Some twenty years ago, there was a small country house a few leagues from Heidelberg, inhabited by the Baron von Heidenloch and his only daughter, the lovely Notburga.
Although the Baron was the only descendant of a family of burgraves that had once been powerful, redoubtable masters of the entire region, he was nonetheless a modest landowner, cultivating his fields as best he could. His ancestors had given up living in Heidenloch Castle seven or eight generations before.
The castle, after having been the terror of the country for three centuries, was now merely a mass of ruins. Those ruins, moreover, still justified their sinister name, which signifies “pagan tower” in German, for it was claimed that specters of the dead and hideous demons still wandered by night among the fallen towers, and especially in the subterranean workings.
One night, it was asserted, a peasant passing close to those subterranean chambers had noticed that an impetuous air current was escaping from them, and that moans and groans were mingled with the strange wind. He ran away and returned to his lodgings half-dead.
In spite of that fear, however, he could not banish the idea from his imagination that he had to visit those subterranean excavations, and one Quasimodo Sunday he went into them resolutely, after having armed himself with a crucifix and placing a scapular and relics around his neck.
First he went into a straight narrow tunnel hollowed out in the rock, and headed toward a bizarre vacillating light that was shining in the distance. He arrived at a closed door in which there was a carbuncle that was producing the strange light.
His heart palpitating and his forehead bathed with cold sweat, he knocked three times on the door. It opened of its own accord, and the peasant found himself face to face with four tall men sitting around a round table on which there was a book bound in black velvet and ornamented with gold. The four men, as pale and thin as cadavers, wore ancient German costume; they seemed nonplussed by the sight of the peasant, and began to tremble.
“Pax vobis! Peace by with you!” the peasant said to them by way of a greeting, feeling no less emotional than them.
“Hic nulla pax!” they replied, meaning “there is no peace here.”
“Pax vobis in nomine Domine!”—the peace of the Lord be with you—the peasant added.
For their part, they repeated in faint voices the lamentable words “Hic nulla pax!”
He approached the table then and said, a third time: “Pax vobiscum!”
They pointed silently to the book, on which was written, in large golden letters: Dies irae. Day of wrath!
“Who are you?” he asked them.
“We don’t know ourselves.”
“What are you doing here?”
“We’re awaiting the last judgment, fearfully.”
“Are you alive or dead?”
“Neither alive or dead.”
“Have mortals anything to fear from you?”
“We are the guardians of this place, and woe betide those who come like you to disturb our mysteries.”
It would have needed far less to make the peasant turn on his heels; he did not need to be told twice to go away, and he ran all the way back to the farm. He found it on fire, and while he was trying to rescue his wife and children a beam fell on his head and blinded him.
He therefore paid with his earthly happiness for his fatal visit to the subterranean workings of Heidenloch; henceforth without a family, reduced to poverty and deprived of sight, almost an idiot, he vegetated for several years, begging at the side of the high road and repeating in a voice that made anyone who heard it shiver: “Don’t go into the cellars of Heidenloch.”
So, the Baron paid little heed to the old castle, which was, in any case, a quarter of an hour’s walk away from his house, produced nothing but weeds and was haunted by spirits. He only paid attention to his daughter and his garden, going to Heidelberg regularly four times a year in order to buy a dress for the former and shrubs and rare flowers for the latter.
In spite of the strange name she bore, like all the women in her family since time immemorial, Notburga as a charming young woman, pale and rosy-cheeked, mild-mannered and reputed to be the best housekeeper for ten leagues around. She knew how to produce triple value from her father’s meager income, by virtue of the way she administered it; the house was spick and span from the attic to the cellar; the table recommended itself by an abundance and an expertise that even a gastronome would have admired, and there was still, when the need arose, clothing in the house for poor children, bread for the needy and a glass of wine for convalescent old people. As for the sick, Notburga visited them in their homes, and always came out heaped with their blessings.
One day, as the Baron was finishing his dinner and his daughter was pouring him an excellent glass of distilled cherry liqueur, someone rang the bell at the gate, and Notburga’s little dog started barking and running toward a stranger who was coming along the avenue toward the house.
The Baron hastened to drink the rest of his cherry brandy, put his glass down on the table and got up to greet the stranger, who, after having bowed and sat down in the chair that Notburga offered him, abruptly said to the Baron: “Will you sell me Heidenloch Castle, sir?”
The Baron, amazed by this proposition, which he had scarcely expected, looked the stranger up and down. He was still a young man, short, with an agreeable physiognomy, although he wore a full beard, which was very rare in Germany at that time, and his eyes darted a singular gleam through the large blue-tinted lenses of his spectacles.
“I’m waiting for your reply,” the unknown man said, smiling.
“In truth,” said the Baron, “I’m not at all sure what to say. The old castle is no use to me at all, but it’s the heritage that my ancestors have left me, and I’m wondering whether it might not be disrespectful to them to sell it to a stranger.”
“Is that all that’s stopping you? Then lease it to me for ninety-nine years and three hundred and sixty-four days.”
“That’s an excellent means of settling the matter,” said the Baron, rubbing his hands.
“And how much rent do you want for Heidenloch?”
“What do you think of a hundred florins a year?”
