
sudlariG seremun II. X. IV.
V silev erics arutuf is . . . . . euqsatib saecsim amenev alli taedua
mutnat sumina is . . . . . erecipsa atiretearp
utitsev alos etsev simina ni te silev ereuxe ilos metsev.
Arranging this in its order it came out:—
sudlariG seremun II. X. IV. V. silev erics arutuf is
. . . . euqsatib saecsim amenev alli taedua mutnat sumina is . . . . .? erecipsa atiretearp utitsev alos etsev simina ni te silev ereuxe ilos metsev.
Thus far the document had assumed a more feasible aspect, and I had great hopes of unravelling it. On looking at my last effort, however, I found myself as far back as ever, for the words made no sense. In fact, they were not words at all, but a mere jumble of letters. I laid it down at last, and betook myself to my pipe in order to ponder over some method for the solution of the problem. I caught up the romance of Jules Verne, and it opened at the twenty-eighth page. I read carelessly until I came to the last sentence of the page: ‘Aha! clever Satenussenum,’ he cried, ‘you had first written out your sentence the wrong way.’
I immediately dashed down both book and pipe, and with a shout proceeded to apply the idea to my cryptogram with this result:-
Vestum soli exuere velis et in animis veste sola vestitu prae-terita aspicere? Si animus tantum audeat illa venema misceas bitasque. Si futura scire velis V. IV. X. II. numeres Giraldus.
At last I had solved the problem. It was written in Latin, and oh, what vile Latin; but still I easily made it out, and write it down here in good German.
Wouldst thou cast thy vestments of clay, walking unclad, save in thy soul garment, and view past ages? If thy spirit dareth as much, mingle then these drugs, and drink. If thou wouldst know the future add V. IV. X. II., Giraldus.
When I read these marvellous words my brain reeled and, staggering to the table, I filled up a glass with brandy, and drank it off. To think that I had rediscovered this wonderful secret and by the merest chance. What infinite power it would give me: by mingling these drugs. But what drugs? The cryptogram did not mention any. I got out my magnifying glass, and examined the paper carefully. At last I succeeded in making out a number of small red letters, which looked like Greek. My own magnifying glass was not powerful enough; so I sent to my brother-professor, Herr Palamam, to borrow his. When it came, I again applied myself to the red letters, and at last succeeded in making out the names. They are rare and valuable drugs, but I shall not inscribe them even in thee, my diary, for fear they should meet any prying eye. I shall share my mighty power with no one; I shall walk through the realms of the past alone.
II
Extracts From the Diary of Professor Brankel (Continued).
‘If it is
Within the circle of this orbëd universe,
I’ll have this secret out before the sun.’
OCTOBER 16th. – After great trouble I have at last succeeded in obtaining the rare and costly drugs mentioned; I have mingled them in their due proportions as required, and the result is a colourless liquid like water, which has no taste and a faint perfume as of Eastern spices. Tonight I shall try the strength of this drink for the first time, and, if it fulfils its mission, then who so powerful as I! Oh, what glories I anticipate! My soul will leave this heavy clinging garb of clay; it will shake off ‘this mortal coil,’ as the English Shakespeare says, and roam light as air through the infinite splendour of the past. The centuries themselves will roll back before me like the flood of Jordan before the redeemed Israelites. At my bidding will Time, the insatiable, withdraw the many-tinted curtains of the past, and usher me into the presence of bygone days. I shall sweep on wings of light through the countless aeons of the past – yea, even unto the portals of creation.
October 17th. – I have passed the night under the influence of the elixir, and the result has more than surpassed my thoughts and desires. Oh, how can I paint the sublime majesty of the scenes through which I have passed? Tongue of man cannot describe them, nor pen portray them. They, like the seven thunders in the Apocalypse, have uttered their voices, and must now be sealed up – only the spiritual eye of man can behold them, and it would be vain to give even a faint reflection of their splendours. Weary does t
he day seem to me, and eagerly do I wait for the cool, calm night, in which I can again throw off this cumbersome dress of flesh and assume my spiritual robes. What monarch is so powerful as I? To the world I am the professor of chemistry at Heidelberg – to myself I am a demigod, for to me alone are shown the visions of the past, and to me alone it is permitted to commune with the mighty dead.
