The Alchemist of Rome

by M C Dulac

  Rebecca resisted the headache that crossed her skull. Antonio had described how the girl outside the Pantheon had walked like a sleepwalker to her doom. She tried to think of anything in order to break Schumann’s hold over her mind.

  “This way,” he said, with a smile, as though he knew she no longer controlled her movements.

  But then his power stopped again.

  He was staring along the hall. Silhouetted in the moonbeams, was the figure of a young woman. It took Rebecca a moment to recognise Elise. For the first time, she saw how brightly Elise’s eyes glowed blue in the dark.

  Elise walked toward them.

  “Who are you?” Schumann said, “Get out at once.”

  His thoughts were confused - Rebecca could sense it. He ran his tongue over his dry lips as Elise came closer.

  His voice dropped, “You are one of them - an alchemist. I see the glow in your eyes.”

  “Yes, and I have come to see you.”

  “You have come after all these years?” Schumann’s features twisted into a frown. His head was trembling like an old man, “There is no need now. You must leave.”

  “We must speak to you.”

  “We? There are more of you?”

  “I have a friend. Jean-Louis Champillon. He is on his way here.”

  “Is this Champillon also an alchemist?”

  “Yes.”

  Schumann was unsettled. Rebecca sensed his scrambled thoughts. She had already confused him by knowing parts of his story and now Elise, a real alchemist, had appeared. He cast Elise a furtive glance, full of anger.

  “You were young when you drank the elixir. And you drank a strong draught. How long ago?”

  “I drank the elixir in the year 1820.”

  “And who were you, in 1820?”

  “My name is Elise du Bois.”

  “What was your rank in 1820?”

  “My rank?” Elise said, as though it were a question that she had heard long ago, and was not used to answering now, “I was a maid.”

  A rage built up in Schumann so suddenly, Rebecca felt the air shake. He steadied himself against the ornate desk.

  “These alchemists give the pure draught to their servants and let a nobleman wither away in agony! Your master - this Jean-Louis Champillon. He was a nobleman I presume?”

  “Yes, he was a French nobleman.”

  “And he was the alchemist who gave you the elixir?”

  “No. He drank the elixir at the same time as me. He was my master when I was a maid. But alchemy has made us equal.”

  “You can never be equal,” Schumann muttered, “If your master was not an alchemist, who gave you the elixir?”

  “An alchemist called Albert Price.”

  Schumann’s mouth fell open and he stepped forward. A shaft of electric light from outside lit his face. Only a few strands of hair covered his skull. His cheeks were sunken and his mottled skin was drawn tightly over his bones. His eye sockets were hollowed and his eyes were tired, half hidden by drooping eyelids.

  “Albert Price. Albert Price did this to me. He left poison in his laboratory. An evil slow working poison. None of your kind have ever helped me! I was shunned and ignored. I felt pain you cannot imagine. The alchemists left me to die. So I discovered the secret of life myself.”

  “The secret of life does not mean you take life.”

  “How do you know what I do? Am I famous among the alchemists?”

  “No. Your discoveries are unknown.”

  Schumann’s rasping breaths filled the air. He lowered his head. He seemed weak, but then exuded intense menace.

  “When will this master alchemist arrive?”

  “Soon. We believed you were at your estate in the south, and had planned to visit you there. When Jean-Louis found the palazzo was empty, he assumed that you had died. But in Amalfi they told him that a car had been to the palazzo that afternoon. When people glimpsed your driver returning, they said he looked terrified.”

  “I had not realised I was being watched.”

  “We were not watching you. But we had to find you, once we knew what you were.”

  “You mean, when you learned that I was a great alchemist?”

  Elise said nothing. She walked quietly across the room. She glanced at the wall of drawings, whose dim forms were barely visible in the darkness. Antonio’s monsters were a mass of indistinct charcoal strokes.

  “When we realised that you had returned to Rome, I had to make sure Rebecca was safe.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Jean-Louis has been in Paris, researching the elixir of decay.”

