Chapter 7

by William Somerset Maugham

　　On the morning of the day upon which they had asked him to tea, OliverHaddo left at Margaret's door vast masses of chrysanthemums. There wereso many that the austere studio was changed in aspect. It gained anephemeral brightness that Margaret, notwithstanding pieces of silk hunghere and there on the walls, had never been able to give it. When Arthurarrived, he was dismayed that the thought had not occurred to him.'I'm so sorry,' he said. 'You must think me very inconsiderate.'Margaret smiled and held his hand.'I think I like you because you don't trouble about the common littleattentions of lovers.''Margaret's a wise girl,' smiled Susie. 'She knows that when a man sendsflowers it is a sign that he has admired more women than one.''I don't suppose that these were sent particularly to me.'Arthur Burdon sat down and observed with pleasure the cheerful fire. Thedrawn curtains and the lamps gave the place a nice cosiness, and therewas the peculiar air of romance which is always in a studio. There is asense of freedom about it that disposes the mind to divertingspeculations. In such an atmosphere it is possible to be serious withoutpompousness and flippant without inanity.In the few days of their acquaintance Arthur and Susie had arrived atterms of pleasant familiarity. Susie, from her superior standpoint of anunmarried woman no longer young, used him with the good-natured banterwhich she affected. To her, he was a foolish young thing in love, and shemarvelled that even the cleverest man in that condition could behavelike a perfect idiot. But Margaret knew that, if her friend chaffed him,it was because she completely approved of him. As their intimacyincreased, Susie learnt to appreciate his solid character. She admiredhis capacity in dealing with matters that were in his province, and thesimplicity with which he left alone those of which he was ignorant. Therewas no pose in him. She was touched also by an ingenuous candour whichgave a persuasive charm to his abruptness. And, though she set a plainwoman's value on good looks, his appearance, rough hewn like a statue inporphyry, pleased her singularly. It was an index of his character. Thelook of him gave you the whole man, strong yet gentle, honest and simple,neither very imaginative nor very brilliant, but immensely reliable andtrustworthy to the bottom of his soul. He was seated now with Margaret'sterrier on his knees, stroking its ears, and Susie, looking at him,wondered with a little pang why no man like that had even cared for her.It was evident that he would make a perfect companion, and his love, oncewon, was of the sort that did not alter.Dr Porhoet came in and sat down with the modest quietness which was oneof his charms. He was not a great talker and loved most to listen insilence to the chatter of young people. The dog jumped down from Arthur'sknee, went up to the doctor, and rubbed itself in friendly fashionagainst his legs. They began to talk in the soft light and had forgottenalmost that another guest was expected. Margaret hoped fervently that hewould not come. She had never looked more lovely than on this afternoon,and she busied herself with the preparations for tea with a housewifelygrace that added a peculiar delicacy to her comeliness. The dignity whichencompassed the perfection of her beauty was delightfully softened, sothat you were reminded of those sweet domestic saints who lighten hereand there the passionate records of the Golden Book.'C'est tellement intime ici,' smiled Dr Porhoet, breaking into Frenchin the impossibility of expressing in English the exact feeling whichthat scene gave him.It might have been a picture by some master of genre. It seemed hardlyby chance that the colours arranged themselves in such agreeable tones,or that the lines of the wall and the seated persons achieved such agraceful decoration. The atmosphere was extraordinarily peaceful.There was a knock at the door, and Arthur got up to open. The terrierfollowed at his heels. Oliver Haddo entered. Susie watched to see whatthe dog would do and was by this time not surprised to see a changecome over it. With its tail between its legs, the friendly little beastslunk along the wall to the furthermost corner. It turned a suspicious,frightened eye upon Haddo and then hid its head. The visitor, intent uponhis greetings, had not noticed even that there was an animal in the room.He accepted with a simple courtesy they hardly expected from him theyoung woman's thanks for his flowers. His behaviour surprised them. Heput aside his poses. He seemed genuinely to admire the cosy littlestudio. He