It was about the shop of Maître Glazer, the apothecary, in the Place Maubert, at the river boundary of the Quartier Latin, that the principal collection of gossipers clustered all day long. He had acquired some renown in Paris for compounding and vending antidotes to the dreaded poisons: and it was reported that his unhappy assistant, Panurge, as he was nicknamed by the acquaintances of the apothecary—albeit his real name was Martin—was the subject of all his experiments. Panurge was a tall, spare creature, whose skeleton appeared to be composed of nothing but large joints, and chiefly resembled his predecessor of the same name in being a wonderful coward as well as boaster; and herein he closely assimilated in his nature to the Gascon scholar, Blacquart. And when the latter sometimes accompanied his master’s son, Philippe Glazer, to the house, these two would outlie one another in a marvellous manner, until they had well-nigh quarrelled and fought, but for very cowardice.
On the evening subsequent to the events of the last chapter, Maître Glazer was holding forth to a crowd of anxious auditors, even until after dark; whilst his man was busied in distilling some water of rare merit in all diseases. His shop had never held a larger meeting. It was known by the sign ‘Au Basilisk,’ and had the ‘effigies’ of that fabulous serpent painted over the door, done from the book of Ambrose Paré, which formed his entire medical library.
‘Look you, Maître Glazer,’ said a bystander; ‘though Exili be taken, we are none of us yet sure of our lives. For are there not devil’s drinks of Italy that will kill at any certain and definite time?’
‘Theophrastus thus answers that question,’ replied Glazer, giving his authority first, that his statement might have more weight. ‘Of poisons some more speedily perform their parts, others more slowly; yet you may find no such as will kill in set limits of time. And when one hath lingered long, then hath he been fed little by little, and so tenderly nursed, as it were, into his grave.’
‘I have felt ill long,’ said a portly bourgeois. ‘Pray heaven I am not fed with poison in such manner! How may I avoid it?’
‘By ceasing to eat, Michel,’ replied Maître Glazer. ‘Yet there are other methods of killing, which no man may combat but with antidotes on their effects being known. Pope Clement, the seventh of that name, and uncle to the mother of one of our kings, was poisoned by the fume of a medicated torch carried before him, and died thereof; and Mathiolus tells us that there were two mountebanks in the market-place of Sienna, the one of which, but smelling to a poisoned gillyflower given him by the other, presently fell down dead.’
‘And a certain man not long ago,’ said Panurge, ‘when he had put his nose and smelled a little unto a pomander which was secretly poisoned, did presently swell so that he almost filled the room, and would have died, but I gave him an antidote. Then he shrunk rapidly, and went on his way healed.’
There was an expression of disbelief amongst the crowd, and a young artisan laughed aloud derisively; at which Panurge inquired bravely ‘Who it was?’
But when the artisan said it was himself, the ire of Panurge relaxed; and he said, if it had been any one else he should have taken up the affront warmly. And then, on a reproving sign from Maître Glazer, he continued his work.
The evening soon warned the last of the talkers home, after Maître Glazer had held forth for some time longer on his favourite theme. When the latest idler had departed, Panurge closed the shop, and they retired into the small apartment behind for supper.