  “You know about the elixir of decay?”

  “We have read about it in the books of alchemy.”

  “You know its name. I have never heard anyone speak of it, except long ago, when I met an alchemist in Malta.”

  “It is one of the ancient elixirs which the alchemists learn.”

  “Did your master also teach you the formula for the elixir of life?”

  “Yes,” Elise sounded reluctant.

  “Can you make it?”

  “It usually takes several nights to settle. And I would need a laboratory.”

  Schumann pointed to the last room, “There is a laboratory.”

  He ushered Rebecca ahead of him. The top shutter was open, allowing enough light to see inside. The window appeared to be locked. The table was covered with vials and bottles, arranged as if they had been placed there in a hurry. Some powders had sprinkled over the floor and glowed in the darkness. Elise stood in the doorway. Her eyes scanned the table, and then the window. Perhaps she too was looking for the best way to escape.

  “I brought all I had,” Schumann waved his hand over the table, “Although I had the elixir ready in Amalfi, I did not know if it would survive the journey to Rome. So I threw it away and made it again, here, tonight. I have mixed it according to the books, and it will work, once I have the final ingredient to ignite the spirit.”

  Next to the green elixir, a rose-coloured liquid glowed in the base of a glass.

  “That is the elixir the traitor Antonio created,” Schumann said, “The one that let him escape from me. He used my equipment to make it. He found my books and mixed an elixir of forgetfulness. I cannot summon him now, for he has dissolved into the air. As alchemists mix the elements, he has undone the elements in himself.”

  Elise stepped forward under Schumann’s watchful eye. She picked up the rose vial and stared at it closely.

  “It is a beautiful potion,” Elise said, “Antonio had the touch of a true alchemist.”

  Schumann snorted, “Make the elixir of life.”

  Elise paused, “Do you have aqua regia?”

  “I have tried the formula in the books many times. It does not work.”

  “The true formula has never been written down. It is only taught by alchemists to each other, by example. You do not have any of the essences here, nor is the moon in the right position.”

  “Can you make it or not?”

  Elise cast a glance over the bottles and powders. She shook her head.

  Schumann muttered, “All alchemists are treacherous.”

  “The only alchemists I know are myself and Jean-Louis Champillon.”

  “Then what happened to the others?”

  “Perhaps none were foolish enough to drink the pure elixir of life, as we have done.”

  “How can you say that? You are young. You are strong. You have the knowledge and the strength to last for centuries.”

  “Perhaps in times when life was short, the ancients drank the elixir of life to ensure their survival,” Elise said, “But to live forever now is a curse.”

  She took the lid off the green liquid bubbling in the centre of the table. It had a strange, ancient smell, like something very old. Beside the bowl was an empty flask - for the last ingredient, the blood which would ignite Schumann’s elixir.

  “This is my contribution to alchemy,” Schumann said.
/>   “So you think the secret to life is taking life?”

  “Most of life is useless anyway,” Schumann said, but he watched Elise closely as she dipped a spoon into the green elixir, “What do you think?”

  “You are rejuvenating your cells,” Elise said at last, “With blood from a fit and healthy person, I can see how it would work. But then you return to that state?” Elise stared at him, “There must be a better way.”

  Rebecca sensed Schumann’s rage rising again, “There is no better way. When I drank the poison, I traveled to the citadel of Malta, to speak to the greatest knights and alchemists. I was told that I would die, and there was no cure for my condition. The alchemists abandoned me. And then by chance, like all great men, I came across this discovery. It has kept me alive for two hundred and fifty years.”

  “I believed it was your friend, Carissa, who made this discovery, not you,” Elise said, “And it is not alchemy. It is dark magic.”

  Schumann stared from Elise to Rebecca in bewilderment. He had not expected to hear Carissa’s name. Elise’s independence was clearly angering him, but he was sick and his energy was fading, “Then tell your master to help me!”

  “Champillon is coming.”

  “He must arrive soon.”

