The Long Night Read online

  CHAPTER IV.

  CAESAR BASTERGA.

  Had it been Mercier's eye in place of his ear which attended the two mento the upper room, he would have remarked--perhaps with surprise, sincehe had gained some knowledge of Grio's temper--that in proportion asthey mounted the staircase, the toper's crest drooped, and his arroganceebbed away; until at the door of Basterga's chamber, it was but asneaking and awkward man who crossed the threshold.

  Nor was the reason far to seek. Whatever the standpoint of the two menin public, their relations to one another in private were delivered up,stamped and sealed in that moment of entrance. While Basterga, leavingthe other to close the door, strode across the room to the window andstood gazing out, his very back stern and contemptuous, Grio fidgetedand frowned, waiting with ill-concealed penitence, until the other choseto address him. At length Basterga turned, and his gleaming eyes, hismoon-face pale with anger, withered his companion.

  "Again! Again!" he growled--it seemed he dare not lift his voice. "Willyou never be satisfied until we are broken on the wheel? You dog, you!The sooner you are broken the better, were that all! Ay, and were thatall, I could watch the bar fall with pleasure! But do you think I willsee the fruit of years of planning, do you think that I will see thereward of this brain--this! this, you brainless idiot, who know notwhat a brain is"--and he tapped his brow repeatedly with an earnestnessalmost grotesque--"do you think that I will see this cast away, becauseyou swill, swine that you are! Swill and prate in your cups!"

  "'Fore God, I said nothing!" Grio whined. "I said nothing! It was onlythat he would not drink and I----"

  "Made him?"

  "No, he would not, I say, and we were coming to blows. And then----"

  "He gave back, did he?"

  "No, Messer Blondel came in."

  Caesar Basterga stretched out his huge arms. "Fool! Fool! Fool!" hehissed, with a gesture of despair. "There it is! And Blondel, who shouldhave sent you to the whipping-post, or out of Geneva, has to cloak you!And men ask why, and what there is between our most upright Syndic and adrunken, bragging----"

  "Softly," Grio muttered, with a flash of sullen resentment. "Softly,Messer Basterga! I----"

  "A drunken, swilling, prating pig!" the other persisted. "A brokensoldier living on an hour of chance service? Pooh, man," with contempt,"do not threaten me! Do you think that I do not know you more than halfcraven? The lad below there would cut your comb yet, did I suffer it.But that is not the point. The point is that you must needs advertisethe world that you and the Syndic, who has charge of the walls, arehail-fellows, and the world will ask why! Or he must deal with you asyou deserve and out you go from Geneva!"

  "Per Bacco! I am not the only soldier," Grio muttered, "who ruffles ithere!"

  "No! And is not that half our battle?" Basterga rejoined, gazing on himwith massive scorn. "To make use of them and their grumbling, and theirdistaste for the Venerable Company of Pastors who rule us! Such men areour tools; but tools only, and senseless tools, for Geneva won for theGrand Duke, and what will they be the better, save in the way of alittle more licence and a little more drink? But for you I had somethingbetter! Is the little farm in Piedmont not worth a month's abstinence?Is drink-money for your old age, when else you must starve or stab inthe purlieus of Genoa, not worth one month's sobriety? But you mustneeds for the sake of a single night's debauch ruin me and get yourselfbroken on the wheel!"

  Grio shrank under his eye. "There is no harm done," he muttered at last."Nobody suspects what is between us."

  "How do you know that?" came the retort. "What? You think it is naturalBlondel should favour such as you?"

  "It will not be the first time Geneva cloak has covered Genoa velvet!"

  "Velvet!" Basterga repeated with a sneer. "Rags rather!" And then morequickly, "But that is not all, nor the half. Do you think Blondel, whois on the point, Blondel, who will and will not and on whom all mustturn, Blondel the upright, the impeccable, the patriotic, without whomwe can do nothing, and who, I tell you, hangs in the balance--do youthink he likes it, blockhead? Or is the more inclined to trust his lifewith us when he sees us brawlers, toss-pots, common swillers? Do youthink he on whom I am bringing to bear all the resources of thisbrain--this!"--and again the big man tapped his forehead with tragicearnestness--"and whom you could as much move to side with us as youcould move yonder peak of the Jura from its base--do you think he willdeem better of our part for this?"