asked Margaret to show him her sketches and looked at themwith unassumed interest. His observations were pointed and showed acertain knowledge of what he spoke about. He described himself as anamateur, that object of a painter's derision: the man 'who knows what helikes'; but his criticism, though generous, showed that he was no fool.The two women were impressed. Putting the sketches aside, he began totalk, of the many places he had seen. It was evident that he sought toplease. Susie began to understand how it was that, notwithstandinghis affectations, he had acquired so great an influence over theundergraduates of Oxford. There was romance and laughter in hisconversation; and though, as Frank Hurrell had said, lacking in wit,he made up for it with a diverting pleasantry that might very well havepassed for humour. But Susie, though amused, felt that this was not thepurpose for which she had asked him to come. Dr Porhoet had lent herhis entertaining work on the old alchemists, and this gave her a chanceto bring their conversation to matters on which Haddo was expert. She hadread the book with delight and, her mind all aflame with those strangehistories wherein fact and fancy were so wonderfully mingled, she waseager to know more. The long toil in which so many had engaged, always tolose their fortunes, often to suffer persecution and torture, interestedher no less than the accounts, almost authenticated, of those who hadsucceeded in their extraordinary quest.She turned to Dr Porhoet.'You are a bold man to assert that now and then the old alchemistsactually did make gold,' she said.'I have not gone quite so far as that,' he smiled. 'I assert merely that,if evidence as conclusive were offered of any other historical event, itwould be credited beyond doubt. We can disbelieve these circumstantialdetails only by coming to the conclusion beforehand that it is impossiblethey should be true.''I wish you would write that life of Paracelsus which you suggest in yourpreface.'Dr Porhoet, smiling shook his head.'I don't think I shall ever do that now,' he said. 'Yet he is the mostinteresting of all the alchemists, for he offers the fascinating problemof an immensely complex character. It is impossible to know to whatextent he was a charlatan and to what a man of serious science.'Susie glanced at Oliver Haddo, who sat in silence, his heavy face inshadow, his eyes fixed steadily on the speaker. The immobility of thatvast bulk was peculiar.'His name is not so ridiculous as later associations have made it seem,'proceeded the doctor, 'for he belonged to the celebrated family ofBombast, and they were called Hohenheim after their ancient residence,which was a castle near Stuttgart in Wuertemberg. The most interestingpart of his life is that which the absence of documents makes itimpossible accurately to describe. He travelled in Germany, Italy,France, the Netherlands, in Denmark, Sweden, and Russia. He went even toIndia. He was taken prisoner by the Tartars, and brought to the GreatKhan, whose son he afterwards accompanied to Constantinople. The mindmust be dull indeed that is not thrilled by the thought of this wanderinggenius traversing the lands of the earth at the most eventful date of theworld's history. It was at Constantinople that, according to a certainaureum vellus printed at Rorschach in the sixteenth century, hereceived the philosopher's stone from Solomon Trismosinus. This personpossessed also the Universal Panacea, and it is asserted that he wasseen still alive by a French traveller at the end of the seventeenthcentury. Paracelsus then passed through the countries that border theDanube, and so reached Italy, where he served as a surgeon in theimperial army. I see no reason why he should not have been present at thebattle of Pavia. He collected information from physicians, surgeons andalchemists; from executioners, barbers, shepherds, Jews, gipsies,midwives, and fortune-tellers; from high and low, from learned andvulgar. In the sketch I have given of his career in that volume you hold,I have copied out a few words of his upon the acquirement of knowledgewhich affect me with a singular emotion.'Dr Porhoet took his book from Miss Boyd and opened it thoughtfully. Heread out the fine passage from the preface of the Paragranum:'I went in search of my art, often incurring danger of life. I have notbeen ashamed to learn that which seemed useful to me even from vagabonds,hangmen, and barbers. We know that a lover will go far to meet the womanhe adores; how much more will the lover of Wisdom be tempted to go insearch of his divine mistress.'He turned the page to find a few