Historical Miniatures Part 41

In the year 1483, the same year in which Luther was born, Docter Coctier sat in his laboratory at Paris, and carried on a philosophical discussion with a chemical expert who was pa.s.sing through the city.

The laboratory was in the same building as his observatory, in the Marais quarter of the town, a site occupied to-day by the Place des Vosges. Not far away is the Bastille, the magnificent Hotel de Saint-Pol, and the brilliant Des Tournelles, the residence of the Kings before the Louvre was built. Here Louis XI had given his private physician, chancellor, and doctor of all the sciences, Coctier, a house which lay in a labyrinth-like park called the Garden of Daedalus.

The doctor was speaking, and the expert listened: "Yes, Plato in his _Timaeus_ calls gold one of the densest and finest substances which filters through stone. There is a metal derived from gold which is black, and that is iron. But a substance more akin to gold is copper, which is composed of shining congealed fluids, and one of whose minor const.i.tuents is green earth. Now I ask, 'Why cannot copper be freed from this last, and refined to gold?'"

"Yes," answered the expert, "it can, if one uses atramentum or the philosopher's stone."

"What is that?"

"Atramentum is copperas."

"Ventre-saint-gris! that is Plato's iron! Now I see! Who taught you that?"

"I learnt it from the greatest living magician in Wittenberg. His name is Dr. Faustus, and he has studied magic in Krakau."

"He is alive, then! Tell me! Tell me!"

"This man, according to many witnesses, has done miracles like Christ; he has undertaken to restore the lost comedies of Plautus and Terence; his mind can soar on eagle's wings and discover secrets of the heights and depths."

"Has he also found the elixir of life?"

"Yes, since gold can be resolved into its elements."

"If gold can be resolved, then it has const.i.tuents. What are they?"

"Gold can be easily dissolved in oil of vitriol, salts of ammonia, and saltpetre."

"What do you say?"

The Doctor jumped up; the stove had heated the room and made him uncomfortable.

"Let us go for a little walk," he said; "but I must first make a note of what you say, for, when I wish to remember something important, the devil makes confusion in my head. These, then, are means of dissolving gold--oil of vitriol, salts of ammonia, and saltpetre!"

The expert, whose name was Balthasar, now first noticed that he had given his information without obtaining a receipt or any equivalent for it, and, since he was not one of the unselfish kind, he threw out a feeler.

"How is our gracious King?"

The question revealed his secret and his wish, and put Doctor Coctier on his guard. "Ah," he said to himself, "you have your eye on the King with your elixir of life." And then he added aloud, "He is quite well."

"Oh! I had heard the opposite!"

"Then they have lied."

Then there was silence in the room, and the two men tried to read each other's thoughts. It was so terribly still that they felt their hatred germinate, and had already begun a fight to the death. Doctor Coctier's thoughts ran as follows: "You come with an elixir to lengthen the life of the monster who is our King; you wish thereby to make your own fortune and to bring trouble on me; and you know that he who has the King's life in his hands, has the power."

Quick as lightning he had taken his resolve, coolly and cruelly, as the custom of the time was. He resumed the conversation, and said, "Now you must see my 'Daedalus' or labyrinth. Since the time of the Minotaur, there has been none like it."

The labyrinth was a thicket threaded by secret pa.s.sages, bordered by hornbeam-hedges, four ells high, and so dense that one did not notice the thin iron bal.u.s.trade which ran along them. Artistically contrived and impenetrable, the labyrinth meandered in every direction. It seemed to be endlessly long, and was so arranged that its perspectives deceived the eye. It also contained secret doors and underground pa.s.sages, and a visitor soon grew aware that it had not been constructed as a joke, but in deadly earnest. Only the King and Doctor Coctier possessed the key to this puzzle.

When the two men had walked for a good time, admired statues and watched fountains play, Balthasar wished to sit upon a bench, whether it was that he was tired or suspected some mischief.