“I’d rather pay for the whole ninety-nine years and three hundred and sixty-four days at once. I’ll offer you eighty thousand florins.”
The Baron had great difficulty in repressing a cry of joy, and his broad face was covered with a sudden red flush.
“Eighty thousand florins,” repeated the unknown man.
“I accept, gladly.”
“Wait—that’s not all. If I find the buried treasures in the uncultivated grounds of the castle that I suspect to be buried there, or precious objects of any kind whatsoever, I’ll give a fifth share to your daughter.”
The Baron’s face darkened. “I very much doubt that you’ll find any treasure at Heidenloch. If that’s the reason you’re buying the castle, I fear that you’re making a bad bargain.”
The young man smiled again. “That’s my concern. Would you care to come to Heidelberg tomorrow, to the office of the notary Kalisch. You’ll find your eighty thousand florins and the contract all ready to sign.”
With that, the singular individual bowed, and, without adding another word, departed with such promptitude that the Baron could neither escort him nor return his bow. So the Baron let himself fall back into his chair, drank a second glass of cherry liqueur to steady his mind, and looked at his daughter.
“Well, Notburga,” he said, shaking his head, “what do you think of that?”
“I think, Father, that it’s an excellent arrangement, which will triple our income.”
“And will serve you as a dowry, my love. Ha ha! Now you can marry whomever you wish—even a councilor. Eight thousand florins! What worries me is the buried treasures he mentioned. Is there, in fact, anything hidden under the ruins of the castle?”
“Don’t worry about that, Father. Since the young man’s paying you ten thousand times what you estimated that the wretched rubble to be worth, let’s wish him the best of luck finding heaps of gold and diamonds.”
“You’re right, as always, my girl. Right—I’ll go sign the document in Heidelberg tomorrow.” Suddenly, he jumped out of his chair. “His name! He didn’t tell me his name! Am I the victim of some kind of trick? Is someone playing games with me?”
“Who would think of playing tricks on poor folk like us?” the young woman replied. “The young man’s honest and genial face ought to drive away any such idea. Come on, Father, go and water your flowers, as usual, before we go to bed. Then, after having thanked God for the unexpected blessing he’s given us, let’s sleep peacefully until tomorrow.”
Sleep peacefully! That was easy to say, but not so easy to do, alas. Needless to say, the Baron did not sleep a wink all night, and he left for Heidelberg earlier than was necessary.
He went straight to the notary’s office. He had scarcely given his name than the latter started to laugh. That laughter chilled the Baron, who thought once again that he might be the victim of a practical joke.
“Ha ha!” said the notary—a short man who seemed to have the ambition of one day rivaling the famous Great Tun of Heidelberg, which contained I don’t know how many liters.80 “Doesn’t this affair seem to you like a dream?”
“Indeed it does,” relied the Baron. With a forced smile he added: “Is it one? I don’t even know my would-be tenant’s name.”
“In truth, I didn’t know it myself yesterday evening, and I scarcely know it today. He came to see me looking exactly as you saw him, and deposited two enormous sums of gold on my desk. ‘I’m renting Heidelberg Castle on a long lease,’ he said, ‘for eighty thousand florins. Here they are. Here’s a rough draft of the lease. The Baron will come to sign it tomorrow morning. Pay him and take these two hundred florins for the expenses of the document and your honorarium.’ With that, he disappeared without waiting for my reply.
“When I had recovered somewhat from my surprise, I read the document. The most skillful man of law in Germany couldn’t have drafted it with more care, except for one condition that made me burst out laughing—the one that grants Fraulein Notburga, your daughter, a fifth of any buried treasures discovered in the castle’s dependencies. Buried treasures! That’s a joke! Buried treasures! An excellent joke!”
“But in sum, what’s my tenant’s name?”
“Fritz Saal. Councilor Fritz Saal.”
“Does he live in Heidelberg?”
“Who knows? Does he know himself? According to the information I’ve been able to glean, as best I could, since yesterday evening, although he’s still young he’s already traveled the five continents of the world. Sometimes here, sometimes there, he nevertheless possesses, at the gates of the city, bequeathed to him by his uncle, Councilor Gewartius, a house full from top to bottom with bones of every sort, and stones collected from a thousand different places. My head clerk affirms that he saw him, last night, stop at every one of the pebbles on a path, pick them up one after another, and sometimes put them in his pocket. According to the same clerk, when he can’t procure certain stones, he has molds made of them, and he went all the way to Leipzig just to bring back a cast of the famous sandstone found near the Oxen Tower in Köthen, one which the imprint of a six-fingered hand can be seen—not to mention those from the village of Hohentregel, on the gray surface of which imprints of hands and feet can be seen.81 I’d blush to tell you the prices it’s rumored that he pays for these things, for which you or I wouldn’t give a kreutzer.”
While the notary was speaking, the Baron plunged his hand mechanically into the bags that had become his property, making the beautiful gold coins that they contained clink.”
“No matter where the good fortune come from, it’s welcome!” he said. “Would you care to buy me, with this capital, some good and reliable bonds, or find me some excellent mortgage that won’t require too much difficulty in administering the income, whose returns I can obtain regularly on a weekly basis?” Having completed this request, he started out on his return journey, not without buying two silk dresses for his daughter and a good quality outfit for his old maidservant.
