The Alchemist's Gift Read online

  THE ALCHEMIST’S GIFT

  Martin Rua

  Start Reading

  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.aria-fiction.com

  About The Alchemist’s Gift

  On a trip to Prague to visit an exhibition of precious objects of alchemy, Lorenzo Aragona finds himself caught in the dark murder of an old antiquarian, also fond of mysteries. He is suddenly catapulted into a hidden and disturbing world, run by a mysterious brotherhood that will force him to return to Naples.

  Helped by the Masons in the deciphering of a series of puzzles, but under the blackmail of shady figures who are threatening to kill him and those he holds dearest, Lorenzo finds himself in front of a real alchemic puzzle, which brings him back to studying the experiments of the famous Prince of Sansevero, who lived in Naples in 1700.

  The recovered traces, however, lead him away from his city, to France, looking for a stunning cathedral, containing nine mysterious mirrors. But what is this cathedral and what powerful secret is it hiding?

  To Alessandro, Alice and their dreams

  Videmus nunc per speculum (et) in aenigmate

  1 Cor. 13, 12

  Contents

  Cover

  Welcome Page

  About The Alchemist’s Gift

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Part One: Non Hoc Totum

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part Two: God’s Music

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Thanks

  About Martin Rua

  About The Parthenope Trilogy

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  Prologue

  From the so-called Hašek manuscript, a secret collection of letters belonging to

  Vladislav Hašek

  Naples, 25 May – 5 July 1770

  Naples, Autumn 1770

  My dear Count, the text that follows is a little composition, or perhaps I should say re-elaboration, of my own creation. I have drawn together my memories of the exceptional Austrian musician I had the good fortune of meeting as well as what I remember of your own account of your felicitous expedition and of the events which followed it. This brief tale will serve as an accompaniment to the account of your voyage, in which I long to read those profound reflections which have so sublimely opened the gates of our knowledge.

  With fraternal esteem,

  R.D.S.

  Naples, 25 May 1770

  “Votre Excellence me flatte!” said the embarrassed young man in French before continuing in Italian, a language which he knew well, “And to tell you the truth, you are one of the few people who has welcomed me with warmth and recognised my talents.”

  The prince gave a kind, resigned smile.

  “My dear Amadeus, you must excuse the irreverent attitude of my fellow citizens. This land of ours is the cradle of Italic culture and civilization. The kingdom has thousands of conductors and composers – some say there are three hundred in Naples alone – and outsiders who come to present their art are often looked down upon. A grave mistake, of course.”

  The young musician nodded. The prince was truly open minded and he would gladly have spent hours listening to him speak, but time was pressing so he took a series of scores from his leather portfolio. “This is a small gift for you, to thank you for your kindness, for showing me your amazing chapel, and for revealing some of your secrets, which I shall treasure.”

  The prince received the pages like a precious gift, grasping them tightly, as though they might disappear at any moment.

  “I have attempted to put into music the sequence of whose hidden meaning you spoke. Incredibly, the mathematical intervals seemed to transform into melodies right before my eyes. I wrote this short composition in a single night, immediately after our most agreeable meeting. It is the beginning of an allegro that might be incorporated into a sonata. I have called it Arcana Dei, because I am convinced God himself dictated it to me. I was simply the intermediary.”

  The prince’s eyes widened and he stared at the young man intensely. A sign: the arrival of this Austrian musician, little more than an adolescent, must surely be a sign.

  He laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder and smiled at him again. “You are going to be a legend, Amadeus, I am sure of it.”

  *

  Naples 10 July 1770

  The two men walked slowly down the chapel’s single aisle. More than two weeks had already passed since the summer solstice and a month and a half since the fortuitous visit of the young musician from Salzburg. The alleys of the city centre were not yet afflicted with the usual sticky summer heat, and there, in the chapel, one was still comfortable.

  There were only two years between them yet they looked like father and son. What with his uncertain gait, wrinkled face, and laboured breath, the host and owner of the chapel was showing signs of premature ageing.

  The other man, however, of noble appearance, elegantly dressed and refined in manner, seemed in much better shape – smooth, unmarked skin, an intense stare and an upright posture. He discreetly laid his hand on his close friend’s shoulder and gave him a good-natured smile. “You should take a holiday, Excellency. The heat in the city will soon become unbearable.”

  The host momentarily raised his eyes from the chapel’s intricate, labyrinthine floor and looked at his illustrious guest. “You are right, my dear Count, before long it will be stifling here in the heart of Naples, but I still have so much to do. I cannot interrupt my experiments, turn off the ovens, plug the stills, and stand around doing nothing at all.” He paused for a moment, smiled wryly, and continued. “If I did, I’d never be able to match your achievements!”

