The Elixir

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THE ELIXIR.

By Georg Ebers

Every Leipziger knows well the tall gabled house in the Katherinenstrasse
which I have in mind. It stands not far from the Market Place, and is
particularly dear to the writer of this true story because it has been in
the possession of his family for a long time. Many curious things have
happened there worthy of being rescued from oblivion, and though my
relatives would now like to relieve me of this task, because I have found
it necessary to point out to certain ingenuous ones among them the truth
which they were endeavoring to conceal, I rejoice that I have sufficient
leisure to chronicle for future generations of Ueberhells the wonderful
life and doings of their progenitor as I learned them from my grandmother
and other good people.

So here, then, begins my story.

Of old, the aforementioned house was known as "The Three Kings," but in
no otherwise was it distinguished from its neighbours in the street save
through the sign of the Court apothecary on the ground floor; this hung
over the arched doorway, and gay with bright colour and gilding
represented the three patron Saints of the craft: Caspar, Melchior, and
Balthasar.

This house in the Katherinenstrasse continued to be called "The Three
Kings," although, soon after the death of old Caspar Ueberhell, the sign
was removed, and the shop closed. And many things happened to it and the
house which ran counter to the usual course of events and the wishes of
the worthy burghers.

Gossip there had been in plenty even during the lifetime of the old
Court apothecary whose only son Melchior had left his father's house
and Leipsic not merely to spend a few years in Prague, or Paris or Italy
like any other son of well-to-do parents who wished to perfect himself
in his studies, but, as it would seem, for good and all.

Both as school-boy and student Melchior had been one of the most gifted
and most brilliant, and many a father, whose son took a wicked delight
in wanton and graceless escapades, had with secret envy congratulated old
Ueberhell on having such an exceptionally talented, industrious and
obedient treasure of a son and heir. But later not one of these men
would have exchanged his heedless scrapegrace of a boy for the much
bepraised paragon of the Court apothecary, since, after all, a bad son
is better than none at all.

Melchior, in fact, came not home, and that this weighed on the mind of
the old man and hastened his death was beyond doubt; for although the
stately Court apothecary's rotund countenance remained as round and
beaming as the sun for three years after the departure of his boy, it
began gradually to lose its plumpness and radiance until at length it was
as faded and yellow as the pale half moon, and the cheeks that had once
been so full hung down on his ruff like little empty sacks. He also
withdrew more and more from the weighing house and the Raths-keller where
he had once so loved to pass his evenings in the company of other worthy
burghers, and he was heard to speak of himself now and then as a "lonely
man." Finally he stayed at home altogether, perhaps because his face and
the whites of his eyes had turned as yellow as the saffron in his shop.
There he left Schimmel, the dispenser, and the apprentice entirely in
charge, so that if any one wished to avoid the Court apothecary that was
the surest place. When, in the end, he died at the age of fifty-six, the
physicians stated that it was his liver--the seat of sorrow as well as of
anger--which had been overtaxed and abused.

It is true that no one ever heard a word of complaint against his son
pass his lips, indeed it was certain that to the very last he was well
acquainted with his son's whereabouts; for when he was asked for news,
he answered at first: "He is finishing his studies in Paris," later:
--"He seems to have found in Padua what he is seeking," and towards the
end: "I think that he will be returning very soon now from Bologna."

It was also noticeable that instead of taking advantage of such
questioning to give vent to his displeasure he would smile contentedly
and stroke his chin, once so round, but then so peaked, and those who
thought that the Court apothecary would diminish his legacy to his truant
son, learned to know better, for the old man bequeathed in an elaborate
will, the whole of his valuable possessions to Melchior, leaving only to
the widow Vorkel, who had served him faithfully as housekeeper after the
death of his wife, and to Schimmel, the dispenser, in the event of the
shop being closed, a yearly stipend to be paid to the end of their days.
To his beloved daughter-in-law, the estimable daughter of the learned Dr.
Vitali, of Bologna, the old man left his deceased wife's jewels, together
with the plate and linen of the house, mentioning her in the most
affectionate terms.