more lines further on:'We should look for knowledge where we may expect to find it, and whyshould a man be despised who goes in search of it? Those who remain athome may grow richer and live more comfortably than those who wander; butI desire neither to live comfortably nor to grow rich.''By Jove, those are fine words,' said Arthur, rising to his feet.Their brave simplicity moved him as no rhetoric could have done, andthey made him more eager still to devote his own life to the difficultacquisition of knowledge. Dr Porhoet gave him his ironic smile.'Yet the man who could write that was in many ways a mere buffoon, whopraised his wares with the vulgar glibness of a quack. He was vain andostentatious, intemperate and boastful. Listen:'After me, O Avicenna, Galen, Rhases and Montagnana! After me, not Iafter you, ye men of Paris, Montpellier, Meissen, and Cologne; all youthat come from the countries along the Danube and the Rhine, and you thatcome from the islands of the sea. It is not for me to follow you, becausemine is the lordship. The time will come when none of you shall remain inhis dark corner who will not be an object of contempt to the world,because I shall be the King, and the Monarchy will be mine.'Dr Porhoet closed the book.'Did you ever hear such gibberish in your life? Yet he did a bold thing.He wrote in German instead of in Latin, and so, by weakening the oldbelief in authority, brought about the beginning of free thought inscience. He continued to travel from place to place, followed by a crowdof disciples, some times attracted to a wealthy city by hope of gain,sometimes journeying to a petty court at the invitation of a prince. Hisfolly and the malice of his rivals prevented him from remaining anywherefor long. He wrought many wonderful cures. The physicians of Nurembergdenounced him as a quack, a charlatan, and an impostor. To refute them heasked the city council to put under his care patients that had beenpronounced incurable. They sent him several cases of elephantiasis,and he cured them: testimonials to that effect may still be found in thearchives of Nuremberg. He died as the result of a tavern brawl and wasburied at Salzburg. Tradition says that, his astral body having alreadyduring physical existence become self-conscious, he is now a livingadept, residing with others of his sort in a certain place in Asia. Fromthere he still influences the minds of his followers and at times evenappears to them in visible and tangible substance.''But look here,' said Arthur, 'didn't Paracelsus, like most of these oldfellows, in the course of his researches make any practical discoveries?''I prefer those which were not practical,' confessed the doctor, witha smile. 'Consider for example the Tinctura Physicorum, which neitherPope nor Emperor could buy with all his wealth. It was one of thegreatest alchemical mysteries, and, though mentioned under the nameof The Red Lion in many occult works, was actually known to fewbefore Paracelsus, except Hermes Trismegistus and Albertus Magnus. Itspreparation was extremely difficult, for the presence was needed of twoperfectly harmonious persons whose skill was equal. It was said to be ared ethereal fluid. The least wonderful of its many properties was itspower to transmute all inferior metals into gold. There is an old churchin the south of Bavaria where the tincture is said to be still buried inthe ground. In the year 1698 some of it penetrated through the soil, andthe phenomenon was witnessed by many people, who believed it to be amiracle. The church which was thereupon erected is still a well-knownplace for pilgrimage. Paracelsus concludes his directions for itsmanufacture with the words: But if this be incomprehensible to you,remember that only he who desires with his whole heart will find, and tohim only who knocks vehemently shall the door be opened.''I shall never try to make it,' smiled Arthur.'Then there was the Electrum Magicum, of which the wise made mirrorswherein they were able to see not only the events of the past and of thepresent, but the doings of men in daytime and at night. They might seeanything that had been written or spoken, and the person who said it,and the causes that made him say it. But I like best the Primum EnsMelissae. An elaborate prescription is given for its manufacture. It wasa remedy to prolong life, and not only Paracelsus, but his predecessorsGalen, Arnold of Villanova, and Raymond Lulli, had laboured studiously todiscover it.''Will it make me eighteen again?' cried Susie.'It is guaranteed to do so,' answered Dr Porhoet gravely. 