The Alchemist of Rome

by M C Dulac

  “Good, Antonio,” he said, “You will be my servant,” he handed me the extra coins, “Go and buy yourself a new coat and boots. You will stay in the room next to the kitchen.”

  “Thank you,” I smiled, “Thank you, master.”

  My honesty had been rewarded. I ran downstairs and washed my face again in the pump in the courtyard. I went to a shop around the corner and bought the best coat I could afford, fine boots and a ribbon to tie back my hair, just like Price.

  At first my role was easy. I soon knew every apothecary along the Corso. Price frequently changed his suppliers, though I could see little difference in what he bought. Our apartment on the Corso was close to the Santa Maria del Popolo church. When I finished my errands, I spent many snatched hours in the pew. The priests thought I was praying, but I was really gazing at the Caravaggio paintings, learning all I could about my hero’s technique.

  Summer came. When I went out to get Price’s powders, I was surrounded by crowds of pilgrims and beggars. As the year changed, so did Price’s requests. No longer did he need salts and mercury, but herbs and seeds, which I obtained from gardens and greenhouses on the edge of Rome.

  My master stayed inside every day during the humid months. Being just above the street, no sunlight reached the apartment. I often asked if he wanted me to light the candles or open the shutters, but he said no, for he was content to work in the darkness.

  There were other Germans in our neighbourhood, but I never saw Price speak with them. He had no lady friends either. If I had my master’s wealth and handsome looks, I would go to dances or balls, or woo the young ladies who strolled around the piazzas. Instead my master lived like a monk, absorbed in his work.

  I slept in a narrow bed behind a curtain in the kitchen. The rest of the apartment was a series of rooms, one leading onto the other. The furthest rooms were Price’s bedrooms. One afternoon I opened the shutter and was startled to see Price on the bed, fully clothed, in a deep sleep. His eyelids twitched like a dreamer. I quickly closed the drapes and the shutters, cursing myself for disturbing him. Price was a good master, and I did not want to get in trouble.

  We had a maid who cleaned once a fortnight. Price read in the courtyard when she arrived, as her presence seemed to annoy him. Maria marched through all the rooms, a haughty little Miss of no more than fifteen, giving her opinion on everything, Price included.

  It was Maria who first noticed that Price didn’t seem to eat. Nor did Price ever drink the wine and spirits. Maria knew a lot about wine, and said the wine and spirits in the drawing room were very good quality. The German who had lived here before us had gone through bottles of wine each week, much to the landlord’s delight, as the tenants paid him extra for all their food and drink.

  One day, I found Maria looking at Price’s clothes, which she declared were very fine. She peered at his watches and rings, also noting their value.

  “And he has no lady,” she murmured, disappointed.

  My master was unusual and Maria’s observations were interesting. However her curiosity made me feel guilty. I had to remind her to get on with the cleaning.

  On another day, I found her trying to open a door in the bedroom. She had opened the shutters and columns of dust rose in the light, streaming around Price’s extravagant bed.

  “That’s a cupboard,” I said.

  “No, it isn’t. It’s another room,” she said.

  “I’m sure it’s a cupboard. Now get back to work.”

  “It’s a room,” she insisted, “I’ve been cleaning this house since I was thirteen, you know.”

  The door was locked. Maria rattled the handle. I winced, hoping Price would not return suddenly.

  Maria dragged a chair across the room and hitched up her skirts. Reaching above the door, she retrieved a key. With a gleeful smile on her face, she unlocked the door.

  There was a room beyond. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A strange glow was coming from bowls of incandescent liquid on the table. In the glow, I saw the shadowy form of vats and pots. Gradually I became aware of a soft bubbling sound. Without any flame or stove, the liquids were swirling and seething.

  There was a sweet, hypnotic smell. In the corner, I saw a huge barrel.

  “I’ll get a candle,” Maria said.