All of which surprised the legal gentlemen and the relatives and
connections and their wives and feminine following not a little, and what
put the finishing stroke to the disgust of these good folk, especially to
such of them as were mothers, was that this son and heir of an honoured
and wealthy house had married a foreigner, a frivolous Italian, and that
too without so much as an intimation of his intention.

With the will there was a letter from the dead man to his son and one to
the worthy lawyer. In the latter he requested his counsellor to notify
his son, Melchior Ueberhell, of his death, and, in case of his son's
return home, to see him well and fairly established in the position which
belonged to him as the heir of a Leipsic burgher and as Doctor of the
University of Padua.

These letters were sent by the first messenger going south over the Alps,
and that they reached Melchior will be seen from the fresh surprises
contained in his answer.

He commissioned Anselmus Winckler, an excellent notary, and formerly his
most intimate school friend, to close the apothecary shop and to sell
privately whatever it contained. But a small quantity of every drug was
to be reserved for his own personal use. He also, in his carefully
chosen diction begged the honourable notary to allow the Italian
architect Olivetti, who would soon present himself, to rebuild the old
house of "The Three Kings" throughout, according to the plan which they
had agreed upon in Bologna. The side of the house that faced the street
would not, be hoped, prove unpleasing, as for the arrangement of the
interior, that was to be made in accordance with his own taste and needs,
and to please himself alone.

These wishes seemed reasonable enough to the lawyer, and as the Italian
architect, who arrived a few weeks later in Leipsic, laid before him a
plan showing the facade of a burgher's house finished with a stately
gable which rose by five successive steps to its peak crowned by a statue
of the armed goddess Minerva with the owl at her feet, no objection could
be made to such an addition to the city, although some of the clergy did
not hesitate to express their displeasure at the banishment of the Three
Saints in favor of a heathen goddess, and at the height of the middle
chimney which seemed to have entered the lists against the church towers.
However, the rebuilding was put in hand, and, of course, the business had
to be wound up and the shop closed before the old front was torn down.

Schimmel, the gray-haired dispenser, married the widow Vorkel, who had
kept house for the late Herr Ueberhell. These two might have related
many strange occurrences to the cousins and kin had they chosen, but he
was a reserved man, and she had been so sworn to silence, and had lived
through such an agitating experience before the death of the old man that
she repulsed all questioners so sharply that they dared not return to the
charge.

The old housekeeper as she watched the deserted father grow indifferent
to what he had to eat and drink--though he had once been so quick to
appreciate the dishes which she prepared so deftly--and neglectful of the
attentions which he had been wont to pay to the outside world, became
embittered towards Melchior whom she had carried in her arms and loved
like her own child. In former times Herr Ueberhell had been accustomed
now and then to invite certain friends to dine with him, and these guests
had praised her cooking, but later, and more especially after the death
of his cousin and colleague, Blumentrost, who had also been his master,
he had asked no one into his well-appointed house.

This retirement of the dignified and hospitable burgher was undoubtedly
caused by the absence of his son, but in a very different way to what
people supposed; for although the old man longed for his only child, he
was very far from resenting his absence; indeed the widow Vorkel herself
knew that it was the father who had dissuaded the son from returning from
Italy until he had reached the goal for which he was striving with
unwearied energy.

She also knew that Melchior gave the old man precise information of his
progress in every letter, and that when her master turned over the care
of the shop to Schimmel, the dispenser, it was only because he had
arranged a laboratory for himself on the first floor, where, following
the directions received in his son's letters, he worked with his
crucibles and retorts, pots and tubes, early and late before the fire.
Yet despite this, the housekeeper saw that the longing for his son was
gnawing at the old man's heart, and had she been able to write she would
have let Melchior know how things stood and begged him to return to
Leipsic. "But there ought to be no need to tell him," she would reflect
in her leisure moments, "he must know it himself," and for this reason
she would force herself as well as she could to be angry with him.

