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Chapter I Extracts From The Diary Of Professor Brankel

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‘Of a truth, sir, this oyster may contain a most precious jewel.’

Giraldus von Breen was a famous but somewhat obscure alchemist of the Middle Ages whose life was wholly spent in searching after the philosopher’s stone. As the point I wished to elucidate was rather important, I went back to find the ‘Griraldus.’ I hunted for a long time, but was unable to discover anything of the book I wanted. In despair I consulted the librarian, and he told me that he had seen a copy of the ‘Giraldus’ in two volumes about a year ago, but had lost sight of it since. He also added that it was but little known, and that until myself no one had inquired for it, with the exception of a young Englishman who had left Heidelberg about eight or nine months back. Under these circumstances nothing could be done, as the book was evidently not in the library; so, in despair, I took myself home in no very amiable frame of mind at my failure.

August 27.—I lectured to-day to my students, and during my discourse I mentioned how unfortunate I had been with regard to the ‘Giraldus.’ At the end of my lecture Herr Buechler, one of my students, desired to speak with me, and said he thought he could tell me where to find the ‘Giraldus.’ I asked him where, and he said he had lodged in the same house with a young Englishman called Black, who had left Heidelberg about eight months ago. Of course, I immediately saw that it was the same young Englishman that the librarian had mentioned. Herr Buechler also said that the young Englishman was a great admirer of the works of Giraldus Von Breen, and that he was constantly studying them. He thought it likely that Herr Black had taken it from the library to read at his lodgings, and, as he had left a number of books behind him, it might be amongst them. I immediately accompanied Herr Buechler to the late lodgings of the young Englishman, and found there a great number of old books, principally works on chemistry. Both Herr Buechler and myself hunted for a long time without success, but at last the ‘Giraldus’ was found hidden under a pile of old manuscripts. Thanking Herr Buechler for his trouble, I took the ‘Giraldus’ home with me, and spent the night in taking notes from it for my next day’s lecture on the chemistry of the fourteenth century. It was in the old black-letter type, and was bound in faded yellow leather, with the arms of Giraldus stamped upon it. I found out in a short time that I had only the first volume; doubtless the Englishman had the second, as Herr Buechler and myself had searched too thoroughly among the books to leave any doubt as to it being among them.

August 28.—Coming home to-night, I was smoking in my study after dinner when I caught sight of the ‘Giraldus’ lying on the table where I had thrown it the previous night. I took it up and began to turn over the leaves idly, when a piece of paper fell out on to the floor. I took no notice, as it was evidently only a book-mark, but went on reading and turning over the leaves. I became so absorbed in the book that three o’clock struck before I found that I had finished the book and let my pipe go out. I arose, yawned, and proposed to myself to go to bed, when I thought that I would just have one more pipe. I looked about for a piece of paper to light it, when I caught sight of the slip that had dropped out of the ‘Giraldus.’ It was lying under the table, and, bending forward, I picked it up. Then, twisting it up, I held it over the flame of the lamp to light it. In doing go I caught sight of some writing on it, and, being of a curious turn of mind, I withdrew it and spread it out in order to examine it. I found that it was not paper as I thought, but a piece of parchment yellow with age. It was so very dirty that on close examination all I could make out was the figure ‘V’ and the words ‘erecipsa’ and ‘is.’ I could not make out the meaning of this. I knew that the first was the Roman numeral for five, and that ‘is’ was an English word, but I could not make out the meaning of ‘erecipsa.’ I examined the paper more particularly in order to see if I could find out anything likely to elucidate the mystery, and saw that there were other words which I could not make out, as the paper was so dirty and my light so dim. As this was the case, I thought it best to defer all examination of the paper until next day.

August 29.—As soon as I could get away from my duties, I hurried home eager to discover the meaning of the mysterious words on the parchment. I washed it gently in warm water in order to remove the dirt, and then, with the aid of a strong magnifying glass, I made out the words. They were in black-letter type, and I translate them word for word into modern writing. The following is a facsimile of the writing translated from the black-letter type: ‘IV XII seremun sudlari G V silev erics arutuf is . . . amenev saecsim euqsatib alli taedna atiretearp erecipsa? ... is sumina mutnat utitser alos etsev simina ni te silev ereuxe ilos metsev VVRLXXLR.’ It was evidently a cryptogram—that is, the words had been purposely thrown into confusion in order to conceal some secret. I was determined to find it out. Giraldus von Breen, although an obscure chemist, might by some strange chance have found out a great secret of nature which had escaped his more famed contemporaries. The task which I now set myself to do was to unravel the cryptogram and find out the secret it contained. The question which immediately presented itself was how to begin. There did not seem any starting-point, so I laid down the parchment in order to consider some method. By a singular coincidence I had a few months before been reading Jules Verne’s scientific romance, ‘A Journey into the Centre of the Earth,’ and I remembered the clever elucidation of the cryptogram therein. I went to my bookcase, and took down the romance of Monsieur Verne in order to read the part I referred to. Having done so, I again took up my own puzzle, and proceeded to find out its meaning. In the first place the figures VVRLXXLR at the end were underlined, which evidently showed that they were of great importance. They were rather disconnected from the rest of the writing. I noticed there were two figures of each kind, two fives and two tens. The thought then came into my head to add them up. The total was thirty. I then counted the words of the cryptogram (including also the Roman numerals), and I found they also came to the number of thirty. I was certain now that the figures were a key to the writing, and puzzled over it for four or five hours in order to find out the meaning. At last I gave it up in despair, and went to bed, where I had a nightmare, and thought that I was a cryptogram somebody was trying to elucidate.

