An Elegant Solution(23)

“The final choice for a Chair is meant to come from God’s hand,” I said.

“Sometimes His choice is predestined.”

“Then that makes it even more sure.”

“Predestined, but not by God. There were letters, Leonhard, there were whispers, there were glances, and it wasn’t the first Election that there were.”

“But the Provost’s blind hand chose the stone, Daniel. How could a whisper put one indistinguishable square in his fingers over another? It couldn’t even be done if he was trying to choose a specific one.”

“There’s seeing other than by sight.”

I shook my head at him. “Look, Daniel, I’ve learned more about Jacob.”

“Oh? Jacob?” He was uninterested. “Are you still on him?” He started walking with me, toward the river.

“It isn’t three days since you put me on him!”

“Well, don’t give it mind. Not anymore.”

“Daniel,” I said. “Is that your plan? That’s the only one thing you could say to make me want to give it my mind.”

“I hardly even know what you’re saying. A plan? There’s no plan. Old Jacob, let him rest in peace.”

“And keeping it all from your father’s ears?”

“Let him rest in peace, too.”

“He’s not dead, Daniel.”

“No, not at the moment. He’s still in his chair. But Italy’s fine, Leonhard! You should go sometime. It’s a fanciful place, all ruins and art and idiots. Not a whit of hard work. The streets are full of strolling and time-wasting and sweet life.”

“But your Chair in Padua . . .”

He frowned at that. “Blast it! What’s Padua? A Chair in Basel only comes once in years, a worthwhile one.” We’d reached the Rhine Bridge. He wasn’t crossing it, and I was, so he turned to resume whatever wandering had brought him out. “And it comes open by chance, the same chance that it’s filled by, and the same chance that keeps all the University ordered to Brutus’ liking.”

“Those are evil words, Daniel.”

“Then pay them no mind, Leonhard.” He clenched his fist, then let it loose. “Let them be the breeze, here, then gone, then forgotten.”

We parted and I went on my way, across the river.



There were two Basels, and the Rhine was the reason. The beginning of the city was on the west bank and it survived through its different ages well enough. But it was only one city of many on a very long river. Five hundred years ago Prince-Bishop Heinrich, who ruled the city, decided the city would be greatly strengthened and made distinct if it built a bridge.

There were no other bridges across the Rhine. Trade would be increased if Basel became the single road from east to west. Tolls would enrich the city. River trade would be controlled, as well, as boats could only pass the bridge at Basel’s pleasure.

The Rhine was hundreds of feet wide, yet the city had already leapt the water and a straggling of houses perched on the far bank. The bridge was built and the two became one Basel; or actually, the one Basel became two. The settlement on the right bank has grown to be one fourth of the city, of proper streets and houses and churches, but the river still was wide, and it cut as deep; and Small Basel on the east, and Large Basel on the west, remained each suspicious of the other. The Town Hall was in Large Basel, and the Munster, and the larger houses and the market; and the University, all prospering from the trade the bridge brought. Across the bridge in Small Basel were none of those. Both Basels were ruled by the same laws and Council, yet even after five hundred years the bridge still isolated them as separate people.

Even the bridge itself was two bridges. Large Basel and Small Basel each built and have kept their own half-bridge, and each crossed just their half of the Rhine and met in the river middle. The Small Basel bridge was on five stone piers. The east half-river was shallow and slow. The Large Basel bridge was on seven wood pilings, crossing a deeper and faster west river half.

In the center where the two Basels’ bridges joined was a small, spired room built into the rail. This was the Yoke Chapel, where the two sides were yoked together. It was used for prayer and executions. For centuries criminals were thrown into the river from the chapel to be drowned. The method wasn’t reliable, though. Too many could swim, even weighted. More trustworthy methods were now used. Still, though, in Basel, it was an insult to say of a man that he died in the river.

Another insult the bridge delivered was the River Gate. Where the bridge crossed the Rhine, Large Basel had a tower as strong as any other, but Small Basel had only a guardhouse. This meant that an enemy who broke into Small Basel could still be kept out of the Large city, which lessened the need to defend the homes and churches of the Small city. The gate could also defend the Large from the Small itself, if there was ever strife between the two. There has been strife. At times in its past, Large Basel has charged a toll at the gate for any citizen of Small Basel entering, but no toll for any citizen of Large Basel returning.