The personage who entered wore a black gown and a gloomy mien. The firstpoint which struck the eye of our Jehan (who, as the reader will readilysurmise, had ensconced himself in his nook in such a manner as to enablehim to see and hear everything at his good pleasure) was the perfectsadness of the garments and the visage of this new-corner. There was,nevertheless, some sweetness diffused over that face, but it was thesweetness of a cat or a judge, an affected, treacherous sweetness. Hewas very gray and wrinkled, and not far from his sixtieth year, hiseyes blinked, his eyebrows were white, his lip pendulous, and his handslarge. When Jehan saw that it was only this, that is to say, no doubta physician or a magistrate, and that this man had a nose very far fromhis mouth, a sign of stupidity, he nestled down in his hole, in despairat being obliged to pass an indefinite time in such an uncomfortableattitude, and in such bad company.
The archdeacon, in the meantime, had not even risen to receive thispersonage. He had made the latter a sign to seat himself on a stool nearthe door, and, after several moments of a silence which appeared to bea continuation of a preceding meditation, he said to him in a ratherpatronizing way, "Good day, Master Jacques."
"Greeting, master," replied the man in black.
There was in the two ways in which "Master Jacques" was pronouncedon the one hand, and the "master" by preeminence on the other, thedifference between monseigneur and monsieur, between _domine_ and_domne_. It was evidently the meeting of a teacher and a disciple.
"Well!" resumed the archdeacon, after a fresh silence which MasterJacques took good care not to disturb, "how are you succeeding?"
"Alas! master," said the other, with a sad smile, "I am still seekingthe stone. Plenty of ashes. But not a spark of gold."
Dom Claude made a gesture of impatience. "I am not talking to you ofthat, Master Jacques Charmolue, but of the trial of your magician. Is itnot Marc Cenaine that you call him? the butler of the Court of Accounts?Does he confess his witchcraft? Have you been successful with thetorture?"
"Alas! no," replied Master Jacques, still with his sad smile; "we havenot that consolation. That man is a stone. We might have him boiled inthe Marche aux Pourceaux, before he would say anything. Nevertheless, weare sparing nothing for the sake of getting at the truth; he is alreadythoroughly dislocated, we are applying all the herbs of Saint John'sday; as saith the old comedian Plautus,--
_'Advorsum stimulos, laminas, crucesque, compedesque, Nerros, catenas, carceres, numellas, pedicas, boias_.'
Nothing answers; that man is terrible. I am at my wit's end over him."
"You have found nothing new in his house?"
"I' faith, yes," said Master Jacques, fumbling in his pouch; "thisparchment. There are words in it which we cannot comprehend. Thecriminal advocate, Monsieur Philippe Lheulier, nevertheless, knows alittle Hebrew, which he learned in that matter of the Jews of the RueKantersten, at Brussels."
So saying, Master Jacques unrolled a parchment. "Give it here," said thearchdeacon. And casting his eyes upon this writing: "Pure magic, MasterJacques!" he exclaimed. "'Emen-Hetan!' 'Tis the cry of the vampireswhen they arrive at the witches' sabbath. _Per ipsum, et cum ipso, et inipso_! 'Tis the command which chains the devil in hell. _Hax, pax, max_!that refers to medicine. A formula against the bite of mad dogs. MasterJacques! you are procurator to the king in the Ecclesiastical Courts:this parchment is abominable."
"We will put the man to the torture once more. Here again," added MasterJacques, fumbling afresh in his pouch, "is something that we have foundat Marc Cenaine's house."
It was a vessel belonging to the same family as those which covered DomClaude's furnace.
"Ah!" said the archdeacon, "a crucible for alchemy."
"I will confess to you," continued Master Jacques, with his timidand awkward smile, "that I have tried it over the furnace, but I havesucceeded no better than with my own."
The archdeacon began an examination of the vessel. "What has he engravedon his crucible? _Och! och_! the word which expels fleas! That MarcCenaine is an ignoramus! I verily believe that you will never make goldwith this! 'Tis good to set in your bedroom in summer and that is all!"
"Since we are talking about errors," said the king's procurator, "Ihave just been studying the figures on the portal below before ascendinghither; is your reverence quite sure that the opening of the work ofphysics is there portrayed on the side towards the Hotel-Dieu, and thatamong the seven nude figures which stand at the feet of Notre-Dame, thatwhich has wings on his heels is Mercurius?"
"Yes," replied the priest; "'tis Augustin Nypho who writes it, thatItalian doctor who had a bearded demon who acquainted him with allthings. However, we will descend, and I will explain it to you with thetext before us."
"Thanks, master," said Charmolue, bowing to the earth. "By the way, Iwas on the point of forgetting. When doth it please you that I shallapprehend the little sorceress?"
"What sorceress?"
"That gypsy girl you know, who comes every day to dance on the churchsquare, in spite of the official's prohibition! She hath a demoniacgoat with horns of the devil, which reads, which writes, which knowsmathematics like Picatrix, and which would suffice to hang all Bohemia.The prosecution is all ready; 'twill soon be finished, I assure you! Apretty creature, on my soul, that dancer! The handsomest black eyes! TwoEgyptian carbuncles! When shall we begin?"
The archdeacon was excessively pale.
"I will tell you that hereafter," he stammered, in a voice that wasbarely articulate; then he resumed with an effort, "Busy yourself withMarc Cenaine."