Thus the years passed. Nevertheless, her anger flew to the winds when
one day a messenger arrived bringing a little package from Italy and the
master called her into the laboratory. Then the old withered love
suddenly came to life once more and put forth new leaves and buds, for
what she saw was indeed something wonderful; the Court apothecary held
out to her in his carefully washed hands a sheet of gray paper on which
in red crayon was an exquisite drawing of a beautiful young woman with a
lovely child on her lap. Then, having charged her not to speak of it to
any one, he confided to her that this beautiful woman was Melchior's
young wife, and the little boy their first-born and his grandchild who
would carry on the name of Ueberhell. He had given his consent to his
son's marriage with the daughter of his master in Bologna and now he--old
Caspar Ueberhell--was the happiest of men, and when the doctor returned
to him with wife and child and the thing for which he was so earnestly
searching, why, he would not envy the emperor on his throne. When the
widow Vorkel noticed the tears that were streaming down the old man's
sunken cheeks, her eyes too began to overflow, and after that she often
crept to the chest where the portrait was kept to gaze on the little one
and to press her lips on the same spot whence the grandfather's had
already worn away some of the red crayon.

Herr Ueberhell's joy had been so great that now the longing for his son
took deeper hold of him, and he lost strength day by day, yet Frau Vorkel
could not persuade him to see a physician. He often, however, inhaled
deep draughts of a concoction that he had made in the laboratory with his
son's letter before him, and as he seemed to derive no benefit from it he
would distil it again and mix with it new drugs.

One evening-after having spent the whole day in the laboratory--he
retired unusually early, and when Frau Vorkel went into his room to carry
him his "nightcap" he forgot his usual amiable and suave manner and
growled out at her angrily: "After all these years, can't you prepare my
bed for the night without making me burn myself? Must you be inattentive
as well as stupid?"

Never had she heard such a speech as this from her kindly master, and
when from fright she tipped the tray which she was carrying and spilled
some of the mulled wine over her gown, he cried sharply: "Where are your
wits! First you forget to take the red hot warming-pan out of the bed
and now you old goose you spill my good drink onto the floor."

He stopped, for Frau Vorkel had set down the tray on the table in order
to wipe her eyes with her apron; then he thrust his feet out of the bed-
which was entirely contrary to his usual decorous behavior--and demanded
with flashing eyes: "Did you hear what I just said?"

The widow, greatly shocked, retreated and answered sobbing: "How could I
help hearing, and how can you bring yourself to insult an unprotected
widow who has served you long and faithfully. . . ."

"I have done it, I have done it," the old man cried, his eyes glistening
with joy and pride as if he had just accomplished an heroic undertaking.
"I am sorry I called you a goose, and as for your lack of brains, well
you might have a few more, but, and this I can assure you, you are honest
and true and understand your business, and if you will only be as good to
me as I have always been to you. . . ."

"Oh, Herr. . . ." Widow Vorkel interrupted him, and covered her face
with her apron; but he would not let her finish her sentence, so great
was his excitement and continued in a hoarse voice: "You must grant what
I ask, Vorkel, after all these years, and if you will, you must take that
little phial there and inhale its contents, and when you have done so you
must let me ask you some questions."

After much persuasion, the housekeeper yielded to the wishes of her
master, and while she still held the little bottle from which the ether
escaped, to her nose, the Court apothecary questioned her hastily: "Do
you think that I have always acted like a man, diligently striving for
the good of himself and his house?"

Some strange change seemed to take place in Frau Vorkel; she planted her
hands on her hips most disrespectfully--a thing she never did except
perhaps when she was scolding the maid or the butcher boy--and laughed
loud and scornfully: "My, what a question! You may, perhaps, have a
larger stock of useless information than an old woman like me,--though
strictly speaking I cannot be called an old woman yet--but despite my
being stupid and a 'goose,' I have always been wiser than you, and I know
which side one's bread is buttered on. Bless me! And is there anything
more idiotic than that you, the father of the best son in the world,
should sit here alone, fretting yourself yellow and lean until from a
stately looking man you grow to be a scarecrow, when one word from you
would bring your only child back again and with him the wife and sweet
grandchild, that you might all enjoy life together! If that isn't sheer
folly and a sin and a shame. . . ."