'Lesebren, aphysician to Louis XIV, gives an account of certain experiments witnessedby himself. It appears that one of his friends prepared the remedy, andhis curiosity would not let him rest until he had seen with his own eyesthe effect of it.''That is the true scientific attitude,' laughed Arthur.'He took every morning at sunrise a glass of white wine tinctured withthis preparation; and after using it for fourteen days his nails began tofall out, without, however, causing him any pain. His courage failed himat this point, and he gave the same dose to an old female servant. Sheregained at least one of the characteristics of youth, much to herastonishment, for she did not know that she had been taking a medicine,and, becoming frightened, refused to continue. The experimenter then tooksome grain, soaked it in the tincture, and gave it to an aged hen. On thesixth day the bird began to lose its feathers, and kept on losing themtill it was naked as a newborn babe; but before two weeks had passedother feathers grew, and these were more beautifully coloured than anythat fortunate hen had possessed in her youth. Her comb stood up, and shebegan again to lay eggs.'Arthur laughed heartily.'I confess I like that story much better than the others. The Primum EnsMelissae at least offers a less puerile benefit than most magicalsecrets.''Do you call the search for gold puerile?' asked Haddo, who had beensitting for a long time in complete silence.'I venture to call it sordid.''You are very superior.''Because I think the aims of mystical persons invariably gross ortrivial? To my plain mind, it is inane to raise the dead in order to hearfrom their phantom lips nothing but commonplaces. And I really cannot seethat the alchemist who spent his life in the attempted manufacture ofgold was a more respectable object than the outside jobber of moderncivilization.''But if he sought for gold it was for the power it gave him, and it waspower he aimed at when he brooded night and day over dim secrets. Powerwas the subject of all his dreams, but not a paltry, limited dominionover this or that; power over the whole world, power over all createdthings, power over the very elements, power over God Himself. His lustwas so vast that he could not rest till the stars in their courses wereobedient to his will.'For once Haddo lost his enigmatic manner. It was plain now that his wordsintoxicated him, and his face assumed a new, a strange, expression. Apeculiar arrogance flashed in his shining eyes.'And what else is it that men seek in life but power? If they wantmoney, it is but for the power that attends it, and it is power againthat they strive for in all the knowledge they acquire. Fools and sotsaim at happiness, but men aim only at power. The magus, the sorcerer,the alchemist, are seized with fascination of the unknown; and theydesire a greatness that is inaccessible to mankind. They think by thescience they study so patiently, but endurance and strength, by force ofwill and by imagination, for these are the great weapons of the magician,they may achieve at last a power with which they can face the God ofHeaven Himself.'Oliver Haddo lifted his huge bulk from the low chair in which he had beensitting. He began to walk up and down the studio. It was curious to seethis heavy man, whose seriousness was always problematical, caught up bya curious excitement.'You've been talking of Paracelsus,' he said. 'There is one of hisexperiments which the doctor has withheld from you. You will find itneither mean nor mercenary, but it is very terrible. I do not knowwhether the account of it is true, but it would be of extraordinaryinterest to test it for oneself.'He looked round at the four persons who watched him intently. There wasa singular agitation in his manner, as though the thing of which he spokewas very near his heart.'The old alchemists believed in the possibility of spontaneousgeneration. By the combination of psychical powers and of strangeessences, they claim to have created forms in which life becamemanifest. Of these, the most marvellous were those strange beings,male and female, which were called homunculi. The old philosophersdoubted the possibility of this operation, but Paracelsus assertspositively that it can be done. I picked up once for a song on a barrowat London Bridge a little book in German. It was dirty and thumbed,many of the pages were torn, and the binding scarcely held the leavestogether. It was called Die Sphinx and was edited by a certain Dr EmilBesetzny. It contained the most extraordinary account I have ever read ofcertain spirits generated by Johann-Ferdinand, Count von Kueffstein, inthe Tyrol, in 1775. The sources from which this