An Elegant Solution(91)

When I came home that night, my grandmother met me with a note that had been sent from the Dean of the College of Arts. It instructed me to report to his own home the next morning at nine o’clock. I knew what this meant. “It’s part of summoning the Faculty,” I said.

“You’ll call on Master Johann?” Grandmother asked.

“I think it will be Master Desiderius. He told me I’d be asked to do something for him.”



Wednesday morning I was up early and quickly done with chores. I dressed in my immaculate black and white, and my grandmother sent me out the door to the Dean’s house. The Convening of the University was to begin.

The first spark always would come from the Provost. Four students in their brightest black would issue from his front door. They would be mature and responsible young gentlemen but still sprightly, to prance to the homes of the four Colleges’ deans. There, they would rap smartly on the doors. A great part of the ritual was this knocking. Neighbors would step out of their homes to watch it. Through the morning, as the summons would unfold, great men would be answering their own doors to receive the news: the University is Convening.

Then the sparks would spread into flame. The deans would acknowledge the call and send out their own. They must step back from their door, apparently to summon their own messengers, but in truth to not be knocked over. From their doors would burst a flock of students sent to summon their professors, and as the most respectable students were already serving the Provost, and there were more professors and lecturers than mature students anyway, this herd of flapping, flying black robes would be worth seeing and worth being out of their way.

I was to be one of them. Master Johann as Senior Chair of his College would have to be summoned by the same messenger sent from the Provost to the Dean. I was meant for Desiderius.

I ran! The young men chosen were favorites of their teachers, and high spirited though they were, they were counted on to play no pranks on a serious occasion. We raced through the streets, crossing paths between deans’ and professors’ houses. In all, there were some fifty. Most went for the lecturers and officials of the University, but fifteen or so who could make a good bow and had the nicest wigs were sent to the Chairs.

These several would carry tokens of authority. The Dean of Theology sent hourglasses to the Chairs of his college, that life was measured and would end. The Dean of Law sent quills, that words were the structure of authority. The Dean of Medicine sent pestles, that man was mixture of soul and body. And the Dean of Arts, who had the largest college, sent candles, because knowledge was light. The tokens signified an important notion. The Deans were between master and servant of the Chairs. They were a higher position, but not a higher rank. They were often former professors of whom it was thought best that they no longer profess, the moon moved aside to make way for the sun. They had an important role and were usually men of substance, but not always of eminence. So the tokens were a command and a plea to the Chairs, who were Great Men not to be called as if they were Less.

But of course they would come. Their doors were knocked upon and they opened them and stared out into the street. There were many houses in Basel on many streets, but not so many of either that provided such high residence: the Chairs furnished only certain areas. They received the token and the summons and they stepped out their doors into the light. As if it was their daily habit, they were in their finest robes. Often more than one would be in sight at a time.

The people were watching. Basel was proud of its University and viewed the great men with satisfaction. They appeared in the streets, rounding the corners, enrobed in black and scarlet, black and emerald, black and azure, black and sienna, black and maroon, black and canary. The striping was in corvettes, diagonals, diamonds, and arcs. Their vast wigs curved, curled, and coiled like rioting ivy and wide mountain waterfalls. Atop the wigs were triangular, square, rectangular, trapezoidal, and pentagonal velvet caps, and each color and shape imbued by tradition with centuries of meaning.

As streams to the Rhine, the Professors would flow into the University. They would come from all directions, though none across the bridge, for no professor lived in Small Basel. They would come on foot, slowing as they approached the portal, gathering like an army and then entering their Fortress, the University Building itself.



As part of the flood, I arrived at the House of Desiderius and knocked on the door. All the children of the street were out to watch, and even a few of the wives had their curtains drawn aside. The door opened and the Master himself, brow furled at my completely unexpected appearance, leaned out into the street.