"You only have two choices," his vintner Hola Teplicka had told him, "you either go to the bones of St. Hugh and pray that your wine sours no further, or you go to the next meeting of the Brno Natural Science Society and ask for help from Abbot Napp. He has a long record in the sciences and has studied many such problems. I remember the time he increased wool production at Sardice farm by feeding his sheep peas and beans. He might have some ideas."
Not being a member of the Society, for he hated science, Gustav Druer had approached the Brno pharmacist Theimer, whom he knew was the Vice President, and asked for an invitation.
"Of course," he had been told, "I will be presiding over the next meeting on March 8th, come along and see for yourself. If I remember correctly Brother Gregory will be presenting some of his findings on plant hybridization. Not a good speaker, you understand, but a sound and competent scientist. You'll enjoy it, there were quite a few fireworks the last time he spoke."
Not this time. During the whole presentation, which had seemed to drag on interminably, not a single question had been asked and the tiny audience had sat in uncomfortable silence as the unfortunate monk droned on and on about his pea hybrids. At the end of it all, which had not come too soon for Druer, Dr. Schwippel had proposed a vote of thanks and the applause had been most perfunctory. Quickly, before the group broke up, Druer approached Abbot Napp.
"A most enjoyable evening," he said to the head of the monastery, "I never knew that such science was being performed here in Brno."
"Herr Druer, how nice to see you," Cyril Napp answered politely. The two men were acquaintances, both having served for several years on the Board of Trustees of the Realschule. "What brings you to our meeting?"
"Napp, I need your help," Druer told him with characteristic bluntness. Not for him the niceties of polite conversation. "I am having a problem with my Easter wine. It is going sour, and my vintner says you may be able to find out why and even stop it."
Abbot Napp blinked at this direct approach, but, a busy man himself, he appreciated coming straight to the point. "Sour wine?" he said, "what exactly do you mean?"
"I have laid up over two dozen barrels of burcak, which I had hoped to sell on Holy Saturday, but when Teplicka and I checked them on Monday, they were starting to go sour. If I don't find a way of reversing the process, I face ruinous losses. It has been a hard winter."
"I know very little about wines," Napp said reluctantly, he wanted to get back to Brother Gregory, whom he knew would be feeling bad about the evening's performance. "Except, of course, how to drink them."
His feeble attempt at a joke was completely missed by Druer, who ran his hand over his face in a combination of desperation and despair.
"If this wine goes bad, I will probably go out of business," he groaned, "Help me Napp."
"I will pray for you, of course, but beyond that I don't see what I can do. For one thing there is so little time, the Sacred Triduum is only five weeks away." said Abbot Napp, touched by the wine merchant's obvious distress. At which the unfortunate brewer groaned even louder.
"Teplicka seems to think that the problem is one of science, and he tells me that you are the best scientist in Brno," he said, "I beg you Napp, help me."
"As I said, I have no knowledge of wine," Napp repeated, then, looking over at the small huddle of monks clustering round the dispirited Mendel, he had an idea. "But there are several in my monastery who like to solve scientific puzzles. Perhaps we could interest them in your problem." He needed something to take Mendel's mind off his recent failure, or the monk would end up in bed with one of his many illnesses. Perhaps God had sent this man Druer and his sour wine just at the right moment.
"Come with me," he said to the wine merchant, "I'll introduce you."