  “No!” I stopped her, “Price will smell the smoke and know we’ve been in here.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s that in the corner?” she craned her neck. She reminded me of my younger sister - cheeky and annoying.

  “The master is a scientist. This is his laboratory.”

  “Why is it dark?”

  “Maybe he has to keep it dark,” I guided her away.

  “I have to clean the room,” Maria said, remembering her bucket.

  “No, you don’t. The master locked this door for a reason,” I felt defensive.

  “But where is the blue light coming from?”

  I pushed her aside and locked the door.

  “Are there any other keys?” I said sternly.

  “That one. And the one your master has.”

  “Give me the key.”

  She handed it over reluctantly. She dragged her mop into the next room. I pretended to put the key back in its hiding place above the door. Instead, I slipped it into my pocket.

  “Now finish cleaning the sitting room before the master returns.”

  But I was intrigued by the discovery. So that was where Price took all the powders I fetched for him. After Maria left, I opened the wooden crates in Price’s study and found they were all empty. He must have taken all the bowls and vials into the locked room. As I rarely went into Price’s bedroom, I did not realise the room existed.

  When Price returned, I did not tell him about the second key to the laboratory. That may lead to questions and I would have to tell him about Maria. I did not want her to lose her job. I hoped she’d keep her mouth shut, especially when she was cleaning for the elderly Bavarian upstairs, who was always trying to engage Price in conversation. Price had sworn me to secrecy and I respected my vow.

  I grew used to my master’s strange habits. Price slept during the day and worked at night. Around late August, he began to go out around midnight - sometimes on foot and sometimes in a waiting carriage. I did not think these were social outings, for he dressed solemnly and was in a serious mood. I was always asleep before he returned.

  On the nights when he went out, I sat on the fine couches in the main room. Sometimes I took a book from the bookcase and pretended to read. It was amusing to behave like a master. I wondered what Marcello and my old gang were doing, but I did not want to see them. Price treated me well and I did not want to tell anyone about his work, or his wealth. However long Price wanted to remain in Rome, I wanted to be in his service.

  Summer gave way to autumn. It must have been the turning of the season, when I witnessed a very strange event.

  The noise and movement in Rome never ceased. The tourists complained about the dust on the streets, but they complained more about the carts that washed down the dust at night. I often heard the slosh of the water hose and the indignant cries of those caught in its path. Most of these sounds I slept through, but one night, the workers splashed some gentlemen, who roared with outrage. The workers would not apologise, and the highborn visitors shouted back. I tried to sleep but the argument continued. The full moon had made everyone crazy.

  I rubbed my face and got up. The moon had snaked through the alleyways and the rooms were aglow with moonbeams.

  I did not need to light a candle. I walked softly through the apartment, checking that all was in order. The shutters in Price’s bedroom were ajar. A strip of light shone on the rug. It was then I realised that the door to the laboratory was open.

  I stepped behind the doorframe and peered forward.

  Price’s laboratory was immense. Every shelf and surface was covered with experiments. A moonbeam pierced the
glass of blue liquid on the table and it began to spin like a fresh running stream.

  I took a deep breath. Price was wandering among the tables.

  He leaned closer to the liquid and the blue glow lit his face. Silhouetted in the moonlight, he poured the liquid into a glass. He stared at it closely and lifted the glass into the light.

  Then, he drank it quickly.

  He turned away. He took several deep breaths. He clutched his chest, then rubbed his temples. He straightened up and leaned his strong arms against the window sill. Head bowed, he gazed over Rome. Then he raised his chin and walked confidently back to the table.

  I crept away quietly, cheeks burning with guilt. But the sight of that laboratory and Price’s nocturnal experiments intrigued me.

  The next day, another note was on the table. I had to fetch some herbs from a garden near the Villa Borghese. Price went on with his experiments. Nothing, so it seemed, had changed.