  “He will. We will look at the elixir together. But let Rebecca go. You have no need to keep her here now.”

  “No. We will wait together.”

  Schumann kept Rebecca behind him, blocking her way. He led them to the dining room, where the long table was covered with a canvas cloth. He ripped the cloth away, sending Antonio’s brushes and palettes across the floor.

  “It is a fine table,” he muttered, as he ran his hands across the surface, “And these chairs are original sixteenth century. That stupid boy turned this place into a mere painter’s studio.”

  Moving to the sideboard, he opened the cupboard doors and searched about. He drew out a dusty bottle and sat at the head of the table. At all times he blocked the way to the front door.

  “Sit.”

  Rebecca sat opposite Elise. Although she tried not to look at Schumann, she felt as much curiosity as fear. Antonio’s descriptions of Schumann were so different from this bent, broken figure. Even in Malta, Schumann had been energetic and undefeated. The accident in the cellar had kept him alive, and he had embraced his second chance at life with enthusiasm. Had the realisation he had to continue to take life eaten away at his soul, as he realised he had not defeated death?

  Schumann turned his head. Maybe he glimpsed pieces of his story in her thoughts. Anger bubbled alongside wariness and regret. He wrapped his scarf around his face, “You would not look at me in this way, if you had seen me in my prime. That was before I met Albert Price, the alchemist. And here I find myself, waiting for another.”

  He turned his head to the silent city beyond the windows, “Eternal Rome,” he muttered.

  When he spoke again, his tone had changed, a mixture of wistfulness and bitterness.

  “I came to Italy late in my life. The country surpassed all my dreams. I loved all I saw, all I smelt, all I tasted. The food was heaven sent and the wines sweeter than nectar. The sunshine was warm and the skies clear. To smell the scent of lemons and olives was divine. I even loved the smell of garlic, of sweat, of the Adonis’ who worked on the boats and in the forges. And women - women of such beauty, high born or low born - I was sure I had come to paradise. I had found the true home of the immortals. I walked in the villas of emperors, the palaces of princes and the cathedrals of popes.”

  He opened the bottle and a smell that was both sweet and vinegary filled the room. He began to fill a dusty glass.

  Elise declined, “I have not drunk wine for a while.”

  “Nor eaten?” Schumann seemed to be smiling, “Or is your appetite merely reduced? The elixirs take away the need for such pleasures. All is poison to me. Food is ash. Wine is vinegar. Air burns my lungs.”

  Schumann passed the glass towards Rebecca, “Does it smell? I remember the smell when my servant first opened a bottle of this wine. There was the anticipation of the scent and then the sheer pleasure of the taste. I was in Naples, a month before I met Price. My journey to Italy was all a man lost in the wilds of middle-age could dream of. My lust for life had returned and I felt a fire of ambition burn again. I was at the crossroads of youth and old age. And who came across my path? Who was my Dante, my guide to Paradise? Albert Price, the immortal alchemist. When I met him and heard the rumours of what he was, I felt another urge. I wanted what he had. Was it so bad to want life?”

  “But you were alive,” Rebecca leaned forward.

  “I moved among kings, but I was not a king. I had money, but others had more, and what I had could be lost at any time. I was a fine-looking man, but looks would fade. For so long I could seduce any woman I wanted, but I knew what lay ahead. I would grow old and desperate, and they - not I - would have the upper hand. What Price possessed was all I craved. Freedom, for I would have my own treasury, and the never-ending summer of youth.”

  “Then why did you betray him?” Elise said.

  “There is anger in your voice. Was he a friend of yours?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “A true friend? Or did he betray you too?”

  Elise said nothing.

  Despite her own fear, Rebecca wondered again about Elise and Albert Price.

  “Keep your secrets then, alchemist,” Schumann went on when Elise remained silent, “It was my duty as a law-abiding citizen to inform the King that Price was forging gold. My plans went well. We found his laboratory and his books and his potions. We almost had Price himself. Then I saw the bowls, glowing and glittering. The elixirs were not of this world. But I hadn’t realised Price was so evil to place a poison among them.”

