The Stone of Madness

by Nick Baker

  ‘Hmm. Interesting. Can you give me any examples?’

  ‘You only have to look at one of his most famous works, The Garden of Earthly Delights. It’s a painting that sees Bosch at his most deprecating concerning the nature of man. It’s a beautiful piece of art in the form of a triptych that can be read as a progression, beginning with the creation of man by God, followed by a fall into temptation and mortal sin, and finally culminating with eternal damnation in hell. Here, let me show it to you.’

  Natacha got up from the sofa and crossed to a small wooden chest tucked away in a corner of the room. She swung the lid open and withdrew a leather-bound portfolio that she carried back and handed over to Price as she sat down. She leant over and rifled through the document, revealing a string of reproductions of Bosch’s work. She stopped at the page she was searching for.

  ‘This painting resides in the Museo del Prado in Madrid. It’s made up of three panels that, when closed, shows the earth floating in the firmament,’ she said, pointing to the print.

  ‘What’s interesting is that the earth is depicted with storm clouds gathering and this portends to what follows,’ she continued while opening both sides of the print to reveal the hidden reproduction inside.

  ‘The triptych is made up of three panels. On the left, here,’ she said, pointing, ‘is Bosch’s depiction of the creation showing Adam and Eve with God in the Garden of Eden. The central panel that dominates the work illustrates the descent of man into sin as he enjoys the fruits of the earth. Finally, on the right, Bosch has illustrated man’s rewards for his sin with a frightening portrayal of hell. If you look closely, Bosch depicts the seven deadly sins being committed in various guises followed by the nightmarish torment that awaits.’

  ‘A frightening vision,’ said Price.

  ‘Yes, and these themes repeatedly appear throughout his work.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s necessary to show you all of them, but other paintings such as The Haywain, The Ship of Fools and The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things all demonstrate Bosch’s obsession with the fate awaiting man for his sins.’

  ‘This interests me.’

  ‘How so?’ she said, flashing Price a quizzical look.

  ‘The Esoteric Brotherhood was a small group that evolved from their collective desire to pursue the darker aspects of alchemy. One of their central tenets relates to death, or perhaps more importantly, the prolongation of life. Bosch’s work screams out to me that he was a man terrified of death, rather than a puritanical religious maniac preaching to the masses that they would be punished for their sins. Don’t you see how it fits? On the one hand, Bosch’s work was revered for its strong moral and religious themes, but on the other, it reveals Bosch as a man with an obsessive preoccupation with the fate that awaits him as an individual. To what measures would he be prepared to go to avoid this fate for himself, I wonder?’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ agreed Natacha ‘This only serves to reinforce my misgivings surrounding some of the more frequently accepted interpretations of his work. You mentioned earlier that the manuscript suggests his artwork contained cryptic messages. I’ve studied Bosch for many years, and I’ve often wondered whether it’s possible to interpret his work in other ways. There are at least two of his paintings that spring to mind if you scrutinise them in light of his fixation with death.’

  Price looked eagerly at the pages while Natacha thumbed through the portfolio that was still lying open on his lap. When she found what she was looking for, she held it up for him to inspect. ‘Tell me what you see.’

  Price studied the image. ‘It shows an emaciated man lying on his deathbed. There is an angel next to the bed tending him and a ghastly skeletal figure holding an arrow hovering behind the door. I assume that this is Bosch’s representation of impending death. There are demons scattered around the room, and in the foreground, there’s another man, who is either dropping or taking something from a wooden chest, although I’m not sure of the significance of these figures, not to mention some of the other implements in the room.’

  ‘Excellent,’ she said, sounding impressed. ‘You’ve just described a painting by Bosch entitled Death and the Miser. The general interpretation of this work is that it depicts a wealthy man who has hoarded gold throughout his life and is lying in bed awaiting imminent death. We can deduce this from the figure in the foreground representing the miser counting out gold at some earlier time in his life. The moment of truth is nearby as death loiters in the background, just as you suggest, but a battle is raging in the man’s mind. Behind him an angel is resting a hand on his shoulder and is pointing to a crucifix imploring the man to accept God’s will, but just in front of him, a demon holds out a bag of gold to remind him of his worldly goods.’