When he returned to Notburga and the young woman and the maidservant had admired the presents the Baron had brought them, the latter told them all the strange and mysterious things he had learned about his bizarre tenant, who took on the proportions of a legendary figure in the eyes of the two women.
It was a full week later when the councilor came to take possession of the old castle, accompanied by a veritable army of workmen. There were at least four hundred of them. The councilor began by giving them orders so lucid and so easily understood, and having them carried out with so much precision, that the ruins of the castle were seen to be transformed, as if by magic, but without losing their picturesque physiognomy, into a habitable dwelling.
The councilor arranged things in such a manner that not a minute of time could be wasted by any of his workers, and that they never made a superfluous thrust with a pick or a shovel. Thus, the work of several months was completed in a week.
When the masons and locksmiths left, upholsterers who were almost as numerous arrived with immense carriages. They decorated the interior of the castle, and, still guided by the councilor, always under his piercing eye, they improvised an endeavor that seemed like the work of magicians, it was simultaneously so sumptuous and severe.
It was common gossip in the village, and even in the Baron’s house, that immense galleries lit by high widows had been constructed, which enclosed a library of more than a hundred thousand volumes, and, which seemed even more serious, a collection of bizarre or gigantic bones careful by arranged on cushions, as if they were made of solid gold—not to mention the minerals marbles, petrifications, animals in bottles full of alcohol, drawers overflowing with seashells, and display cases full of exotic butterflies, animals, birds and reptiles so expertly stuffed that one might think they were alive.
No necromancer had ever had a laboratory more extraordinary and more frightful to behold.
Abruptly, that great agitation of four hundred incessantly active workmen coming and going, hammering and sawing, carrying and arranging, was succeeded by absolute silence and solitude. From one day to the next no one was any longer to be heard or seen, and if the castle had not been lit up from top to bottom every evening, to the remotest corners, one might have thought that it was uninhabited.
In spite of custom, Councilor Fritz Saal, when he had settled into his new home, did not pay any neighborly visits to the local landowners. He did not even go to see his landlord, the Baron. When, by chance, he emerged from his abode, he strolled at a leisurely pace strictly within the boundaries of the old castle. A large Newfoundland dog and two men equipped with long implements reminiscent of lances followed him. From time to time, the dog barked; at times, too, the councilor was seen to make a gesture with his hand, and immediately, the men that were following him would drive their implements into the ground, and pull them out against after having driven them in very deeply. The councilor carefully examined the earth that clung to the ends of the lances, which were turned back in a kind of cross, doubtless designed for that purpose, and took specimens of it. Then he resumed his walk, to repeat the same procedure a few steps further on.
The peasants, who saw all that from afar, ended up taking their new neighbor for a sorcerer looking for treasure, all the more so when other extraordinary things were said about him.
For instance, he had taken into his service a village girl who knew how to cook fairly well but, on the other hand, had very little understanding of order and forethought. Katt possessed a charming and lively face, which went very well with her blue eyes, blonde hair, youthful complexion and slight turned-up nose, as befits a pretty German country girl. However, she devoted a good deal of time to coquetry and as much to placing an embroidered velvet bonnet as pertly as possible on top of her head as to remembering her master’s orders. So, on several occasions she forgot to go shopping in town, and one evening, when the councilor wanted to take his habitual cup of tea, he found that there was no sugar in the house.
Now, as I said, Katt was as coquettish as she was negligent, and if she forgot to make sure that nothing as lacking in her master’s house, she never forgot to buy ornamentations of every sorts with the good wages she received.
Her master said to her: “Katt, since, in spite of my instructions, I’ve run out of sugar this evening, I’ll make some with your clothes.”
Katt smiled at that threat, which seemed to her to be a joke. But the councilor abruptly tore away Kat’s apron, took off a very pretty colored headscarf she was wearing over her shoulders and her tulle bonnet—a bonnet bought the day before, if you please—threw the lot into an earthenware pot, poured over it the contents of a big bottle of oil of vitriol, which was used to clean the copper and brass, added some water, and put it on the fire.
After which he had her fetch some chalk, which he mixed with that fantastic stew and let it boil for some time.
When that singular preparation was cooked to perfection, he fashioned a filter out of paper, made use of it to strain the contents, allowed them to cool and said: “There’s some excellent sugar for this evening.”
With that he went out, after having drunk a glass of the preparation, the rest of which he had carefully transported into the pantry, which he locked, taking away the key.
Indeed, a few days later, the liquor had been transformed into crystallized sugar of dazzling whiteness.
“You see, Katt, how I make sugar,” said the councilor, sugaring his tea with his apron sugar. Next time you forget something, your entire wardrobe will go the same way.”
Needless to say, from then on, the councilor never ran out of sugar again, and Katt told everyone who cared to listen what a sorcerer she had for a master. When she was asked why she did not leave the service of the reprobate, she cited the fear that he inspired in her and her dread of being bewitched by him if she ever handed in her notice. The worthy girl did not add that her master also paid her excellent wages, and that with him, one could filch a little from the household budget with impunity.