  "Well, no."

  "No! No, a thousand times!"

  "But I count drunk the same as sober for that!" Grio cried, plucking upspirit and speaking with a gleam of defiance in his eye. "For it is myopinion that you have no more chance of moving him than I have! And soto be plain you have it, Messer Basterga. For how are you going to movehim? With what? Tell me that!"

  "Ah!"

  "With money?" Grio continued with a fluency which showed he spoke on asubject to which he had given much thought. "He is rich and ten thousandcrowns would not buy him. And the Grand Duke, much as he craves Geneva,will not spend over boldly."

  "No, I shall not move him with money."

  "With power and rank, then? Will the Grand Duke make him Governor ofGeneva? No, for he dare not trust him. And less than that, what is it toSyndic Blondel, whose word to-day is all but law in Geneva?"

  "No, nor with power," Basterga answered quietly.

  "Is it with revenge, then? There are men I know who love revenge. But heis not of the south, and at such a risk revenge were dearly bought."

  "No, nor with revenge," Basterga replied.

  "A woman, then? For that is all that is left," Grio rejoined in triumph.Once he had spoken out, he had put himself on a level with his master;he had worsted him, or he was much mistaken. "Perhaps, from the way youhave played with the little prude below, it is a woman. But they areplenty, even in Geneva, and he is rich and old."

  "No, nor with a woman."

  "Then with what?"

  "With this!" Basterga replied. And for the third time, drawing himselfup to his full height, he tapped his brow. "Do you doubt its power?"

  For answer Grio shrugged his shoulders, his manner sullen andcontemptuous.

  "You do?"

  "I don't see how it works, Messer Basterga," the veteran muttered. "Isay not you have not good wits. You have, I grant it. But the best ofwits must have their means and method. It is not by wishing andwilling----"

  "How know you that?"

  "Eh?"

  "How know you that?" Basterga repeated with sudden energy, and he shooka massive finger before the other's eyes. "But how know you anything,"he continued with disdain, as he dropped the hand again, and turned onhis heel, "dolt, imbecile, rudiment that you are? Ay, and blind to boot,for it was but the other day I worked a miracle before you, and youlearned nothing from it."

  "It is no question of miracles," the other muttered doggedly. "But ofhow you will persuade the Syndic Blondel to betray Geneva to Savoy!"

  "Is it so? Then tell me this: the girl below who smacked your face amonth back because you laid a hand upon her wrist, and who would havehad you put to the door the same day--how did I tame her? Can you answerme that?"

  Grio's face fell remarkably. "No, master," he said, noddingthoughtfully. "I grant it. I cannot. A wilder filly was never handled."

  "So! And yet I tamed her. And she suffers you! She's sport for us withinbounds. Yet do you think she likes it when you paw her hand or lay yourdirty arm about her waist, or steal a kiss? Think you the blood mountsand ebbs for nothing? Or the tears rise and the lip trembles and thelimbs shake for sheer pleasure. I tell you, if eyes could slay, you hadbreathed your last some weeks ago."

  "I know," Grio answered, nodding thoughtfully. "I have wondered andwondered, ay, many a time, how you did it."

  "Yet I did it? You grant that?"

  "Yes."

  "And you do not understand--with what?"

  Grio shook his head.

  "Then why mistrust me now, blockhead," the other retorted, "when I say
that as I charmed her, I can charm Blondel? Ay, and more easily. Youknow not how I did the one, nor how I shall do the other," the big mancontinued. "But what of that?" And in a louder voice, and with a gustowhich showed how genuine was his delight in the metre,

  "Pauci quos aequus amavit Jupiter aut ardens evexit ad aethera virtus Dis geniti potuere,"

  he mouthed. "But that," he added, looking scornfully at his confederate,"is Greek to you!"