account is taken consistof masonic manuscripts, but more especially of a diary kept by a certainJames Kammerer, who acted in the capacity of butler and famulus to theCount. The evidence is ten times stronger than any upon which men believethe articles of their religion. If it related to less wonderful subjects,you would not hesitate to believe implicitly every word you read. Therewere ten homunculi--James Kammerer calls them prophesying spirits--keptin strong bottles, such as are used to preserve fruit, and these werefilled with water. They were made in five weeks, by the Count vonKueffstein and an Italian mystic and rosicrucian, the Abbe Geloni. Thebottles were closed with a magic seal. The spirits were about a spanlong, and the Count was anxious that they should grow. They weretherefore buried under two cartloads of manure, and the pile dailysprinkled with a certain liquor prepared with great trouble by theadepts. The pile after such sprinklings began to ferment and steam, asif heated by a subterranean fire. When the bottles were removed, it wasfound that the spirits had grown to about a span and a half each; themale homunculi were come into possession of heavy beards, and the nailsof the fingers had grown. In two of the bottles there was nothing to beseen save clear water, but when the Abbe knocked thrice at the seal uponthe mouth, uttering at the same time certain Hebrew words, the waterturned a mysterious colour, and the spirits showed their faces, verysmall at first, but growing in size till they attained that of a humancountenance. And this countenance was horrible and fiendish.'Haddo spoke in a low voice that was hardly steady, and it was plain thathe was much moved. It appeared as if his story affected him so that hecould scarcely preserve his composure. He went on.'These beings were fed every three days by the Count with a rose-colouredsubstance which was kept in a silver box. Once a week the bottles wereemptied and filled again with pure rain-water. The change had to be maderapidly, because while the homunculi were exposed to the air theyclosed their eyes and seemed to grow weak and unconscious, as though theywere about to die. But with the spirits that were invisible, at certainintervals blood was poured into the water; and it disappeared at once,inexplicably, without colouring or troubling it. By some accident one ofthe bottles fell one day and was broken. The homunculus within diedafter a few painful respirations in spite of all efforts to save him, andthe body was buried in the garden. An attempt to generate another, madeby the Count without the assistance of the Abbe, who had left, failed; itproduced only a small thing like a leech, which had little vitality andsoon died.'Haddo ceased speaking, and Arthur looked at him with amazement. 'Buttaking for granted that the thing is possible, what on earth is the useof manufacturing these strange beasts?' he exclaimed.'Use!' cried Haddo passionately. 'What do you think would be man'ssensations when he had solved the great mystery of existence, when he sawliving before him the substance which was dead? These homunculi wereseen by historical persons, by Count Max Lemberg, by Count Franz-Josefvon Thun, and by many others. I have no doubt that they were actuallygenerated. But with our modern appliances, with our greater skill, whatmight it not be possible to do now if we had the courage? There arechemists toiling away in their laboratories to create the primitiveprotoplasm from matter which is dead, the organic from the inorganic. Ihave studied their experiments. I know all that they know. Why shouldn'tone work on a larger scale, joining to the knowledge of the old adeptsthe scientific discovery of the moderns? I don't know what would be theresult. It might be very strange and very wonderful. Sometimes my mind isverily haunted by the desire to see a lifeless substance move under myspells, by the desire to be as God.'He gave a low weird laugh, half cruel, half voluptuous. It made Margaretshudder with sudden fright. He had thrown himself down in the chair, andhe sat in complete shadow. By a singular effect his eyes appearedblood-red, and they stared into space, strangely parallel, with anintensity that was terrifying. Arthur started a little and gave him asearching glance. The laugh and that uncanny glance, the unaccountableemotion, were extraordinarily significant. The whole thing was explainedif Oliver Haddo was mad.There was an uncomfortable silence. Haddo's words were out of tunewith the rest of the conversation. Dr Porhoet had spoken of magicalthings with a sceptical irony that gave a certain humour to