  In all my time with Price, I only did one bad thing. For all my comforts, I often got bored in the evenings. Maria had told me about the bottle of spirits. It was true Price never touched it, nor did he have any guests to share it with. One night, when Price had gone on his usual nighttime excursion, I decided to try a glass. I had sipped wine at church and drunk terrible beer with Marcello and his friends. I wondered what truly fine spirits tasted like. The drink was strong, and after the first shot of fire went away, I poured another glass. When I had a third glass, I realised I had drunk half the carafe. I quickly filled it from the water jug, and although the liquor was paler than before, I hoped Price would not notice.

  I felt the dark shadow of guilt and fear.

  But the spirits had made me confident and befuddled. An idea hatched in my mind. I still had the key to the laboratory in my pocket. Price had been gone an hour - or maybe more, for I wasn’t sure of anything now. I crept into the bedroom and unlocked the laboratory door. I stepped inside. I parted the shutters until there was enough light to see. In the corner was a huge metal vat. Something was heaped on the table next to the vat. Tiptoeing across the room, I ran my hand across a mountain of coins.

  Gold, I thought dumbly. No wonder he gives me so many coins each morning.

  I walked unsteadily around the table, aware that with one wrong movement, I could knock over all these experiments.

  Then I saw the potions. They were beautiful and mesmerising. I watched the bubbles float and dance around a glowing heart of light.

  There was one bowl of blue liquid and one bowl of green liquid. Which one had Price drunk? I could not remember. By this time the liquor had confused me so much, I was not sure what I was doing.

  I lifted one of the bowls and took a sip.

  The droplet was like mercury in my throat. I sensed it rush through my heart and organs and spin before my eyes. I replaced the bowl carefully on the table and went to the window. I could see all through the streets of Rome. I could hear the voices of the people, even the murmuring of its cats. I felt so much more alert and alive. I looked at the sparkling laboratory and had never seen such a marvelous sight.

  I could not fill the bowl with water, like I had the spirit bottle. I crept out of the laboratory and locked the door. I crawled back to my bed in the kitchen and closed my eyes. My sleep was deeper than any I had ever known.

  The next day, my head was clear and bright. Price’s usual note was on the kitchen table, and he was fast asleep in his room. He had not noticed anything. I had gotten away with my night of wickedness. I would never do so again. Price paid well - and he had a room full of gold so it seemed. I would be the perfect servant from now on. I ran down the stairs, full of energy.

  Maria was at the servant’s entrance, stretching and complaining with another girl. She looked at me in a way she had never done before.

  “Good morning, Antonio,” she smiled, shyly.

  The other girl gazed at me and chewed her lip.

  I did feel stronger. But they were mere maids, and today - I was no longer a servant - I felt like a king.

  I was walking on air. Little did I know of the ancient potion I had just tasted.

  chapter twelve

  In the weeks after I drank the potion, I continued to feel elated. Only once did I feel ill, and then more ill than I had ever known. I was walking through the Piazza del Popolo at noon, on the way home from my morning errands. The sun was ferocious and there was no shade. Suddenly my legs became weak as though the sun were turning me into water.

  Sweat fell in droplets from my brow. I staggered into the shadow of the obelisk and collapsed on the steps. I had a fever, but I had never known a fever like this.

  A cloud rolled in from the Vatican hill and blotted out the sun. I rose to my feet and stumbled across the Piazza, at last reaching the dim streets off the Corso. I climbed up the stairs to the apartment and fell onto my bed. The fever passed. However even a glimpse of daylight made me wince and I quickly closed all the shutters.

  I was not sure if my illness had anything to do with the potion, but I swore to the saints that I would never drink it again.

  Fortunately, Price was too busy to notice anything that month. He began to make mistakes. Sometimes he spelt the names of the chemicals incorrectly, or asked for ridiculously large or small quantities. If I found him at his desk, I took the lists to him. He corrected the lists without looking up. I was thankful he paid me no attention and had not realised I had sipped his potion, or the effect it had on me.