Here she checked herself, for her habitually decorous master stood before
her in his night shirt, barefooted, and laughed loud and merrily,
clapping himself boisterously on his wasted ribs and on the shrunken
thighs that carried his thin body. The precise widow was very much
upset, she was also horrified at the insolent answer which,--she knew not
how,--had just passed her lips. She endeavored to find some words of
excuse but they were not necessary, for the Court apothecary called out,
"Magnificent! Glorious! May all the saints be praised, we have found
it." And before the worthy woman knew what he was about the gray-haired
invalid had caught her in his arms and kissed her heartily on both
cheeks. But the happy excitement had been too much for him and with a
low groan he sank down on the edge of the bed and sobbed bitterly.

Frau Vorkel was greatly disturbed for she guessed--and it would seem with
reason--that her good master had gone out of his mind. But she presently
changed her opinion, for after he had cried unrestrainedly until he was
exhausted, Herr Ueberhell gave her a prompt proof of his sanity and
returning health. In his kindly and polite manner of former times, he
begged her to set out in the kitchen a bottle of the oldest and best
Bacharacher. There he bade her bring a second glass and invited her to
drink, and clink glasses with him because the greatest piece of good luck
had happened to him that day that it was in the power of the blessed
saints to grant to mortal man. He, the father, had discovered in Leipsic
what his son had sought in vain at all the most famous Universities of
Italy, and if he should succeed in one remaining step, the fame of the
Ueberhells, like that of the Roman Horatii, would reach to the skies.

Then he became more serious and confessed that he was very weak and
broken, and that when he had gone to bed earlier in the evening he had
felt that his last hour was not far distant. Death itself sometimes
floats 'twixt cup and lip, as has been remarked by a heathen philosopher,
and if he should be called away before he had seen Melchior again, then
must she be his messenger and tell his son that he had found that part of
the White Lion, of the white tincture of argentum potabile or potable
silver, which his letter had put him on the track of. His son would know
what he meant, and to-morrow he would write down the particulars if he
should succeed that night in finding again the substance through which he
had attained to the greatest wonder that science had achieved since the
days of Adam.

He emptied bumper after bumper and clinked glasses at least a dozen times
with Frau Vorkel, who was immensely tickled with the unwonted honour.

After that he drew his chair closer to hers that he might better impress
upon her what she was to say to Melchior. He began by telling her that
she could never understand the full meaning of what had happened but that
she must take his word for it, he had discovered an elixir whose effect
was most wonderful and would change the whole course of events. From now
onwards, lying would be impossible, the reign of truth was at hand and
deceit had been routed from its last stronghold.

As she, however, shrank back from him, still somewhat fearful, he
demanded loftily if she ever would have dared to announce to him, her old
master, so candidly what she thought of him, as she had done an hour ago,
if she had not inhaled the contents of the phial. And Frau Vorkel had to
admit that she had been forced by some occult power to utter those
disrespectful speeches. She looked with awed wonder, first at her
master, then at the little bottle, and suddenly broke out with: "My! My
What will be left for the judges to do when everyone can be forced to
speak out boldly and disclose his smallest sin. My! My! But then we
shall hear pretty tales! From the Burgomaster down, everyone in Leipsic
will have to get a new pair of ears, for what one hears will be as
outrageous and unseemly as among the savages."

These observations showed the Court apothecary that Frau Vorkel had,
despite her want of intelligence, grasped to a certain extent the
importance of his discovery; while this pleased him in a way, it also
made him uneasy, therefore he made her swear on the crucifix that so long
as she lived she would never impart to any living soul, his son excepted,
what she had that evening experienced.

Then Herr Ueberhell went back to his search for the unknown element which
had given to his son's elixir the power that had been exhibited in such
wonderful fashion. But he did not succeed in finding the right
ingredient, for as often as he called Frau Vorkel to come and inhale the
new mixture, she gave such plausible and politic answers to his dangerous
questions that he could be by no means sure of her absolute truthfulness.
Then too the operations progressed slowly because that day at noon his
finger had been badly cut by the bursting of a glass retort. So
presently he ceased work for a while and insisted that Frau Vorkel should
take the phial in her own hand and inhale its contents once more, because
it pleased him to try the power of the elixir.

With an amused smile he asked her if she used the great quantities of
wool, which she so constantly demanded, for no other purpose than to knit
socks for him.