It is said that one eventually gets used to things that seem very awkward and strange at first. However, after eighteen months or two years of residence in the old castle, Fritz found himself the focal point of the curiosity of his neighbors, and even the townspeople of Heidelberg, more than ever.
God alone knew how many more-or-less absurd rumors were put about on his account. If he had been seen astride a broomstick flying to the sabbat he could not have been more earnestly accused of acquaintance with the Devil and being his henchman.
It must be admitted that the singular individual did nothing as other people did, and was quite content to surround himself with mysteries calculated to provoke curiosity. Thus, for example, one morning, he laid waste pitilessly to a market garden and an orchard in order to take away the soil, which was a fine clay. Workmen then enclosed that clay in large containers, carefully sealed, and sent off a hundred thousand kilograms, then two hundred thousand, then five hundred thousand, and then a million. But where was he sending it? That was the question. The councilor escorted each consignment personally to the nearest railway depot, and it was only in the depot that he wrote the destination on the cases in pencil.
While these consignments were in progress the councilor, with the celerity for which he was well-known, had an entire village built two hundred meters from the castle, on a part of the soil where the famous clay was not found; nothing was lacking: neither a chapel, nor a school, nor a butcher’s shop, nor a bakery. One morning, a veritable army of miners arrived, speaking a German dialect that was difficult to understand even in Heidelberg. Come from God only knew where, they were immediately housed in the newly-constructed village, and, as they found lodging, meat, bread and all the necessities of life there at a good price, and their children received free education, and physicians paid by the councilor treated the sick, they naturally kept apart from the peasants of the neighborhood, of whom they had no need and whose language they could scarcely understand or speak.
Besides which, those rude workers spent their days and nights digging immense ditches at the bottom of which they were soon spending twelve hours a day, to such good effect that the councilor as soon exporting even more coal than he had exported of the famous clay, and he had to construct a branch railway-line two or three kilometers long at his own expense, which linked the castle to the nearest depot.
Now, a kilometer of railway line costs a million.
His small army of workmen, his manner of doing things his own way, the famous story of Katt’s apron, recounted, repeated, commented upon, exaggerated, disfigured, and most of all the isolation in which the councilor enabled his workers to live, and lived himself, justified only too well the rumors of sorcery that were running around on his account.
Thus, it was not without emotion that one day, Fraulein Notburga, who was alone in the house, saw the councilor come in, to whom she had not spoken since the day he had come to ask to lease the old castle.
He bowed profoundly to the young woman, inquired as to the Baron’s health, and, while expressing his regret and not being able to say hello him, added that it was Fraulein Notburga that he had come to see.
The latter blushed to the whites of her eyes, and offered the councilor an armchair. He sat down in it and took off his blue spectacles in order to wipe away the dust that the journey had deposited on them. Notburga had difficulty suppressing an exclamation of surprise, for the councilor’s face, deprived of the villainous lenses that hid his eyes, became truly charming. The councilor then seemed to be scarcely thirty years old, and his physiognomy possessed as much distinction as intelligence and mildness.
“Fraulein,” he said, smiling at the expression of surprise that Notburga could not hide, “I have simply come to acquit myself of a debt. I owe you a fifth of the hidden treasures that I’ve been able to discover in the grounds of the old castle, and this is the total amount due, which I have the honor of bringing you.”
Expressing himself thus, he deposited a small sandalwood box on Notburga’s work table, got to his feet, respectfully took his leave of the young woman, and returned to Heidenloch.
A few moments later, he Baron came home and found his daughter supporting her chin in her hand, having not yet thought about opening the box.
While she was telling him about the councilor’s visit, the Baron turned the key and found in the box a bond for forty thousand florins, payable on presentation at the richest bank in Heidelberg.
“So that devil of a councilor really is a sorcerer, as they say!” exclaimed the Baron.
“Perhaps,” replied a voice that caused the worthy man to turn pale.
He turned round abruptly, and found himself face to face with the councilor.
“Baron,” he said, laughing, “I’ve retraced my steps because it seems to me that a chatelaine ought to know her domain. Now, as Fraulein Notburga owns a fifth of my subterranean treasures, is it not her duty, and in her interest, to visit the places where they are found and the men who exploit them on her behalf?”
The Baron nodded his head, and Notburga allowed a movement of joy to show.
“With your permission,” the councilor continued, “I’ll have the honor of welcoming you tomorrow at Heidenloch Castle. You’ll spend the day there, I hope, and before we part we can talk about a new project that I have in mind. So I’ll expect you tomorrow at midday.”
And he disappeared as he had come, without the Baron and his daughter, stunned by the councilor’s point-blank invitation, having seen him go, any more than they had seen him arrive.
The councilor’s invitation was astonishing, in that it was the first time that the mysterious individual had allowed anyone to enter his home. Thus, the news traveled rapidly in the village; some people criticized the Baron for not refusing an invitation made by a man of such dubious reputation as the councilor’s; others asserted that he was exposing himself to great dangers in going into a place where God alone—and perhaps, alas, also the Devil—knew what was going on. At any rate, the next day, the Baron found outside his windows and along his route all the inhabitants of the neighborhood, who had come to watch him and his daughter as they headed for the old castle and crossed the threshold.
