An Elegant Solution(115)

But Jacob, already estranged from Johann, had died before they laid eyes. Or within a day after: Which had it been?

One package was left of all Jacob’s papers, and I turned to it.

It was the first I’d seen, topped by the spiral, and by other indications appeared to be the last. The other reams had been in order by subject, more or less, but this was from just one period, the final year of his life. So I steadied myself and started reading.

The Mathematics of the later pages was mostly the same. There was less new and more repetition of the earlier work, though purer. That one ream of paper might almost have replaced all the others. It was the elegant restatement of the rest.

But there were notes and whole pages that went beyond the Mathematics, and these arrested my quick reading. In his last months, Jacob had bared his soul.

He’d written of his disputes with Newton and the English. He listed his enemies, which was a long list, and his friends, which was short.

He’d written of his weakness and age. There were several pages of his plans to confront his brother when they met. And he feared the meeting. He knew that Johann was a stronger, more forceful opponent.

The last pages were in a hand that was still his but crabbed and shaken. He knew he was dying. He’d written that Gottlieb was with him, and he’d given him instruction to keep his papers from Johann.

Finally I came to the last page, which was the first sheet I’d seen, with the spiral, and Resurgo Eadem Mutata. On its back were his last notes, nearly illegible. I read them, then again as their importance struck me, then again and again. This last sheet I took out from the others and set on my dresser to keep.



Thursday afternoon, very weary, I greeted Charon the cat and asked him to find his Master. And when Gustavus came to me in the Common Room, I only had enough strength to hand him the wrapped bundle of pages and stumble back toward the door to the Square.

But he stopped me.

“There is payment due for these.”

“Who wants it?” I said.

“You’ll be called for it.”

“Why were these pages given to me? Who told you to put them in my hands?”

“You must know, Master.”

I nodded. “Yes, I know.”



The Barefoot Church was at peace that evening, as it most often was, whatever raged outside it. It was as separate from Basel as Basel was from its own outside. But Basel was Basel only with the church. I sat long enough on the bench to see the cast light move across the floor from side to front, and sanctify the altar, and rise. The air was moist. Even the world’s drought seemed stopped at the church door.

Fortified, I entered the Barefoot Square which seemed, more than it most often was, to be a bridge between two sides. I felt the invisible chasm that it crossed and heard roaring depths beneath me. Part way across I saw both Daniel and Nicolaus enter the Boot and Thorn. As I came to the door of the inn, the coach from Bern arrived.

Rupert brought the horses to their stop at the door, and one passenger, from the look of him perhaps a new student, emerged with shudders and relief and backward glances. A medium trunk was lowered to the ground for him but two other trunks, heavy and black, were left in the rack. Willi had come out, but Rupert kept the reins and led the horses and coach, all still harnessed, into the stables tunnel and out of the Square.

I looked into the Common Room, but neither Daniel nor Nicolaus was there.



As I had before, I called on Magistrate Faulkner later than was polite. He answered the door himself and took me into the parlor and had me sit beside him.

“I can only tell you that he was in the coach from Bern,” I said.

“I knew he would be.”

“Then I shouldn’t take more of your time.”

“I will take your time, Leonhard.”

I suddenly thought of Jacob’s papers and wondered if I was to be asked for my payment. “Yes, sir?”

But not. “You are a candidate now for the Physics Chair.” A lion would regard its cub with mercy but its prey with none, and each knew which it was. But I wasn’t sure.

“I am, sir, yes.”

“The University is a power in Basel. You may attain an authority you aren’t expecting.”

“If I am chosen—”

“Or, if you are not. I will not yield my own prerogatives in either case.”

“And I would ever yield to you! Magistrate Faulkner, it’s a terrible thought to me that I would consider a challenge to anyone of your position, or at all to you. I—”

“You may have no choice.” He sighed. “But, nor may I. What will come, will come.”

I paused, thinking very hard, and he waited.

“Sir,” I said.

“Yes, Leonhard?”