The phial trembled in the hand of the housekeeper, and before she could
help it her response had passed her lips:

"You have all the socks that you need and it is surely no great crime for
me to knit a few pairs to warm the feet of your assistant, that poor,
silent worm who stands downstairs the livelong day in the cold shop."

Despite this reply Herr Ueberhell only laughed and continued the
inquisition gaily. He next wished to know who was dearer to the heart of
the housekeeper, the assistant or her late husband, to which she rejoined
"Why should I lament Vorkel? He was a bully, who never could learn how
to cut out a coat, and always stole his customers' cloth." At that
moment there was an ominous crash on the floor, and a powerful odour
filled the laboratory; the phial had slipped from the hands of the
frightened woman.

What happened after that Frau Vorkel even in her old age shuddered to
recall. How it could have been possible for the amiable and pious Court
apothecary to give utterance to such objurgations and invectives, such
sacrilegious curses and anathemas, and how she, a respectable and proper
woman, of good Leipsic people, ever could have allowed herself to attack
any one, least of all her excellent master, in such abusive language were
problems she could never solve.

Yet they must not be censured for their use of Billingsgate, for the
strong aroma of the elixir forced them to tear aside the veil which in
Leipsic, as elsewhere, clothes the ugly truth as with a pleasing garment,
and to lay bare all the rancour that filled their hearts.

Later when she thought about the breaking of the phial, the conviction
grew upon her limited intelligence that this accident would perhaps prove
in the end to be the best thing that could have happened, not only for
her but for all mankind. To her excellent master, at least, the Elixir
of Truth proved fatal all too soon; the intense excitement of that night
had shaken him so cruelly that before the day dawned the feeble flame of
his life had flickered out.

Frau Vorkel found him dead the next morning in his laboratory. He must
have gone thither to seek once more for the lost substance after she had
helped him to bed. Before he had begun his work he must have wished to
encourage himself by a glance at the portrait of his grandchild, for as
she opened the door the sheet of paper with the red crayon drawing was
wafted from the open chest, beside which her master had fallen, and like
a butterfly, fluttered down upon the heart that had ceased to beat
several hours before.

Six months after the death of the Court apothecary, Melchior Ueberhell
returned home and Frau Vorkel or, as she must now be called, Frau
Schimmel, was the only person to whom he wrote to announce the hour of
his arrival in Leipsic.

In his letter the young doctor begged her to undertake the responsibility
of engaging a man servant and a kitchen maid for him, and of seeing that
there was a fire laid on his hearth to welcome him. He also asked "his
faithful old friend" to nail up before the furnace of the laboratory on
the first floor the brass triangle which the messenger, who brought the
letter, would give to her. It was to be hung with the face, bearing the
numerals and the figures of animals, towards the outside.

This news threw Frau Schimmel into a great state of excitement and at the
appointed hour everything stood ready for the reception of the future
occupants of the Ueberhell house.

Doctor Melchior and his family waited in Connewitz for the sun to set
that he might enter his native town after it was dark and yet before the
city gates were closed; for it was characteristic of his retiring nature
to wish to avoid exposing himself and his beautiful wife and child to the
vulgar curiosity of the people. These two had made the journey in a
litter carried by mules.

As it was just the time for the Easter fair and many strangers were
arriving in Leipsic the travellers passed through the Peterstrasse,
across the market-place and entered their newly built house without
attracting any attention.

It was too dark for them to see the statue of Minerva on the peak of the
high gable and the sun-dial on its face with the circle of animals, but
the lighted windows on the ground-floor and in the first story gave the
house a hospitable air.

Frau Schimmel who had long been awaiting their arrival went out to meet
them and the new man servant held the lantern so that they could see her
curtseys.

"May the holy saints bless your homecoming!" the old lady called out, and
Melchior felt himself choke at the host of sweet memories evoked by this
greeting--of how his mother used to fold his hands and teach him to pray
to the holy patrons of the house, of the sad hour when he had received
the news of his father's death--and to his astonishment he felt the warm
tears running down his cheeks, the first he had shed for many years and
almost before he knew it himself, he had caught Frau Schimmel to his
heart and kissed her tenderly.

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