  The count smiled back, amused by his amiable host’s false modesty. “Your Excellency, you have already equalled and surpassed this humble apprentice, and this, your chapel, is clear testimony to your brilliance! One day, the name of Prince Sansevero will be remembered as one of the great enlightened spirits of the century.”

  “As will yours, Count Saint-Germain.”

  “Oh, I am simply an illusionist, Excellency – a glass blower.”

  Prince Sansevero raised an eyebrow. “I would never have asked a glass blower to help carry out the delicate task I entrusted to you. You are a great alchemist, Count, a scholar of profound knowledge and, above all, a conscientious man. You are someone I can trust.”

  The Count Saint-Germain suddenly became serious. “You may be sure of that, Prince.
Principally because the task you assigned me proved highly demanding… Shocking, even. I don’t think anyone who had not been initiated into our secrets could have endured what I saw there.”

  In the meantime, the two men had reached the steps that led up to the main altar. The prince paused, then turned to look at his friend. “Tell me, I beg you.”

  Saint-Germain sighed, searching for the right words. “The tradition is based upon truth – I found the room.”

  The prince put his hand to his mouth, as if to stifle a cry of joy. Or perhaps of dismay.

  “Dear God! Tell me everything!”

  The count sighed again, this time almost with fatigue. “Thanks to my connections and a hefty donation, I obtained permission to isolate that part of the building. A curtain arranged to appear as though it were concealing some ordinary maintenance work hid me from the gaze of onlookers.”

  “Very clever.”

  “Then, at the pre-arranged time, I positioned the catalyst. The phenomenon began to occur and I sent my assistants away, remaining alone with my excitement as the light moved closer to me…”

  The count stopped and the prince, hanging on his every word, urged him to continue, gesturing impatiently.

  “The stone disappeared and I saw beyond it into the very depths of the temple. I identified the correct place an instant before the phenomenon ceased. I called my assistants back and went through to the crypt.”

  Sansevero could barely contain himself. His friend’s account appeared to have wholly re-invigorated him and he seemed almost to be witnessing first-hand that which Saint-Germain had seen.

  “We found the room. Once again, I left my assistants outside. I went in alone and followed your instructions. And there it was… the Wouivre of that place. It was immensely powerful, an unimaginable force, though very different from what one might have imagined.”

  The prince’s eyes shone like those of a child with a new toy. “But you were able to contain its force, weren’t you? You managed to draw it out of the earth and master it, just as we’d planned? What did you see? What effect did it have, what wonders did it work?”

  Saint-Germain took out his precious pocket watch – the only one in the world, a gift from the prince, and made by the prince himself – and showed it to his friend. Sansevero, at first confused, but then intrigued, looked at it: the watch had stopped. He looked up at the count.

  “I don’t understand. Did it break? Did it not work at the crucial moment? You said you had drawn out the force…”

  The count nodded. “Oh yes, the mechanism worked perfectly. It is simply that the phenomenon provoked a change in the watch, something most unexpected.” He wound the watch up and it started again. He pulled out a rusty coin and positioned it by the watch. The Prince of Sansevero’s eyes widened.

  “And this is just one of the effects, Excellency,” said the count. “Once I had got back upstairs, I felt a great peace. I felt that I was in harmony with the cosmos. But I fear the power enclosed there might have evil consequences were the procedures to be performed incorrectly. I wrote down everything I saw and heard in this notebook.”

  From his dress coat he pulled out a small leather bound book, tied shut with a strap. “I’ve noted down directions for finding the room, along with the formula we created and everything else which needs to be done. Of course, it is all encoded in the language of we initiates. And I have also added my personal impressions.”

  The prince took the small book as though it were a precious relic, and turned it over in his hands for a while. Impressed upon it was the familiar symbol of Mercury – the caduceus – which, for alchemists, represented the synthesis of the three elements in the Magnum Opus: mercury, sulphur and salt. He looked back at the count.

  “The Wouivre…?”

  “It is safe. But, Excellency, are you really sure you wish to keep the evidence of its existence and power?” Saint-Germain asked, pointing at his notebook, a hint of concern in his voice.

  Raimondo de Sangro assumed a determined expression. “Count, what we have learned must not be lost. I shall hide the formula and your notes in a place where only we initiates will be able to find them, just as I have done with all my most important and dangerous discoveries. Hidden well, yet in plain view of everyone. And if someone does find them, they will need to be well versed in our lore to be able to decipher our language and access the secret we have discovered. As long as I’m alive, you will be the only person to know where I have hidden these precious documents. But if one day someone were to find and interpret them, it would mean they were worthy of the discovery.”