"Be at ease," said Charmolue with a smile; "I'll buckle him down againfor you on the leather bed when I get home. But 'tis a devil of a man;he wearies even Pierrat Torterue himself, who hath hands larger than myown. As that good Plautus saith,--
'_Nudus vinctus, centum pondo, es quando pendes per pedes_.'
The torture of the wheel and axle! 'Tis the most effectual! He shalltaste it!"
Dom Claude seemed absorbed in gloomy abstraction. He turned toCharmolue,--
"Master Pierrat--Master Jacques, I mean, busy yourself with MarcCenaine."
"Yes, yes, Dom Claude. Poor man! he will have suffered like Mummol.What an idea to go to the witches' sabbath! a butler of the Court ofAccounts, who ought to know Charlemagne's text; _Stryga vel masea_!--Inthe matter of the little girl,--Smelarda, as they call her,--I willawait your orders. Ah! as we pass through the portal, you will explainto me also the meaning of the gardener painted in relief, which one seesas one enters the church. Is it not the Sower? He! master, of what areyou thinking, pray?"
Dom Claude, buried in his own thoughts, no longer listened to him.Charmolue, following the direction of his glance, perceived that it wasfixed mechanically on the great spider's web which draped the window.At that moment, a bewildered fly which was seeking the March sun, flungitself through the net and became entangled there. On the agitation ofhis web, the enormous spider made an abrupt move from his central cell,then with one bound, rushed upon the fly, which he folded together withhis fore antennae, while his hideous proboscis dug into the victim'sbead. "Poor fly!" said the king's procurator in the ecclesiasticalcourt; and he raised his hand to save it. The archdeacon, as thoughroused with a start, withheld his arm with convulsive violence.
"Master Jacques," he cried, "let fate take its course!" The procuratorwheeled round in affright; it seemed to him that pincers of iron hadclutched his arm. The priest's eye was staring, wild, flaming, andremained riveted on the horrible little group of the spider and the fly.
"Oh, yes!" continued the priest, in a voice which seemed to proceed fromthe depths of his being, "behold here a symbol of all. She flies, she isjoyous, she is just born; she seeks the spring, the open air, liberty:oh, yes! but let her come in contact with the fatal network, andthe spider issues from it, the hideous spider! Poor dancer! poor,predestined fly! Let things take their course, Master Jacques, 'tisfate! Alas! Claude, thou art the spider! Claude, thou art the fly also!
Thou wert flying towards learning, light, the sun. Thou hadst no othercare than to reach the open air, the full daylight of eternal truth; butin precipitating thyself towards the dazzling window which opens uponthe other world,--upon the world of brightness, intelligence, andscience--blind fly! senseless, learned man! thou hast not perceivedthat subtle spider's web, stretched by destiny betwixt the lightand thee--thou hast flung thyself headlong into it, and now thou artstruggling with head broken and mangled wings between the iron antennaeof fate! Master Jacques! Master Jacques! let the spider work its will!"
"I assure you," said Charmolue, who was gazing at him withoutcomprehending him, "that I will not touch it. But release my arm,master, for pity's sake! You have a hand like a pair of pincers."
The archdeacon did not hear him. "Oh, madman!" he went on, withoutremoving his gaze from the window. "And even couldst thou have brokenthrough that formidable web, with thy gnat's wings, thou believest thatthou couldst have reached the light? Alas! that pane of glass which isfurther on, that transparent obstacle, that wall of crystal, harder thanbrass, which separates all philosophies from the truth, how wouldst thouhave overcome it? Oh, vanity of science! how many wise men come flyingfrom afar, to dash their heads against thee! How many systems vainlyfling themselves buzzing against that eternal pane!"
He became silent. These last ideas, which had gradually led him backfrom himself to science, appeared to have calmed him. Jacques Charmoluerecalled him wholly to a sense of reality by addressing to him thisquestion: "Come, now, master, when will you come to aid me in makinggold? I am impatient to succeed."
The archdeacon shook his head, with a bitter smile. "Master Jacques readMichel Psellus' '_Dialogus de Energia et Operatione Daemonum_.' What weare doing is not wholly innocent."
"Speak lower, master! I have my suspicions of it," said JacquesCharmolue. "But one must practise a bit of hermetic science when oneis only procurator of the king in the ecclesiastical court, at thirtycrowns tournois a year. Only speak low."
At that moment the sound of jaws in the act of mastication, whichproceeded from beneath the furnace, struck Charmolue's uneasy ear.
"What's that?" he inquired.
It was the scholar, who, ill at ease, and greatly bored in hishiding-place, had succeeded in discovering there a stale crust and atriangle of mouldy cheese, and had set to devouring the whole withoutceremony, by way of consolation and breakfast. As he was very hungry,he made a great deal of noise, and he accented each mouthful strongly,which startled and alarmed the procurator.
"'Tis a cat of mine," said the archdeacon, quickly, "who is regalingherself under there with a mouse."
This explanation satisfied Charmolue.
"In fact, master," he replied, with a respectful smile, "all greatphilosophers have their familiar animal. You know what Servius saith:'_Nullus enim locus sine genio est_,--for there is no place that hathnot its spirit.'"
But Dom Claude, who stood in terror of some new freak on the part ofJehan, reminded his worthy disciple that they had some figures onthe facade to study together, and the two quitted the cell, to theaccompaniment of a great "ouf!" from the scholar, who began to seriouslyfear that his knee would acquire the imprint of his chin.
CHAPTER VI. THE EFFECT WHICH SEVEN OATHS IN THE OPEN AIR CAN PRODUCE.