  ‘Do you have an alternative interpretation?’

  ‘I’ve often wondered about this painting, and in light of your revelation concerning the Brotherhood’s obsession with death, I just wonder …’

  ‘What is it?’ he enquired excitedly.

  ‘Perhaps what we’re looking at is Bosch’s depiction of his own impending doom; maybe the man in bed is Bosch himself. Think about it. He was a wealthy man. What this painting may be expressing is Bosch’s deeply held fear as his own fateful moment approaches.’

  ‘Okay, I go along with that. I guess this provides us with a link to the Brotherhood and their obsession with eternal life. Is there anything else?’

  ‘Yes, there’s more to it. I believe the angel depicted behind the dying man is waiting for something. See how one of the angel’s hands rests on the dying man’s shoulder while he looks at the crucifix in the window pleading for forbearance. Perhaps the angel is waiting for the miser’s death, and at the very moment it occurs, the angel is expected to perform a task.’

  ‘What kind of task?’

  ‘Perhaps that’s something you could help me with,’ she replied ambivalently. ‘What can you tell me of the living stone?’

  The question took Price by surprise. He paused for a few moments, studying her carefully. All he saw was the same serene expression she had worn from the moment they had met. Natacha had already shown a great willingness to answer his questions, and his subliminal abilities had detected nothing but trustworthiness in this girl. No. This was no time to question her motives, and after weighing things up, he followed his intuition.

  ‘The living stone means many different things,’ Price began tentatively.

  ‘Indulge me,’ she said.

  For the first time, Price noted a hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘I don’t intend to be obtuse. It’s just that the stone is referred to throughout the ages, and in some respects, what the stone meant at the time of the Brotherhood is undoubtedly different from the metaphorical concepts it has come to represent today.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘The notion of the living stone originated with Arabic alchemists in the eighth century. They believed one metal could be transformed into another, mediated by the use of a mythical dry powder that became known as the living stone. Not surprisingly, as the legend of the stone spread, it became associated with the transmutation of readily available, cheap metals into the rarest and most expensive of them all, gold. As alchemy spread to Europe, the search for the stone flourished, and the concept continued to grow.

  ‘Alchemists began to believe that the living stone could not only help with their transmutations but also amplify the user’s knowledge. They thought almost anything was possible, including the ability to cure illness, prolong life, and bring about spiritual revitalisation by allowing the transcendence from a lower state of imperfection to a higher state of enlightenment.’

  ‘I see,’ said Natacha. ‘But has the stone as a physical entity ever seen the light of day?’

  ‘An astute question that, I’m afraid, is not so easily answered. If you look back at alchemical study through the ages, much of the research was aimed at the creation of this mythical substance. While transmutation is now a
fundamental reality, it has nothing to do with the living stone. Instead, modern transmutation has resulted from a fusion between our understanding of quantum mechanics and our knowledge of the arcane arts. That doesn’t mean to say that the quest for the stone ever ceased. For hundreds of years, the stone became inextricably linked with the concept of eternal life.’

  ‘Do you think the living stone really exists?’

  Price smiled. ‘You don’t ask much, do you? Let me do my best to answer. Ever since its fabled existence was first rumoured, many alchemists have described the methods they used to create the stone. Some of these alchemists were undoubtedly charlatans while others were misguided, but what is consistent, is the inability of anyone who followed them to recreate their work.’

  ‘Can you give me an example?’