  Grio's altered aspect, his crestfallen air owned the virtue of theargument if not of the citation; which he did not understand. He drew adeep breath. "Per Bacco," he said, "if you succeed in doing it, MesserBasterga----"

  "I shall do it," Basterga retorted, "if you do not spoil all with yourdrunken tricks!"

  Grio was silent a moment, sunk plainly in reflection. Presently hisbloodshot eyes began to travel respectfully and even timidly over theobjects about him. In truth the room in which he found himself wasworthy of inspection, for it was no common room, either in aspect orfurnishing. It boasted, it is true, none of the weird properties, theskulls and corpse-lights, dead hands, and waxen masks with which thenecromancer of that day sought to impress the vulgar mind. But in placeof these a multitude of objects, quaint, curious, or valuable, filledthat half of the room which was farther from the fire-hearth. On thewall, flanked by a lute and some odd-looking rubrical calendars, werethree or four silver discs, engraved with the signs of the Zodiac; thesewere hung in such a position as to catch the light which entered throughthe heavily leaded casement. On the window-seat below them, a pile ofPlantins and Elzevirs threatened to bury a steel casket. On the table,several rolls of vellum and papyrus, peeping from metal cylinders, leantagainst a row of brass-bound folios. A handsome fur covering masked thetruckle-bed, but this, too, bore its share of books, as did two or threelong trunks covered with stamped and gilded leather which stood againstthe wall and were so long that the ladies of the day had the credit ofhiding their gallants in them. On stools lay more books, and yet morebooks, with a medley of other things: a silver flagon, and some weapons,a chess-board, an enamelled triptych and the like.

  In a word, this half of the room wore the aspect of a library,low-roofed, dark and richly furnished. The other half, partly dividedfrom it by a curtain, struck the eye differently. A stove of peculiarfashion, equipped with a powerful bellows, cumbered the hearth; beforethis on a long table were ranged a profusion of phials and retorts,glass vessels of odd shapes, and earthen pots. Crucibles and alembicsstood in the ashes before the stove, and on a sideboard placed under thewindow were scattered a set of silver scales, a chemist's mask, and anumber of similar objects. Cards bearing abstruse calculations hungeverywhere on the walls; and over the fireplace, inscribed in gold andblack letters, the Greek word "EUREKA" was conspicuous.

  The existence of such a room in the quiet house in the Corraterie waslittle suspected by the neighbours, and if known would have struck themwith amazement. To Grio its aspect was familiar: but in this casefamiliarity had not removed his awe of the unknown and the magical. Helooked about him now, and after a pause:--

  "I suppose you do it--with these," he murmured, and with an almostimperceptible shiver he pointed to the crucibles.

  "With those?" Basterga exclaimed, and had the other ascribedsupernatural virtues to the cinders or the bellows he could not havethrown greater scorn into his words. "Do you think I ply this basemechanic art for aught but to profit by the ignorance of the vulgar? Orthink by pots and pans and mixing vile substances to make this, which bynature is this, into that which by nature it is not! I, a scholar? Ascholar? No, I tell you, there was never alchemist yet could transmutebut one thing--poor into rich, rich into poor!"

  "But," Grio murmured with a look and in a voice of disappointment, "isnot that the true transmutation which a thousand have died seeking, andone here and there, it is rumoured, has found? From lead to gold, MesserBasterga?"

  "Ay, but the lead is the poor alchemist, who gets gold from his patronby his trick. And the gold is the poor fool who finds him in his living,and being sucked, turns to lead! There you have your transmutation."

  "Yet----"

  "There is no yet!"

  "But Agrippa," Grio persisted, "Cornelius Agrippa, who sojourned here inGeneva and of whom, master, you speak daily--was he not a learned man?"

  "Ay, even as I am!" Caesar Basterga answered, swelling visibly withpride. "But constrained, even as I am, to ply the baser trade and stoopto that we see and touch and smell! Faugh! What lot more cursed than toquit the pure ether of Latinity for the lower region of matter? And inplace of cultivating the _literae humaniores_, which is the truecultivation of the mind, and sets a man, mark you, on a level withprinces, to stoop to handle virgin milk and dragon's blood, as theystyle their vile mixtures; or else grope in dead men's bodies for thething which killed them. Which is a pure handicraft and cheirergon,unworthy a scholar, who stoops of right to naught but the goose-quill!"