The councilor was waiting for his guests at the boundary of the land that he had rented. Notburga noted gladly that he was not hiding his eyes behind ugly blue lenses, and the Baron wondered whether the young man who shook his hand, distinguished in his manners and appearance, was really the singular individual who seemed to be trying with all his might to justify the reputation for sinister strangeness that had acquired for twenty leagues around.
While the Baron ruminated that thought, the councilor offered his arm to Fraulein Notburga, and escorted her to his residence.
Nothing bore less resemblance to ruins, and even the castle, the ancient building once so desolate, might have thought to be a palace built by fairies. Royal luxury was combined there with artistic elegance, and the Baron’s eyes could not open wide enough to admire so many marvels. As for Notburga, however much admiration she felt, she experienced more astonishment at the councilor’s conversation, which was both witty and grave.
After an exquisite lunch, which did not last long, in spite of the German custom of remaining at table for a long time and emptying numerous bottles, the councilor—who only drank water and had only sampled two or three dishes—rose to his feet and proposed to Notburga that they begin the planned visit to the subterranean treasures.
First he led her into the garden, where the extraction of masses of clay was continuing.
“This,” he said, picking up a handful of clay that was almost at ground level, “is a veritable treasure, Fraulein; it’s kaolin, a substance that your castle possesses in abundance. Look! Kaolin in an earthen substance, very soft and pale, composed of silica, aluminum, potassium, magnesium, calcium and iron oxides, and water.
“Kaolin serves to manufacture porcelain, an industry whose discovery in China appeared to go back more than two thousand years before the Christian Era, and was only imported into Europe by the Portuguese in the 15th century.
“In the last two hundred years, rare deposits of kaolin have been found in France, Russia and Germany. Now, you can judge the importance and value of the almost inexhaustible supply of this material on which your castle is build. There’s enough for a thousand years of exploitation.
“Below that are coal-mines of incalculable richness and exquisite quality. You were able to judge that during lunch, since the fruit essences with which the creams and compotes were made came from that coal.”
The Baron looked at the councilor fearfully.
“My God, yes, replied the latter. “I can make sugar with my cook’s apron and delicious liqueurs with coal. If you like, at dinner I’ll make ice in a red hot crucible.”
The Baron was an excellent man, an intelligent agriculturalist and very fond of growing flowers, but his education had been somewhat neglected in relation to the natural sciences. In addition, brought up by an old nurse who had muddied his brain in early childhood with tales of magicians, and living in the midst of a population for whom witches and their spells were articles of faith, he fell prey, in the councilor’s presence, to a suspicion mixed with fear.
To begin with, it did not seem natural to him that a man could discover, in a matter of months, on land previously reckoned sterile, a layer of kaolin and coal mines. After that, the apron turned to sugar, the coal transformed into the essence of pears and pineapples, and the ice that could be manufactured in a hot crucible, made his head spin—and perhaps, at that moment, he would have given anything to be placidly cultivating his dahlias and tulips in his garden instead of wandering in that diabolical castle in the company of his bizarre tenant.
Notburga, on the other hand, had never felt so happy in her life.
Leaning on the arm of Herr Fritz—for she was beginning to call him by that amicable name in her thoughts, rather than using his title of councilor—she was taking pleasure in walking with him, the objects that he showed her and the things he said to her. She did not want the day to end. So, when she saw the Baron taking out his watch repeatedly to interrogate the hands, she felt herself becoming sad.
“Why, Baron, do you imagine that you’ll escape my claws so soon?” demanded the councilor, laughing. “You and Fraulein Notburga are my prisoners until nightfall, and even beyond. Prepare yourselves in consequence, and bear your unease patiently.”
“The roads aren’t very good,” said the Baron, “and there’s a risk in the dark...”
“Does darkness exist if I don’t wish it? I can’t stop the sun like Joshua, but I’ll create another sun, and if you can’t see when you go home at midnight as clearly as in broad daylight, I don’t want to see you or your daughter ever again—which would be the greatest chagrin I can feel! I like you so much—both of you—that I’d rather never be separated from you. Let’s eat, Baron; we’ll resume this conversation later.”
In spite of the excellent meal that was served and the exquisite wines that overloaded the table, the Baron felt increasingly ill at ease.
“The moment has come to make the ice,” said the councilor. “Have an incandescent vessel brought up from the foundry, Katt.” And as Katt just looked at him fearfully, he went out, and came back shortly afterwards with two blacksmiths carrying a furnace full of fire, and red hot itself.
He then poured into a platinum vessel, submitted to all the violence of heat, a substance that spread a strong odor of sulfur through the dining room, threw water over that substance from a carafe, withdrew the crucible from above the furnace and emptied it on to a tray. A magnificent block of ice fell on to the tray.
“We can now have a drink as cold as we wish, he said, surrounding a bottle of champagne with that singular ice.
The Baron felt even more ill at ease. It was even worse when, as he got up from the table, the councilor said in his vibrant voice: “Baron, you already know what I’ve made of the domain of your ancestors at ground level; now it’s necessary for you to see what I’ve made of it underground. To begin with, we’ll go down about a hundred meters.”