  ‘Indeed. There is a mysterious book written by a twelfth-century alchemist by the name of Artesius. A deep understanding of recondite alchemical lore and a knowledge of Latin is an absolute must to make any sense of his work. With patience, it’s possible to recreate the exact conditions, from the preparation of the catalyst and solvent, the so-called “secret fire”, through to the extraction of a metallic vapour of vulgar mercury made from antimony and iron, under which Artesius is said to have made the stone. Artesius’ manuscript is but one of many found in libraries throughout the world giving unequivocal directions to create the stone. Unfortunately, Artesius’ methods, and all those like it, have never withstood the critical evaluation of the many great scientists and alchemists who have attempted to recreate what they described.

  ‘I have no doubt that, even now, there are those who continue the search for the stone. Who’s to say whether it already exists in some guise or another. Imagine the power such an artefact would bring to whoever controlled it,’ said Price. He shivered involuntarily, and for reasons he was unable to reconcile, he found his thoughts straying to Pearly Black, and although the man had been dead for over ten years, the vision left Price with a considerable feeling of unease.

  ‘I’m sorry to ask this, but it is important. Do you have any idea what form the stone might actually take?’ Natacha pressed.

  Price pushed the unpleasant thought of Black aside and focused on Natacha’s question. ‘All I can do is speculate.’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘There’s another name for the living stone.’

  ‘Go on,’ Natacha prompted, sounding intrigued.

  ‘Some alchemists refer to it as the soul body. This is particularly relevant if we consider the stone in the context of an artefact aimed at the prolongation of life. The name conveys the impression that some form of physical body is needed to act as a carrier of an individual’s essence or psyche. If such a vessel were to exist, then it could, indeed, be the key to immortality, although I still have no idea what form it would take.

  ‘What is it?’ Price asked in response to a look of enlightenment that had appeared on Natacha’s face.

  ‘A few minutes ago, you asked me what I thought the angel was waiting for in Bosch’s painting. I think I may have the answer!’ Natacha replied excitedly.

  Price looked stunned. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense!’

  ‘I think we should examine one of Bosch’s other paintings first,’ she replied enigmatically.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if we take the two paintings together, I think it may reveal what Bosch was trying to convey to the Brotherhood. There’s another of his paintings I’ve often wondered about, and following on from what you’ve just said, I believe we may be on to something.’

  Natacha withdrew another print from the portfolio and held it up for Price.

  Price gasped. It was a work that he was not familiar with but the effect was instantaneous. The painting depicted a man seated at a table surrounded by a surgeon, a priest and a nun. The surgeon, blade in hand, was operating on the man’s head while the others looked on. The icy sense of unease he had experienced earlier returned with a vengeance. He stared at the image, unable to break his gaze as if mesmerised by a snake charmer.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Natacha enquired.

  The sound of Natacha’s voice pulled him back. When he turned to look at her, it took some moments for his eyes to focus. ‘Yes, yes, I’m all right. It was not what I was expecting,’ he replied eventually. ‘What’s the name of this painting?’

  ‘It’s called The Extraction of the Stone of Madness. It was completed at a time when Bosch had already forged links with the Brotherhood.’

  ‘Are you implying that this painting is one of the works Piotrowski alludes to in his manuscript?’

  ‘Precisely!’ said Natacha triumphantly. ‘If you look at it, I believe it all fits.’

  Price nodded. He had already begun to draw his own conclusions but was curious to see if Natacha’s views concurred with his own. He waited expectantly for her to continue.

  ‘The painting shows the surgeon removing a stone from the man’s head. Odd as it may sound, this was a relatively common operation during Bosch’s lifetime as a cure for madness. The insane, or even those with limited intelligence, were thought to have a stone lodged deep in the brain causing a blockage, thus accounting for their symptoms. Surgery was not a well-respected profession at the time, but many subjects were still willing or coerced into putting themselves forward for the grisly procedure that was supposedly necessary to relieve the blockage. This is the widely held interpretation of this work, but, in truth, the painting doesn’t illustrate a stone being removed from the man’s head, but a tulip. It’s thought to be a reference to the term “tulip head”, which is the Dutch term for madness.’