the subject,and Susie was resolutely flippant. But Haddo's vehemence put theseincredulous people out of countenance. Dr Porhoet got up to go. He shookhands with Susie and with Margaret. Arthur opened the door for him. Thekindly scholar looked round for Margaret's terrier...'I must bid my farewells to your little dog.'He had been so quiet that they had forgotten his presence.'Come here, Copper,' said Margaret.The dog slowly slunk up to them, and with a terrified expression crouchedat Margaret's feet.'What on earth's the matter with you?' she asked.'He's frightened of me,' said Haddo, with that harsh laugh of his, whichgave such an unpleasant impression.'Nonsense!'Dr Porhoet bent down, stroked the dog's back, and shook its paw. Margaretlifted it up and set it on a table.'Now, be good,' she said, with lifted finger.Dr Porhoet with a smile went out, and Arthur shut the door behind him.Suddenly, as though evil had entered into it, the terrier sprang atOliver Haddo and fixed its teeth in his hand. Haddo uttered a cry, and,shaking it off, gave it a savage kick. The dog rolled over with a loudbark that was almost a scream of pain, and lay still for a moment as ifit were desperately hurt. Margaret cried out with horror and indignation.A fierce rage on a sudden seized Arthur so that he scarcely knew what hewas about. The wretched brute's suffering, Margaret's terror, his owninstinctive hatred of the man, were joined together in frenzied passion.'You brute,' he muttered.He hit Haddo in the face with his clenched fist. The man collapsedbulkily to the floor, and Arthur, furiously seizing his collar, beganto kick him with all his might. He shook him as a dog would shake arat and then violently flung him down. For some reason Haddo made noresistance. He remained where he fell in utter helplessness. Arthurturned to Margaret. She was holding the poor hurt dog in her hands,crying over it, and trying to comfort it in its pain. Very gently heexamined it to see if Haddo's brutal kick had broken a bone. They satdown beside the fire. Susie, to steady her nerves, lit a cigarette. Shewas horribly, acutely conscious of that man who lay in a mass on thefloor behind them. She wondered what he would do. She wondered why he didnot go. And she was ashamed of his humiliation. Then her heart stoodstill; for she realized that he was raising himself to his feet, slowly,with the difficulty of a very fat person. He leaned against the wall andstared at them. He remained there quite motionless. His stillness got onher nerves, and she could have screamed as she felt him look at them,look with those unnatural eyes, whose expression now she dared not evenimagine.At last she could no longer resist the temptation to turn round justenough to see him. Haddo's eyes were fixed upon Margaret so intentlythat he did not see he was himself observed. His face, distorted bypassion, was horrible to look upon. That vast mass of flesh had amalignancy that was inhuman, and it was terrible to see the satanichatred which hideously deformed it. But it changed. The redness gave wayto a ghastly pallor. The revengeful scowl disappeared; and a torpid smilespread over the features, a smile that was even more terrifying than thefrown of malice. What did it mean? Susie could have cried out, but hertongue cleaved to her throat. The smile passed away, and the face becameonce more impassive. It seemed that Margaret and Arthur realized at lastthe power of those inhuman eyes, and they became quite still. The dogceased its sobbing. The silence was so great that each one heard thebeating of his heart. It was intolerable.Then Oliver Haddo moved. He came forward slowly.'I want to ask you to forgive me for what I did,' he said.'The pain of the dog's bite was so keen that I lost my temper. I deeplyregret that I kicked it. Mr Burdon was very right to thrash me. I feelthat I deserved no less.'He spoke in a low voice, but with great distinctness. Susie wasastounded. An abject apology was the last thing she expected.He paused for Margaret's answer. But she could not bear to look at him.When she spoke, her words were scarcely audible. She did not know why hisrequest to be forgiven made him seem more detestable.'I think, if you don't mind, you had better go away.'Haddo bowed slightly. He looked at Burdon.'I wish to tell you that I bear no malice for what you did. I recognizethe justice of your anger.'Arthur did not answer at all. Haddo hesitated a moment, while his eyesrested on them quietly. To Susie it seemed that they flickered with theshadow of a smile. She watched him with bewildered astonishment.He reached for his hat, bowed again, and went.