  "And yet, master, by these same things----"

  "Men grow rich," Basterga continued with a sneer, "and get power? Ay,and the bastard sits in the chair of the legitimate; and pure learninggoes bare while the seekers after the Stone and the Elixir (who, inthese days are descending to invent even lesser things and smalleradvantages that in the learned tongues have not so much as names) growin princes' favour and draw on their treasuries! But what says Seneca?'It is not the office of Philosophy to teach men to use their hands. Theobject of her lessons is to form the soul and the taste.' And AldusManucius, vir doctissimus, magister noster," here he raised his hand tohis head as if he would uncover, "says also the same, but in a Latinitymore pure and translucent, as is his custom."

  Grio scratched his head. The other's vehemence, whether he sneered orpraised, flew high above his dull understanding. He had his share of thereverence for learning which marked the ignorant of that age: but towhat better end, he pondered stupidly, could learning be directed thanto the discovery of that which must make its owner the most enviable ofmortals, the master of wealth and youth and pleasure! It was not tothis, however, that he directed his objection: the _argumentum adhominem_ came more easily to him. "But you do this?" he said, pointingto the paraphernalia about the stove.

  "Ay," Basterga rejoined with vehemence. "And why, my friend? Because thenoble rewards and the consideration which former times bestowed onlearning are to-day diverted to baser pursuits! Erasmus was the friendof princes, and the correspondent of kings. Della Scala was thecompanion of an emperor; Morus, the Englishman, was the right arm of aking. And I, Caesar Basterga of Padua, bred in the pure Latinity of ourMaster Manucius, yield to none of these. Yet am I, if I would live,forced to stoop 'ad vulgus captandum!' I must kneel that I may rise! Imust wade through the mire of this base pursuit that I may reach thefirm ground of wealth and learned ease. But think you that I am the dupeof the art wherewith I dupe others? Or, that once I have my foot on firmground I will stoop again to the things of matter and sense? No, byHercules!" the big man continued, his eye kindling, his form dilating."This scheme once successful, this feat that should supply me for life,once performed, Caesar Basterga of Padua will know how to add, to thoselaurels which he has already gained,

  The bays of Scala and the wreath of More, Erasmus' palm and that which Lipsius wore."

  And in a kind of frenzy of enthusiasm the scholar fell to pacing thefloor, now mouthing hexameters, now spurning with his foot a pot or analembic which had the ill-luck to lie in his path. Grio watched him, andwatching him, grew only more puzzled--and more puzzled. He could haveunderstood a moral shrinking from the enterprise on which they were bothembarked--the betrayal of the city that gave them shelter. He could haveunderstood--he had superstition enough--a moral distaste for alchemy andthose practices of the black art which his mind connected with it. Butthis superiority of the scholar, this aloofness, not from the treachery,but from the handicraft, was beyond him. For that reason it imposed onhim the more.

  Not the less, however, was he importuna
te to know wherein Bastergatrusted. To rave of Scholarship and Scaliger was one thing, to bringBlondel into the plot which was to transfer Geneva to Savoy and strikethe heaviest blow at the Reformed that had been struck in thatgeneration, was another thing and one remote. The Syndic was a triflediscontented and inclined to intrigue; that was true, Grio knew it. Butto parley with the Grand Duke's emissaries, and strive to get and givenot, that was one thing; while to betray the town and deliver it tiedand bound into the hands of its arch-enemy, was another and a far moreweighty matter. One, too, to which in Grio's judgment--and in the darklanes of life he had seen and weighed many men--the magistrate wouldnever be brought.

  "Shall you need my aid with him?" he asked after a while, seeing thescholar still wrapt in thought. The question was not lacking in craft.

  "Your aid? With whom?"

  "With Messer Blondel."