  ‘That’s interesting, but perhaps here the tulip is acting as a symbol for something else. The Esoteric Brotherhood had an insignia, like most secret cults. It enabled individuals who were not known to one another to identify themselves. We know from Piotrowski’s manuscript that members of the cult wore a signet ring, and the emblem on the ring was none other than …’

  ‘A tulip!’ cried Natacha triumphantly.

  ‘Exactly,’ Price agreed.

  ‘So it would seem that the tulip used in this painting is a symbol made in reference to the Brotherhood, rather than as an indication of insanity.’

  ‘It would certainly seem so.’

  ‘The inference being that the Brotherhood was somehow involved in a surgical process to remove an artefact from inside the head. If we examine this in conjunction with the first painting, it suggests that this procedure was undertaken at around the time of death, assuming our interpretation of Bosch’s work is correct,’ concluded Natacha.

  Price felt his blood run cold.

  ‘Are you all right? You suddenly look so pale,’ Natacha said, reaching out to touch his arm.

  Price reflexively withdrew his arm in response to a searing pain that arose from the scar he always kept hidden.

  ‘What is it?’ continued Natacha, sounding concerned.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he replied eventually. ‘I’ve suddenly come over a little queasy. Could I have a glass of water, please?’

  ‘Of course.’ Natacha shot up from the sofa and disappeared through a door at the back of the studio. She returned moments later with a glass of iced water.

  Price took a sip and smiled. ‘That’s better, thank you. Please forgive me, I must make my apologies. I hadn’t realised how long I’d been here,’ he said, withdrawing a fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and flicking open the cover to inspect the face.

  Natacha looked taken aback by Price’s sudden decision to leave but passed no comment despite having been so deeply engrossed in conversation with him only moments earlier.

  Price got up and extended a hand, which she accepted. ‘I’m grateful for your help today. The meeting has been extremely productive. Please forgive my hasty departure.’

  Natacha smiled, quelling the inner turmoil Price had been experiencing.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Price said. ‘Could I request that you keep th
is conversation to yourself? I’d prefer it if you don’t discuss it with anyone else, er, even your father.’

  ‘Of course. It won’t go any further than these four walls, but in return, perhaps you’d also grant me a wish?’

  Price regarded her quizzically.

  ‘I’d be interested to hear how you get on in Amsterdam.’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, feeling an inner glow of warmth at the request. ‘I’ll be in touch. Thank you once again for your time, Natacha,’ he added as he made his way towards the exit.

  Natacha followed him down the stairwell and opened the door. They briefly looked at one another, and after an exchange of goodbyes, Price turned his back on her and stepped outside into a bitter northerly wind that was gusting across the river.

  He retraced his steps along the street and when he passed the garage, he saw the man Natacha had referred to as Luc fiddling with a gadget that he was holding a few inches from the end of his nose.

  The man appeared not to notice Price, but as he walked past, Luc looked up and smiled. ‘There are typically two mistakes that are made when traversing the road to truth: not setting out, and not reaching the end. You have already departed along that road, my friend. There can be no turning back,’ he called out.

  Price stopped and looked at the man in bewilderment. He made as if to speak, but Luc lifted a hand to forestall him. ‘I sense your urgency, although I know nothing of the troubles that follow you as plainly as a storm. Be true, my friend,’ he said. Without another word, he arose from the stool and disappeared through a door at the back of the garage, taking the gadget with him.

  As Price set off for home, his head was spinning like a gyroscope. He reflected on how his problems had intensified as the day had gone on, culminating in Natacha’s chilling revelation. It had caused a memory to resurface that he had kept buried for many years. The chill wind urged him on, and with the mechanic’s words ringing in his ears, he realised how profound they were. From the moment the manuscript had been stolen, he had indeed set off on a path, and it was one from which there was no turning back.