The Baron made a fearful gesture, but before he had pronounced a single word he saw the table vanish, as if by magic, and he felt the floor beneath his feet tremble slightly. The light of the sky and its stars, which could be glimpsed through the curtains at the windows, gave way to a profound darkness; a slight coolness succeeded the warm atmosphere that had enveloped the councilor and his guests, and a slight shock caused the room to shake.
“We’ve arrived!” said the councilor, opening a door that revealed the entrance to a black tunnel. “You’re now a hundred meters below ground—a ground composed entirely of sandstone. Here, take a look!”
The Baron paraded his anxious gaze around.
“It’s here, Baron, in the very bosom of the earth, that we’re going to see the strange beings that in habited our globe before the creation of humankind.
“With regard to the different layers of which the earth’s crust is made up, you can observe in my geology galley, and will be able to observe again, as much as you wish, specimens placed in order of their formation.
“This gallery is an abridgement of the history of the globe’s formation. First you see here the primitive terrain of the crystallization of pure granite, granitic rocks, mica- and talc-bearing schists, and amphibolous rocks. These layers form the skeleton on the earth, produced by cooling after the original fusion. They contain seams of precious stones, statuary marble, rock crystal, copper and gold.
“Next come the intermediary or metamorphic terrains, forming an intermediary between the igneous rocks and the stratified terrains; they enclose kaolin, glass quartz and siliceous marls. The plutonic rocks, powerful eruptions of the central fire, terminate the first epoch of the terrestrial globe.
“The transitional terrains, with their schists, limestone and various sandstones, open the second epoch. The earth, considerably cooled, was then covered with vegetables, which produced the carbonaceous terrain. The masses of coal that one finds in the depths of the ground testify to the richness of the primitive vegetation.
“Anthracite, independent coals, mingled with sandstone and black schists, make up the bulk of the transitional terrains, where one finds formations of sulfur, mercury and a few metallic seams.
“When the earth’s atmosphere was purified, the gases that composed it were partly liquefied, water flowed over the surface of the terrestrial crust and the sedimentary layers were able to form. The first of the secondary terrains, the Pencean,82 is made up of pale red calcareous rocks tinted with white, which yield excellent chalk and beautiful marble.
“During the second period, volcanoes, still endowed with enormous power, vomited the ancient volcanic rocks; these rocks are distinguished from plutonic rocks by the numerous cavities that inflate and pierce them, as in our modern lavas.
“The third epoch commences with the formation of secondary terrains—Cambrian, Silurian, Devonian and Jurassic—in which exclusively nautical fossils appear for the first time, particularly crustaceans, polyps, fish and birds—or, rather, flying reptiles. No trace is found of terrestrial animals, which proves that marine animals were created first. The Cirque de Gavarnie and the towers of Le Marboré in France are magnificent limestone formations of that sort.
“The Lower and Upper Cretaceous, with its gypsums, its lithographic stones, its lignites and its sandstones encrusted with shells close the third epoch. Then the terrestrial animals appear, which mark the fourth epoch of the history of the globe. One finds them in the Tertiary terrain, and science observes among the fossils the remains of giant primitive mammals. It’s at the end of the Tertiary period that the diluvium is formed, evidence of the universal deluge.
“The post-diluvial and modern alluvia are represented in my museum by their principal rocks, the galets, stalactites and travertines.
“Let’s begin by examining the skeletons of animals. As you can see, I’ve arranged them in galleries hollowed out in the very midst of the natural terrains in which one finds these creatures, the species of which have disappeared forever from the earth. All of them are gigantic, because, before God created humans, it was necessary for the inhabitants of our globe to be robust in order to live in the bosom of the rude nature that surrounded them.
“This collection has given me a great deal of difficulty in its compilation, but, thank God, it’s as complete as possible; neither gold, nor voyages, nor fatigue have been spared in assembling it. Finally, skilful molds reproduce faithfully, so far as possible, all the originals that I have not been able to procure.
“Now, with a wave of my magic wand, I’m going to resuscitate these monsters. You’ll see them, not lying there like inert skeletons, but as the Creator produced them, with their forms, their colors and their movements. I promised you their visit, and here they are.”
So saying, he made as if to readjust the chalk wick that was giving such a beautiful light, but he extinguished it, and a profound darkness, an authentic pitch darkness, suddenly surrounded the Baron and his daughter.
Immediately, however, a soft light gradually appeared, like a dot, and at the far end of the tunnel, which might have been twenty meters long, objects appeared, confusedly at first, in the middle of a luminous circle, and gradually took on form and substance. There were strange trees, such as the earth no longer produces, and red sandstone rocks that loomed up on the shore of an immense sea.
Notburga could not suppress a scream of terror. A monster, half serpent and half fish, had suddenly emerged from the water, and seemed to be advancing menacingly toward her. It measured at least ten meters, and was dragging itself awkwardly over the mud with the aid of four short stout limbs. On reaching the shore, it seemed to catch sight of the councilor and his guests; it brandished a neck four or five meters long, like a serpent, in their direction, and opened an immense mouth garnished with sharp teeth as long as a human hand.
The Baron would rather have been anywhere else; his daughter leaned on her father’s arm, trembling.
“Don’t be afraid, Fraulein,” said the councilor. “This monster, which is called a plesiosaur, will not occupy us for long, for I perceive a labyrinthodon, which will make short work of it.”