August 30th.—All day long I have puzzled over that cryptogram, trying to find out the connection between the figures and the writing. When I went home I shut myself up in my study, and proceeded to steadily work out the mystery. Again the figures VVRLXXLR met my eyes: and this time I noticed the letters. What might RL and LR mean? One was the reverse of the other. In puzzling over this, I noticed a Hebrew Talmud lying on my desk, which I had borrowed in order to verify a quotation. While looking at it, the thought came into my head of the strange peculiarity of the Hebrew language, being read backwards, and from right to left. As this struck me, I looked at the figures, and immediately thought of applying it.

VVRL evidently meant, read V and V from right to left, while XXLR meant read X and X from left to right. The whole number of words was thirty; and the total of the underlined figures was thirty. The cryptogram was, without doubt, divided into two sections of five words each, and two sections of ten words each, which made a total of thirty. If I counted five words from the first, and read from right to left, I would get the meaning. Then the question came, should I count five nine words, and then two tens? I thought not. If there were two fives and two tens, it would be more likely that the maker of the cryptogram only put them thus: VV, RL, XX, LR, to mislead, and that the proper way to arrange the words would be to divide them into sections of five, ten, five, ten, and read them as instructed.

Pursuing this method, I read the first five letters from right to left, the next ten from left to right, and did the same with the other two sections. This was the result:—

sudlariG seremun II X IV.

silev erics arutuf is . . . . . euqsatib saecsim amenev alli taedua—mutnat sumina is . . . . . ? erecipsa atiretearp utitsev alos etsev simina ni te silev ereuxe ilos metsev.

Arranging this in its order it came out:—

sudlariG seremun II X IV silev erics arutuf is . . . . . euqsatib saecsim amenev alli taedua mutnat sumina is . . . . . ? erecipsa atiretearp utitsev alos etsev simina ni te silev ereuxe ilos metsev.

Thus far the document had assumed a more feasible aspect, and I had great hopes of unravelling it. On looking at my last effort, however, I found myself as far back as ever, the words made no sense. In fact, they were not words at all, but a mere jumble of letters. I laid it down at last, and betook myself to my pipe in order to ponder over some method for the solution of the problem. I caught up the romance of Jules Verne, and it opened at the twenty-eighth page. I read carelessly until I came to the last sentence of the page: ‘Aha! clever Satenussenum,’ he cried, ‘you had first written out your sentence the wrong way.’

I immediately dashed down both book and pipe, and with a shout proceeded to apply the idea to my cryptogram with this result.

Vestem soli exuere velis et in animis veste sola vestitu praeterita aspicere? Si animus tantum audeat ilia venema misceas bitasque. Si futura scire velis V IV X II numeres Giraldus.

At last I had solved the problem. It was written in Latin, and oh! what vile Latin; but still I easily made it out, and write it down here in good German—

‘Wouldst thou cast thy vestments of clay, walking unclad, save in thy soul garment, and view past ages? If thy spirit dareth as much, mingle then these drugs, and drink, if thou wouldst know the future add V IV X II Giraldus.’

When I read these marvellous words my brain reeled, and, staggering to the table, I filled up a glass with brandy, and drank it off. To think that I had re-discovered this wonderful secret and by the merest chance! What infinite power it would give me! By mingling these drugs—but what drugs? The cryptogram did not mention any. I got out my magnifying glass, and examined the paper carefully. At last I succeeded in making out a number of small red letters, which looked like Greek. My own magnifying glass was not powerful enough, so I sent to my brother-professor, Herr Palamam, to borrow his. When it came, I again applied myself to the red letters, and at last succeeded in making out the names. They are rare and valuable drugs, but I shall not inscribe them even in thee, my diary, for fear they should meet any prying eye. I shall share my mighty power with no one; but shall walk through the realms of the past alone.