  The Count of Saint-Germain held the prince’s gaze for a few seconds, then nodded.

  “As you wish, my brother.”

  The prince smiled, as though to re-assure the great alchemist, and moved towards the main altar. He turned to the nave and stretched out his arms, satisfied. “So, what do you think of this, my humble work?”

  The count, who had joined him, turned as well, his gaze dwelling on the astonishing sculptures designed by the prince.

  “A true Hermetic temple.”

  Raimondo de Sangro smiled.

  “Not hoc totum.”

  Part One

  Non Hoc Totum

  Chapter 1

  Prague, the last days of spring

  The Vltava flowed placidly under the arches of the Charles Bridge, and from the ancient stone parapet the water glistened gold in the low light of sunset. Wild ducks, seagulls and swans swam slowly between the pillars as hundreds of people – tourists, artists, orchestras of buskers and ordinary folk – paid their homage to the great bridge. They caressed its statues, marvelled at its harmonious form, or simply walked across it to reach Malá Strana, the Lesser Town, with its alleyways, buildings adorned with mysterious signs, traditional restaurants and inevitable souvenir shops.

  I’d just come out of one of those beer houses where the Czechs went to escape the tourist hordes, and was heading towards the meeting place. It was almost time. I didn’t want to be late for my appointment with the mysterious person I’d encountered just a few hours earlier, immediately after the conference. Organised as part of an exhibition called Magnum Opus: Prague and the Hermetic Tradition, the conference was an international event, and one in which – being an antiquarian and student of alchemy – I’d been keen to participate. I’d even brought along some of the precious Renaissance alchemical instruments I owned.

  *

  “Thank you very much for your valuable contribution, Mr Aragona,” the exhibition’s elegant Venetian curator, Pierluigi Folin, had said when we’d met that morning. “As well as the fascinating items you’ve lent us, your consultancy work has been extremely valuable.”

  “You flatter me, Mr Folin. It was a pleasure to put my modest knowledge at your service. There is actually one thing I regret, though. I wish it had been me who owned the exhibition’s centrepiece and had brought it here. You won’t believe it, but the only time I’ve managed to see it in the flesh, as it were, has been here in Prague.”

  The centrepiece, as I called it, was an extraordinary eighteenth century pocket watch which had supposedly been made by the Prince of Sansevero and given to Count Saint-Germain, a disturbing and mysterious character who moved in alchemic-hermetic circles in the 1700s. The watch, which belonged to a Neapolitan businessman of noble birth and was usually kept in a Naples bank vault, had never been exhibited before and very few people had seen it first-hand. The owner, a small-minded and unpleasant man, had never given his consent. It was said to have dark powers, which is why it was on display at this exhibition.

  But only after it had been insured for two million euros.

  “It’s incredible that a scholar like you, who lives in the city where the alchemical watch is kept, has never had the chance to see it close up,” Folin said, incredulously.

  I’d shrugged and sighed. “What can I say? Some things always fall into the wrong hands.”

  When I’d managed to approach t
he case where the watch was being displayed, having first traversed the sort of crowd you’d more commonly associate with the Louvre, where people flock to admire and photograph the Mona Lisa, I’d been amazed. The few existing photos of the object didn’t do justice to the sheer perfection of its mechanism or the beauty of its inscriptions and details. But although it worked perfectly, it had stopped. In fact, every time its cogs began to turn, they seemed to create some mysterious electro-magnetic field, which, in turn, generated very peculiar phenomena. Hence the name ‘alchemical watch’.

  That morning, for the first time in public, the watch had been set into action, and I, together with the other guests of honour in the packed conference hall, had seen with my own eyes what it was capable of. It had been placed on a large green cloth on the speakers’ table together with various cameras which had been set up to allow all present to follow events on several maxi-screens. The man responsible for the extraordinary artefact, someone trusted by the owner, had put several bars of rusty iron into a glass container full of a water solution. He had then placed the watch next to the jar and operated its mechanism. The hands had started to turn and a delightful tune – played by a music box incorporated into the object – had filled the room. At the same time, several small, finely worked automata began to move along the casing: you could see a tiny pastoral scene centred around a fountain, out of which emerged an anthropomorphic figure with two heads, one male, one female. A rebis. In the background behind it, which appeared smaller as if to highlight the perspective, a small tomb opened and closed. Moving in and out of it was a scroll with the words non hoc totum – this is not all – written on it. The scene was framed by two columns with different capitals. It was an extraordinary sight, a real miniature marvel. Equally as extraordinary was the effect the watch was having on the rusty bars: after just a few seconds, the liquid in which they were immersed had started to seethe as though boiling, and after several minutes the rust had quite literally flaked off the iron immersed in the solution.