Indeed, on the far side of the strand, a toad of a size to rival the plesiosaur, as tall as an elephant, was crawling along. It opened and enormous maw. The plesiosaur tried to flee but could not; the giant batrachian fascinated it by means of a mysterious magnetic power, and drew it invincibly toward it.
“Let’s take advantage of their combat to get away, and climb up rapidly toward a more elevated terrain,” said the councilor, bringing Notburga and her father back into the little room, whose door the closed.
The Baron fell into an armchair, rather than merely sitting down, and wiped his brow, which was bathed in cold sweat.
Notburga was pale too, and a little tremulous.
Fritz, who pretended not to see their emotion, opened the door again.
“Now we’re in the terrains of the third epoch of the fourth period of creation,” he said. “Many creatures, various in nature, lived then; their fossil skeletons are numerous, as you’ll see. Nevertheless the proportions of their stature are sensibly diminished. There are even petrified bones of aquatic birds, some with webbed feet like our ducks, others equipped with long legs like our waders. Those remains, which form an animal half-lizard and half-fish, belong to the ichthyosaur, of which I shall evoke the specter, as well as those of the megalosaurs, or giant crocodiles, which then pullulated on the earth. But let’s see our ichthyosaur first.
The light went out and, as before, a landscape appeared at the far end of the tunnel, this time composed of giant cycads, horsetails and ferns; those plants, so small today, were bigger than or largest modern oaks.
An ichthyosaur seemed to be asleep on the sand; its back, on which the sun’s rays were falling, was shining with the most brilliant colors and sparkling like an immense precious stone.
Suddenly, a formidable whistle, reminiscent of one escaping from a steam engine, resounded in the air. The ichthyosaur opened its eyes wide and tried to get back into the water, but before it could do so a dragon, whose wingspan measured at least five or six meters, fell upon it and resumed its flight, lifting its prey in its redoubtable claws, while striking at it and lacerating it with its beak.
“Well, Baron, what do you think of that hunt?” asked the councilor. “Isn’t that flight as good as that of a falcon or a heron? What a beautiful bird of prey that pterodactyl is, whose beak is between two and three meters long, whose iridescent body is so richly colored, whose robust neck had the force and flexibility of a boa constrictor, and whose pointed teeth are equivalent, in proportion and strength, to the bayonet of an Austrian grenadier guard! Look how the fellow is eating that ichthyosaur seven or eight meters long!”
“All this is quite marvelous, but quite horrible!” murmured Notburga, who was feeling faint.
“Then let’s go back up to the surface right away,” said the councilor, giving a signal. He went on: “Another time, we’ll see the rest of the fossil animals that I have the art of resuscitating; among them there are moles as big as elephants, elephants as big as hills, covered in long furry fleeces like sheep, and dogs and tigers as big as horses, and a thousand other things that disconcert both human imagination and reason.”
He had scarcely finished speaking when the little room reached the level of the castle again.
Pale and weak, Notburga ran to the window in order not to faint.
“Now, now, my dear Fraulein,” said the councilor, with paternal solicitude. “Don’t take my innocent jokes so seriously. I can explain everything to you with a few words, and make you smile at your terrors.
“The rising and falling room that you’re in is made in imitation of those found in New York hotels. Nothing is simpler than their mechanism, invented in order that one can live on upper floors with no more fatigue than if one were lodged on the ground floor.
“As for the apparitions of resuscitated fossils, they’re nothing but phantasmagoria slides improved by a friend of mine, an optician.”
“And what about the sugar you made from your cook’s clothes, and the ice made in a crucible?” demanded the Baron, who did not believe a word of those explanations.
“Child’s play—the tricks of a student of chemistry. I could just as easily turn sugar into sawdust or paper; I can even make alcohol, ether or vinegar from it; it would be sufficient for me to have recourse to distillation. The French chemist Braconnot83 was the first to carry out those marvels. He got there on seeing that the apron, where it had been splashed by sulfuric acid, presented the characteristics of a burn without charring.
“The cloth, he thought, has been eaten away by sulfuric acid without catching fore. What caused that? And with that, he took the rag of the fabric and steeped it in the sulfuric acid. To begin with he obtained a sticky substance, soluble in water. He saturated it with chalk, submitted it to evaporation and then obtained a sugary gum analogous to gum Arabic. Twenty-one grams of dry fabric gave him twenty-six grams of that gum, free of sulfuric acid—which is to say, more gum than cloth.
“If, instead of saturating the mucilaginous solution of wood, straw or cloth in sulfuric acid with chalk, one dilutes it with several times its own weight of water and boils it for ten hours or so, one can then ensure that all the gummy substance is converted into sugar; it’s then only a matter of separating the sugar from the acid and neutralizing the latter with chalk. The liquid, filtered and evaporated, has the consistence of syrup, and after twenty-four hours it all solidifies into a single mass of passably pure sugar.
“After that, one presses it forcefully in linen, and makes it crystallizes a second time. It only becomes dazzling white, however, after being treated with animal charcoal.”
“And the cream from coal?”