October 18th. – Once more have I walked through dead ages. My feet have pressed the dusty and silent floors of the palace of Time, and I have wandered spirit-clad through the deserted splendours of his mansion. But yet there remains the future. How can I lift the immutable veil which hangs before the altar of Time, and enter the holy of holies? How can I see with clear eyes the splendid goal reserved for humanity, the triumphant consummation of the design of the world? What mean those last mysterious words of the cryptogram? If thou wouldst know the future, add V IV X II, Giraldus? I have searched through the book in vain, and I can find nothing to give me the slightest clue to their solution. What is the drug which will admit me behind the veil of Time, and compel him to reveal his deepest secrets? The secret is evidently contained in the numerals; but how to discover the meaning? I have puzzled over this problem for hours, but as yet I am no nearer the end than before.
October 19th. – Eureka: I have found it. At last I see the meaning of the mysterious sentence. After a sleepless night I have at last hit on what appears to be the solution of the enigma. After lengthy scrutiny I have come to the conclusion that it means the fifth word of the fourth line of the tenth page of the second volume of Giraldus. But how to get that second volume? I went to the lodgings lately occupied by the young Englishman, and turned over all his books, but was unable to find any trace of the missing volume. I questioned Herr Buechler, and he informed me that the young Englishman had been a student at the University for about two years. (I remembered him, when this was told me, as a thin, cadaverous youth, who attended my chemistry class.) He had left Heidelberg on suddenly being summoned, as he said, to the deathbed of his father. He might have taken the second volume of Giraldus with him, for he was always reading it. I asked Herr Buechler the reason. He replied that Herr Black was trying to find out about the philosopher’s stone, and that Giraldus gave an account of it in his second volume. I remembered then that in the first volume Giraldus says he will touch on that branch of chemistry in the second. After this I had not the least doubt in my mind as to the fate of the second volume of the Giraldus. Only one thing remained to me – to leave for England at once, in order to get it. For such a trivial cause as the loss of a book, was I to rest contented, and not avail myself of the splendid promise held out to me? A thousand times no; I shall start as soon as possible for England … .
October 29th. – I have gathered all the information concerning the young Englishman procurable, and that is very little. The information was furnished me by Herr Buechler, who told me that about two months after the departure of Herr Black from Heidelberg, he had received a letter from him, written from the Anchor Hotel, London. This is all the basis I have to go upon; I have to find out the Anchor Hotel, and depend upon the result of my visit there for my next step. It is understood among my friends that I am going for a little trip to England – I have a letter of introduction to Professor Home, of Oxford, and one to Sir Gilbert Harkness, of Ashton Hall, Hampshire. The latter has an immense library, and a passion for collecting rare and curious books. I look to him to assist me in discovering the ‘Giraldus.’ But he shall never know what I want with it – no man shall possess my secret; I shall reign alone over the realms of the past.
November 10th. – I write this portion of my diary in the Anchor Hotel, London; and I have found out some more particulars concerning the young Englishman. The Anchor Hotel is an obscure inn in a little dark street, and is only frequented by the poorer class. I asked the landlord if he remembered a person named Black staying at his hotel six months ago, and described his personal appearance. The landlord is a big, fat, stupid Saxon, and does not remember, but his wife, a sharp and active woman, does. She said that such a person did reside there for a month. He had paid in advance, but seemed very poor. He was always reading and muttering to himself. He left the hotel one day with his luggage, saying he was going to Black’s bookstall, and since then nothing had been heard of him. Thanking the landlord’s wife, I set off in search of Black’s bookstall. Perhaps Black is his father; he is evidently some relation, or perhaps the bookstall is his own.