  I knew my master was wealthy from the mountain of coins in his laboratory. He was frugal and had no vices. But as summer turned to autumn, he spent hours poring over his books of account. He received several letters, sealed with red wax, which he ripped open as soon as I gave them to him. He said nothing about his affairs, leaving Maria and myself to wonder.

  One day, Price appeared in the doorway as I was pulling on my boots.

  “I am leaving for Amalfi next week. The Duke requires my services. You have been a good servant, Antonio. You are free to stay in Rome, if you wish, and I will sign your discharge papers. Or you can come with me for the winter.”

  “I will come with you, sir.”

  He nodded, “I will need all the equipment packed away. It will be taken by cart on Friday, and we will follow in a coach. I will need you to tick off the inventory as we pack.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “I’m glad you are coming, Antonio,” Price smiled. It was as close as he ever came to admitting he was pleased with me.

  I was keen to go. We would pass Naples on our way to Amalfi. Perhaps I could visit my family. I imagined how surprised they would be to see me, dressed in such fine clothes. I would bring beads from the Vatican for my mother, dolls for the young ones, and new hats for the older boys.

  Price set to work. My job was to list every bowl, vial, powder and potion he had in his possession. When he beckoned me into the laboratory one morning, I tried to look surprised, as though it were the first time I had seen the room. I felt guilty that not only had I been in this secret room without his knowledge, but also that I had drunk his elixir.

  As I glanced around, I saw the mountain of coins was gone. The table was bare and there was no sign of the elixirs.

  “Antonio, come and help me,” Price cut short my thoughts.

  There was a pile of books in the corner of the laboratory. They were very old and the spines were engraved with strange inscriptions.

  “Are you taking your books, sir?”

  “Only the ones in this pile. The others can stay here.”

  “Will we come back to Rome?”

  “I will decide later. I have paid the rent to the landlord until January. Now, take these vials and put them in the first crate.”

  I carried the bottles out of the laboratory. Price climbed onto the table and pressed a panel in the ceiling. He put a telescope, several books and a coat into the hiding space.

  The next morning, I carried the last of Price’s belongings downstairs. The driver opened the d
oor to our coach, revealing comfortable velvet seats. We rolled into the cool morning light of the Corso. I looked up at the grand buildings and ahead to the ruins of the Forum. I had arrived in Rome on a cart, and now I was leaving in a coach.

  The journey south, however, was no less difficult. We were bogged, caught in storms and thrown around on the rough roads. When we reached rivers, a ferry took us across the water, and we joined another conveyance. One day, heavy rain delayed us so long we missed our connecting coach, and had to stay overnight at an inn.

  I was exhausted by the day’s journey and went straight to the servant’s quarters. I fell asleep, but woke in the middle of the night. I got up to close the shutter, for the clouds had cleared, and moonbeams poured through the window.

  Price was walking in the fields below. If I were my master, I would be resting in my fine quarters, not wandering around in the darkness. But my master had many eccentricities.

  I rose early the next morning and went outside. The sun was lighting the mountaintops. The air was clear and fresh after the grit and smoke of Rome. I gazed across the idyllic green fields and drank in the grandeur of the mountain peaks. There were so many colours in the natural world. I watched the changing landscape with wonder. The sunbeams began to creep across the ground. I had become sensitive to light in these past few weeks, but I stood in the dawn that morning and let the sunbeams find me.

  I smelt the horses as the driver rolled the coach to the front of the inn. When I turned, I saw that in addition to our luggage, there was a pile of packing cases. We were not traveling to Amalfi alone.

  Nor was I the only admirer of the dawn.

  A man stood across the yard, legs planted apart, hands on hips, head thrown back, breathing deeply. He was a big man, and his expensive cloak and glossy boots made him appear bigger. His hair was thick and the colour of summer wheat. This traveler was more alive than anyone I had ever seen. He surveyed the mountains with a broad, blissful smile.

  A young lady strolled out of the inn. She also had golden hair, piled high on her head. The stranger kissed her hand and she smiled playfully.