“There’s everything in coal, even essences for making confectionery. When one distils coal, one obtains three substances: one solid, coke; one liquid, tar; and one gaseous, carbonated hydrogen. One can also harvest solutions from which one can extract ammonia in abundance and at low cost, which in general use in industry, and was bought from Orient very expensively at the end of the last century, when it was supposedly only obtainable from camel-dung.84
“You know how coke and hydrogen are employed, in lighting and hating. As for the tar, as it comes out of the retort its employment is less immediate. People tried to substitute it for asphalt in road-building, but it lacked the solidity and resistance; feet sink into its black layers, almost as they do today in mud except that they don’t come out so easily. To take advantage of coal-tar, it’s therefore necessary to distil it further.
“First chemistry, and then industry, obtained from that hitherto-useless substance liquids possessing infinitely various densities and properties, from a light oil scarcely weighing as much as alcohol to napthalene, a heavy, nacreous solid that is often efficacious in treating skin diseases.
“The hydrocarbons produced by the distillation of coal-tar form another family, that of gazogenes. Mixed with alcohol, gazogenes replace fuel oil, up to a point; they’re known by the name of liquid gas. Almost uniquely, at present, they possess the property of dissolving rubber; note, in passing, that they cause the noxious odor exhaled by garments coated in that substance. Finally, submitted to certain reactions, further distilled, and combined with ether, they become essence with delightful perfumes, which Parisian confectionery is the first in the world to employ to give bonbons flavors of strawberry and pineapple. Rum and cognac often acquire their bouquet from a few drops of one of these essences. One also obtains from coal-tar a tinctural substance analogous to one of the precious colors that is extracted from madder.
“Various properties of coal products, observed and studied, will doubtless not be long delayed in giving further progress to industry. Tanneries, among others, will one day be able to obtain results in a matter of hours that presently require months of hard work. The principle on which these future methods rests exists in theory, but its application still remains insufficient. One finds oneself blocked by one of those invincible obstacles that hazard often ends up removing when human genius, thinking itself vanquished, gives up.
“But let’s get back to the bonbons.
“Sugary confections with the flavor of apple, pear, quince, melon and many others, the English sweets that have become popular and are sold by grocers, owe their aroma to combinations of butyric ether with vinegar, valerianic acid or coccinic acid, extracted from coconuts. Butyric ether is itself merely a compound produced from butyric acid. Now, that acid is obtained by the distillation of decomposing organic matter, such as cheese or meat. Let us ad, to reassure the disgusted, that one can also prepare it by the metamorphosis that sugar, starch and other analogous substances undergo on contact with nitrogenated substances capable of acting as fermenting agents.
“Let’s now come to the ice made in an incandescent furnace. Nothing is simpler. Into a red-hot platinum capsule one pours a few grams of anhydrous—which is to say, water-free—sulfuric acid. That acid, which melts at ten degrees below zero, passes into the spheroidal state and maintains itself at a temperature of eleven degrees. If one projects water on to the spheroid formed by the sulfuric acid, the water, put in contact with a body at such a low temperature, freezes instantly, as you have seen.”
“What is this spheroidal state, then?”
“When you project a liquid on to an incandescent surface, the liquid, no matter from what height it falls, doesn’t wet that surface—which is to say that it doesn’t come into contact with it, does not touch it. It takes on a globular form and remains at a constant temperature, inferior to its boiling point, no matter how high the surrounding temperature is.”
“Thank God, you’re not a sorcerer but a scientist,” said the Baron. “I prefer that. And the famous light that competes with the sun, which will soon allow us to see clearly at midnight?”
“You’ve seen it during our subterranean excursion. A simple apparatus produces it with the aid of two gases, hydrogen and oxygen, which illuminate over a simple piece of chalk.”
“Come on, my girl, get ready to leave; I’m in all the more haste to set out for home and see this splendid light now that midnight’s about to chime, and all this excitement has made me singularly weary.”
“Soon, Baron,” said Fritz, gallantly placing Notburga’s mantle over the young woman’s shoulders, “I hope you’ll no longer have to leave the old castle when you feel tired.”
“And when will that be, councilor?”
“When, my dear Baron? When you’re my father-in-law. In a month!”
This time, Notburga nearly fainted completely. Fritz caught her in his arms, and after she had recovered her senses, he said: “Don’t you know that I’ve been in love with you for a long time, Fraulein Notburga? Don’t you know that I came to take over the ruins of the old castle in order to be close to you?”
“I’ve realized that, Herr Fritz,” she replied, letting her hand fall into the young man’s.
“I see that nothing remains but for me to say amen,” the Baron concluded. “I’m happy for her to become your wife my friend, but I warn you that I don’t intended to be parted from my daughter, and you’ll have to give me accommodation in the castle.”
“You shall have the finest apartment,” the councilor replied. “Fraulein Notburga, lean on my arm and permit me to escort you back to your father’s house, until the same of can gather all three of us together.”
They set off on the road to the little house, and when they arrived at the door, the Baron said: “You haven’t kept your word, Fritz. I haven’t seen the slightest ray of your famous lighting, and but for the kindness of the moon, I might have put my foot in a rut.”
Fritz and Notburga must have been saying very interesting things to one another, because neither of them heard a word of the Baron’s ironic reproach.