  "Pshaw, man," Basterga answered, rousing himself from his reverie. "Ihad forgotten him and was thinking of that villain Scioppius and histract against Joseph Justus. Do you know," he continued with a snort ofindignation, "that in his _Hyperbolimaeus_, not content with thestatement that Joseph Justus left his laundress's bill at Louvainunpaid, he alleges that I--I, Caesar Basterga of Padua--was broken on thewheel at Munster a year ago for the murder of a gentleman!"

  Grio turned a shade paler. "If this business miscarry," he said, "thestatement may prove within a year of the mark. Or nearer, at any rate,than may please us."

  Basterga smiled disdainfully. "Think it not!" he answered, extending hisarms and yawning with unaffected sincerity. "There was never scholar yetdied on the wheel."

  "No?"

  "No, friend, no. Nor will, unless it be Scioppius, and he is unworthy ofthe name of scholar. No, we have our disease, and die of it, but it isnot that. Nevertheless," he continued with magnanimity, "I will not denythat when Master Pert-Tongue downstairs put our names together so pat,it scared me. It scared me. For how many chances were there against suchan accident? Or what room to think it an accident, when he spoke clearlywith the _animus pugnandi_? No, I'll not deny he touched me home."

  Grio nodded grimly. "I would we were rid of him!" he growled. "The youngviper! I foresee danger from him."

  "Possibly," Basterga replied. "Possibly. In that case measures must betaken. But I hope there may be no necessity. And now, I expect MesserBlondel in an hour, and have need, my friend, of thought and solitudebefore he comes. Knock at my door at eight this evening and I may havenews for you."

  "You don't think to resolve him to-night?" Grio muttered with a look ofincredulity.

  "It may be. I do not know. In the meantime silence, and keep sober!"

  "Ay, ay!"

  "But it is more than ay, ay!" Basterga retorted with irritation; withsomething of the temper, indeed, which he had betrayed at the beginningof the interview. "Scholars die otherwise, but many a broken soldier hascome to the wheel! So do you have a care of it! If you do not----"

  "I have said I will!" Grio cried sharply. "Enough scolding, master. I'vea notion you'll find your own task a little beyond your hand. See if Iam not right!" he added. And with this show of temper on his side, hewent out and shut the door loudly behind him.

  Basterga stood a few moments in thought. At length,

  "Dimidium facti, qui bene c[oe]pit, habet!"

  he muttered. And shrugging his shoulders he looked about him, judgingwith an artistic eye the effect which the room would have on a stranger.Apparently he was not perfectly content with it, for, stepping to one ofthe long trunks, he drew from it a gold chain, some medals and ajewelled dagger, and flung these carelessly on a box in a corner. He setup the alembics and pipkins which he had overturned, and here and therehe opened a black-lettered folio, discovered an inch or two of crabbedHebrew, or the corner of an illuminated script. A cameo dropped in oneplace, a clay figure of Minerva set up in another, completed thepicture.

  His next proceeding was less intelligible. He unearthed from the pile ofduo-decimos on the window-seat the steel casket which has beenmentioned. It was about twelve inches long and as many wide; and as deepas it was broad. Wrought in high relief on the front appeared anelaborate representation of Christ healing the sick; on each end, belowa massive ring, appeared a similar design. The box had an appearance ofstrength out of proportion to its size; and was furnished with twolocks, protected and partly hidden by tiny shields.

  Basterga handling it gently polished it awhile with a cloth, thenbearing it to the inner end of the room he set it on a bracket besidethe hearth. This place was evidently made for it, for on either side ofthe bracket hung a steel chain and padlock; with which, and the rings,the scholar proceeded to secure the casket to the wall. This done, hestepped back and contemplated the arrangement with a smile ofcontemptuous amusement.

  "It is neither so large as the Horse of Troy," he murmured complacently,"nor so small as the Wafer that purchased Paris. It is neither so deepas hell, nor so high as heaven, nor so craftily fastened a wise man maynot open it, nor so strong a fool may not smash it. But it may suffice.Messer Blondel is no Solomon, and may swallow this as well as anotherthing. In which event, Ave atque vale, Geneva! But here he comes. Andnow to cast the bait!"