November 11th. – I have hunted all day without success. Black’s bookstall is not very well known, but towards the end of the day I met a policeman who told me that he thought there was a bookstall of that name, in Van Street. I am going tomorrow to see.
November 12th. – I have found Black’s bookstall, but not the ‘Giraldus.’ I went to Van Street, and found it there as described by the policeman. It was wedged up between two tall houses, and had a crushed appearance. I entered, and asked to see some book which I named. The owner of the bookstall was a little old man with white hair, dressed in a rusty black suit, who took snuff. I led the conversation up to a certain point, and then asked him if he had a son. He said yes, but that his son was dead. He said that he had sent him to Germany to study about three years ago, but that he had returned to die only three months back. I told him who I was, and the old man seemed pleased. He had been very proud of his son. I asked him if his son had brought home with him from Germany the second volume of the works of Giraldus von Breen. The old man thought for a long time, and replied that he had done so. I asked him where the book now was. He said he had sold it to a literary gentleman about a month ago. I requested the name of the purchaser. The bookstall keeper could not tell me, but he said the gentleman had the largest library of old books in England, and had said he was writing a history of chemistry. It must be Sir Gilbert Harkness. He has a very large library, and I know that he is writing a history of chemistry, for I was told so in Germany. He must have required the ‘Giraldus’ for reference. I thanked the old man, and left the bookstall. There is no doubt in my mind now but that the book I seek is in the library of Sir Gilbert Harkness. I start for his place tomorrow.
III
In the Library.
‘Behold this pair, and note their divers looks,
A man of letters and a man of books;
With various knowledge each is stuffed and crammed. Oh!
Yes, they are indeed arcades ambo.’
SIR Gilbert Harkness was a bookworm.
All his life he had fed and fattened on books, until they had become part of himself. When they (the books) found themselves in the citadel of his heart, they turned and devoured all the other passions until the heart of their victim was emptied of all save themselves. Sir Gilbert found himself at the age of fifty with a brain weary of its cumbersome load of knowledge, and eyes dim with long study to acquire that same load. Left an orphan at the age of twenty, master of his own actions and a magnificent fortune, he had spent all his time and much of his money in filling the shelves of his library. He spared no cost in procuring any rare and valuable book, and on his frequent visits to London he would be found turning over the dusty treasures of the old bookstalls with eager hands. The nature of the man could be seen at once by the way in which he smoothed and caressed his treasures. How tenderly did he brush the dust off the back of some antique volume; how gloatingly did his eyes dwell on its yellow pages, as they displayed their store of blackletter type. He honoured Fust and Caxton above all men, and looked up to them with as much reverence as the world does to its great heroes. He would descant for hours on the extraordinary excellence of the printing of John de Spira, and would show with pride a quaint old folio of Caxton which he had picked up in some dingy bookstall. But his bookish propensities had devoured dragon-like the rest of his passions, and beyond his library he was a childish and simple man. He never went out save on some bookish expedition, but passed his days in his great library, cataloguing his treasures and writing his history of chemistr
y. To give an exhaustive and critical work on this subject, he had collected at enormous expense a great number of famous books by German chemists. He was a tall, thin man, with a stoop, doubtless caused by his sedentary habits; and clad in his long velvet dressing gown, with his thin white hair scattered from under a velvet skull cap, he looked like a magician of medievalism. He was standing by the quaint diamond-paned window of his library, examining a book which he had just received from London, and his eyes, dim and blear with work, were bent on the yellow page in a severe scrutiny of the text. All around him were books from floor to ceiling, in all kinds of binding, of shapes and sizes. They had overflowed the shelves, and were piled in little heaps here and there upon the floor. They were scattered on all the chairs, they were heaped upon his writing-table, they were lying on the ledge of the window, they peered out of all the pockets of his dressing-gown – wherever the eye turned it saw nothing but books, books, books.
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