Disappointment etches itself on the Emperor’s face; he accepts the casket reluctantly:
“That is a great gift. But it is not the truth I have so long yearned for. Any fool can make gold with it.” He turns his burning eyes on me. I am the ‘Wise Man’ from whom he expects the true, redeeming gift. I tremble with cold as I kneel down, for my hands and my heart are empty. But Kelley raises his voice once more, and his cocky self-assurance is remarkable:
“We have been commanded to hand over for Your Majesty’s inspection the scrying glass that the Angel granted from the storehouse of his grace to his servant, Doctor John Dee, on the night of his first calling. For all mysteries have their orders and ranks of initiation.”
I do not know where it came from, but suddenly the scrying glass, the polished coal of Bartlett Greene with its gold stand, is in my hand. Without a word, I present it to the Emperor. He reaches out for it with a hasty hand, examines it; his lower lip droops:
“What use is this?”
Kelley kneels and fixes his eyes on a spot between the Emperor’s eyes.
Rudolf, receiving no answer, turns with a frown of irritation back to the glistening surfaces of the black crystal. Kelley’s eyes seem to bore into the Emperor’s forehead. In his effort, the sweat drips unnoticed from his brow.
The Emperor sits as if spellbound, holding the glass in both hands. His pupils dilate, like a man in a trance. Suddenly: astonishment, a flutter of pity, anger, horror, trembling expectation, relief, triumph, proud exultation, a tired nod of the eagle’s head and then – – a tear!
A tear in the eye of Emperor Rudolf!
All these emotions follow each other in quick succession across the Emperor’s face. The tension amongst us is unbearable. Finally Rudolf says:
“I thank you, messengers of the world above. It is, indeed, a precious gift and one that gives satisfaction to a man whose head has been consecrated with the holy oil. For not every head that bears a crown in this world will bear it in the next. We will redouble Our endeavours.” The Emperor bows his proud head. I cannot control the sob that rises in my throat to see His Majesty humble himself before the seducer with the cut-off ears.
The people are crowding outside the Church of the Maltese Order in the narrow square in Prague known as the Square of the Grand Prior. The whole of the Malá Strana seems to be on its feet. Everywhere there is a glint of weapons and in the open windows of the palaces the costumes of the nobles watching the approaching spectacle glitter with jewels.
A stately procession leaves the Church of the Maltese Order.
Kelley, now a Bohemian Baron, has just been dubbed Paladin of the Holy Roman Empire by order of the Emperor at the altar of the ancient church.
The procession sets off, led by three heralds in yellow and black, two with long trumpets at their lips, the third bearing the Emperor’s parchment. At every street corner there are fanfares and a reading of the Emperor’s patent for the new baron, “Sir” Edward Kelley from England.
From the balconies and decorated oriel windows of the nobles’ palaces, curious faces look down, pale faces with proud, impenetrable expressions or moved by a flicker of scorn as they acknowledge the latest malicious jibe.
I watch the hubbub from a window of the Nostitz palace. My soul is enveloped in dark thoughts like thick November mists. In vain are all the compliments of Count Nostitz, who has invited me along with Doctor Hajek, about the true pride I have shown in my ancient line of nobility by refusing all such flummery titles, however exalted the hand that grants them. It is all one to me. My wife Jane has gone from me, lost in the green abyss ...
A new strange picture takes over: Rabbi Löw is standing in his favourite posture, his long body leaning against the wall with his fingers spread out behind him, in the tiny room in the Street of the Alchemists. Before him Emperor Rudolf is slumped in a chair; sleeping like a pet cat at his feet is the Barbary lion. The Rabbi and the Cat-King are the best of friends. I am sitting at the little window; outside the trees have almost lost their leaves. Looking down through the bare branches I can see two gigantic black bears peering up, their shaggy heads raised, noses aquiver above red, gaping jaws.
Rabbi Löw rocks back and forth against the wall; then, with a jerky movement, he pulls his hand out from behind his back. He grasps the coal scrying glass that the Emperor holds out to him and looks long and hard at the polished surface. Then he throws his head back so far that his bony Adam’s apple is visible beneath his white beard; his mouth is open in what seems to be a soundless laugh:
“In a mirror a man sees nothing but himself. He who wants to see will see what he wants in the coal, for the life that was once within it has long since burnt out.”
The Emperor starts up:
“Do you mean the glass is a trick, my friend? I myself saw ...”
The old Jew does not move from the wall. He looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head:
“Is Rudolf a trick? Rudolf has been polished into majesty like a stone, polished hard so that he can reflect the history of the Holy Roman Empire. But neither the majesty nor the stone has any heart.”
My soul is cut to the quick. I look at the High Rabbi and feel the sacrificial knife at my throat ...
Need has been banished from Doctor Hajek’s hospitable house. Gold pours in from all sides. For the favour of being allowed to attend one of Kelley’s seances Rosenberg sends gift after gift, each