But the Doctor prevented him: "No, not on _that_ seat," he said. They continued their walk. But now the Doctor quickened his steps, and, after a while, his guest felt again weary and confused in his head from the perpetual turning round. Therefore he threw himself on the first seat which he saw, and drew a deep breath.

"You run the life out of me, Doctor," he said.

"No, you are not so short-lived," answered the Doctor; "I see a long line of life on your forehead, and the bar between your eyes shows that you were born under the planet Jupiter. Besides, you possess the elixir of life, and can prolong your existence as much as you like, can't you?"

The expert noticed a cruel smile on the Doctor's face, and, feeling himself in danger, tried to spring up, but the arms of the chair had closed around him, and he was held fast. The next moment Doctor Coctier seemed to be seeking for something in the sand with his left foot, and, when he had found it, he pressed with all his weight on the invisible object.

"Farewell, young man," he said; "loquacious, conceited young man, who wanted to lord it over Doctor Coctier. Now I will settle the King for you."

The seat disappeared in the earth with the expert. It was an oubliette--a pit with a trap-door, which drew the veil of oblivion over the man who had vanished.

When he had finished the affair, the Doctor sought to leave the labyrinth, but could not find the way at once, for he was deep in thought, and kept on repeating the formula for the elixir which he had just learnt, to impress it on his mind, in case the recipe should be lost--"oil of vitriol, salts of ammonia, saltpetre." Suddenly he found himself in a round s.p.a.ce where many paths converged, and to his great astonishment saw a body lying on the ground. It looked like that of a large brown watchdog, but limp and lifeless.

"It is not the first who has been caught in this crab-pot," he thought, and came nearer. But as the brown ma.s.s moved, he saw that it was a man with torn clothes and a shabby fur cap.

It was the King--Louis XI in the last year of his life.

"Sire, in the name of all the saints, what is the matter with you?"

exclaimed the Doctor.

"Wretch!" answered the King, "why do you construct such traps that one cannot find the way out of them?"

Now it was Louis himself who, in his youth, had constructed the maze, but the Doctor could not venture to tell him so. Therefore he spoke soothingly.

"Sire, you are ill. Why do you not remain in Tours? How have you come here?"

"I cannot sleep, and I cannot eat. The last few days I have pa.s.sed in Vincennes, in Saint-Pol, in the Louvre, but I find peace nowhere. At last I came here, in order to be safe in the place which only you and I know; I came yesterday morning, and would have stayed longer, but I was hungry, and when I wanted to get out, I could not find the way. I have been here, freezing, last night. Take me away; I am ill; feel my pulse, and see whether it is not the quartan ague." The Doctor tried to feel his pulse, but did so with difficulty for it was hardly beating at all; but he dared not tell the King so.

"Your pulse is regular and strong, sire; let us get home!"

"I will eat at your house; you only can prepare food properly; all the rest spoil it with their everlasting condiments; they spice all my dishes, and the spices are bad. Jacob, help me to get away from here--help me. Did you see the star last night? Is there anything new in the sky? There is certain a comet approaching. I feel it before it comes."

"No, sire; no comet is approaching...."

"Do you answer impertinently? Then you believe I am sick--perhaps incurably."

"No, sire, you are healthier than ever; but follow me--I will make you a bed, and prepare you a meal."

The King rose and followed the Doctor. The latter, however, wished the monarch to go before him but the King mistrusted his only last friend, who certainly did not love him, and would have gladly seen him dead.

"Beware of the seats, sire," he cried. "Do not go too near to the hedge; keep in the middle of the path."

"Your seats themselves should.... Forgive me my sins." He crossed himself.

When they came out of the labyrinth, the King fell in a rage at the recollection of what he had suffered, and, instead of being grateful towards his rescuer, he burst into abuse: "How could you let me go astray in your garden, and let me sleep on the bare ground in the open air? You are an a.s.s." They entered the laboratory, where it was warm, and the King, who was observant, noticed at once the recipe which the Doctor had left there.

"What are you doing behind my back? What recipe have you been writing?