  “He did not know you would drink it,” Elise said.

  “He did,” Schumann muttered.

  “He was about to throw it away.”

  “He did it deliberately, to destroy me.”

  Elise sighed, “You know that if they had captured him, he would have been held prisoner forever.”

  “If he was clever, he could have made a deal. He could have been the most powerful man in Europe.”

  “That was not his way.”

  “You speak of him in the past,” Schumann paused, “Where is he now?”

  “He is dead.”

  “How?”

  “There was a fire. He was injured. And he had no more will to live. He had been hunted for so long. He wanted to study the Great Work and the mysteries of alchemy, but the world kept dragging him down.”

  “Dead,” Schumann shook his head, “How could he die, when he had everything a man could want? He ran into the mountains that day. He left everything behind him. I always imagined he would survive. I dreamed of making peace with him. I tried to find him, many times. But now you tell me - he is dead.”

  A light from outside flickered over the ghostly outline of Antonio’s half finished fresco.

  “What else did you learn of alchemy?” Elise asked.

  “I learned how to project my mind. To create a feeling of unease or fear. Very useful in making one’s way in the world. Have you ever seen a room of politicians tremble?”

  “The secrets of alchemy should not be used in that way.”

  “Save me from your noble thoughts,” Schumann pushed the bottle across the table. He raised his eyes and stared at Rebecca, “You have been to the palazzo in Amalfi. I sensed you there. It was during daylight, when I slept. Your presence came to me in a dream. But I was too weak to rise to find you. You are thinking of the palazzo now. And you want to know more?”

  Rebecca swallowed, “Why did you let it fall into ruin?”

  “It was above those blissful waters that I spent my last days before I drank the poison. And then, after I had discovered the elixir in Malta, I believed that I was healthy again. But I fell ill in Germany, when Price’s curse returned. I was certain Italy would restore me.”
<
br />   The scarf had fallen, revealing the mottled skin around his sunken eyes, “I found myself one night on a road above the sea. My carriage drove by moonlight and I soon recognised the lemon groves before the Palazzo Ombre. I told my driver to take me through the gates. When I stood on that terrace, I could believe all my suffering was behind me. I sent a crate of gold to the Duke and bought the palazzo before the week was out. I lived there happily for many years. But it was in those rooms, where I saw the veins appear on my hand, and it was in those mirrors that I saw my face change, and I knew, the potion had failed me. This time it was far worse than in Germany, as though the evil curse had come back ten times as strong.

  “I sent Antonio to London to seek the latest science. But I became so ill, I could no longer endure the pain. I found peasant girls in the lemon groves, but their blood was weak from hard work. I returned to the docks of Naples where I had found Carissa, and took the bodies back to my palazzo. Even then I needed several draughts. At last I had enough, and I was whole again. But the house had lost its lightness. The curse had followed me. So I let the palazzo rot. One night I lit a fire in the villa on the cliff and watched it burn. It was there Carissa had her greatest triumph, but she was dead, as all around me was dead, and it was only death that I shared now. If the people called me a monster, I would become one.”

  “You were fortunate no one knew you were the monster of Amalfi,” Elise said, “Besides the villagers.”

  “It was my secret,” Schumann said, “One known only to me and Antonio. I used my power to suppress any rumours.”

  “Was Antonio always loyal?”

  “Of course. The boy had no ability to survive on his own. After my last illness in 1890, I was well for a long time. Antonio helped me then, although I saw the defiance in his eyes. Perhaps that’s when he got the idea to betray me. Only once did he rebel. In the late 1960s, my letters went unanswered and my instructions were ignored. I found him in Rome. He wore his hair long like the young people of the day, wearing a shirt to rival the dandies of the seventeenth century. And denim jeans, like sailors wore. Sitting on the Spanish Steps strumming a guitar! Freedom was in the air and he had decided to disobey me.”

  “But the son always returns to the father,” Rebecca said.