Alchymic Journals

by Evan S. Connell

  WHAT MARKS THE scope or ambit of any man? How shall we divide the interior of divergent spheres? Do we not gauge the wind without knowing what hurls from its belly? Meister John Picus de Mirandola writes in De Auro how concerning gold and silver he saw these confected on sixty occasions, and of a reputable chymist that he twice had pulled out gold from pig-iron. Well, we are indebted to John Picus for nine hundred splendid theses pertaining to logic, divinity, mathematics, Kabbalism and kinetics. Indeed we feel obligated, yet narrow enquiries administer our thought. Have we not studied seventeen volumes on venesection by that occasional doctor of Padua, Horatius Augenius? Meanwhile we count nine hundred duplicities issuing from a white palace that like medlars rot in the mid-day sun. O yea, we do squint. We listen and look asquint.

  NO EVIDENCE OF duality have we detected in twenty-one volumes incorporating the opera omnia of Albert de Groot, nor traces of black art. No more did he preach sorcery than make pistols or cannon, which inventions have been charged against him by Matthias de Luna. But that he did value some curious element branded with the image of a serpent provided by Dominicans, and that reptiles came slithering to visit this counterpart—so much is true. Still, the degrees of a circle which chart our circumference sub-serve magisteries within.

  NOW SINCE BATH Abbey was dismantled, laborers have unearthed out of an ancient niche or cranny we know not just where—a glass filled with noxious tincture which was thrown aside onto a dunghill. And the vile heap forthwith turned scarlet, so for many years the corn grew up in Bathwicke field marvelous green and rank and abundant, as this was testified by old men that could recall, and agreed with by a cobbler that saw it—yclept Foster or Belcher. But very much news comes singing with the wind. Clouds sail on to Denmark.

  WE WONDER HOW extravagance stops if men rush to vouchsafe extravagant tales. We have heard of Saint Germain’s father that he was a salamander and his mother a Muslim princess, and he thought it no great feat to draw spots from diamonds. Anon, we grow persuaded that he traded both eyes for hooks and beneath the roof of his friend, Prince of Hesse Cassel, this Quacksalver expired to the winding from a strange horn one overcast night at Sleswig—and doubt not that at the bar he lifted up both hands to plead innocent! Yet as the rabbit senses no limit to timidity nor the ferret to killing because one was born timid, the other murderous, so each has a claim and temperament but did not invent his traits. Nor can a man invent himself, thus it becomes comic to argue that he behave other than he did, being born of ramous and globulous parts—his head standing still while his brains pirouette.

  O LISTEN LISTEN! Pouring juice of fennel together in a glass with a buck goat’s blood diluted by vinegar—should any man dare to anoint his face with this panpharmacon he will utter dreadful and audacious things. Or should the blood of Cyboi, which the Greeks call Iphim, be emptied into a lizard’s skin and a man drink it—Behold! Some will say he stands like a giant with his face lost among stars. And this possibility we admit, but we consider also how very often men’s eyes are shut tight like those of birds asleep from November to January.

  AIBATHEST. ALBORACH. SERINECH. Zibach. What? What? Fugitive Serf. Glass of Pharaoh. Immaculate Lamb. What does it mean? Numus. Ethelia. Thabitris. Corsufle. Boritis. Mercy! Mercy! Artephius tells us that from the soul of the body Whiteness arises. Morien assures us that the second operation is but a repetition of the first. Matter being fixed in the bottom of the vase, says d’Espagnet, Jupiter puts Saturn to flight and takes possession of the kingdom to assume its government. Splendid! We smite our brow with admiration. Redness we find to be a continuation of the decoction of matter. Imbibition we learn is a time when condensing vapors descend upon sophic earth in the bottom of the vessel. Truly do we feel informed, as though we had spent the hour listening to hags, Egyptians and such-like, as each expounds what gives him satisfaction. Is there not more concord among snakes? Six metals at first we represent as bareheaded Slaves kneeling before the King, but after transmutation they wear a Crown! So do they propose to explain enigmas with enigmas. And were we handed a platter why should we not catch the Moon?

  SPRING SEEMS A time inordinately pleasant to the bee, which likes to spend his hours collecting honey or wax. Pillage and rape are gratifying activities to the wolf, which lusts after the delicate flesh of ewes and lambs. Rivers appear wondrously agreeable to loitering fishes idly basking and swaying in the current of their element. But what seems pleasurable to Man? Furious, dissatisfied from birth he staggers out to gaze at he knows not what, then off he flies into all countries possessed of stories and tales spun by his cataract of thought. Praise God, we think men celebrate their passage in wise foolishness, dancing goats embossed on silver cups.

  JOHN, ABBOT OF Westminster, much devoted to untrustworthy authors scattering falsehoods that lead toward whirlpools of misrepresentation, forfeited thirty years of his life in vain attempts to father the Regal Child. Cannot any man be subject to error? Aye, but fools persist. So we conclude this world was tossed on a blanket. So is the alchymist wise to sublimate desire like an elderly virgin in her quiet room pinning butterfly wings to a painted board.

  NOW LET US render homage to Magister Bernard de Trévisane misapprehending gold for mercury coagulated by the resolve and inimitable strength of sulfur. Look upon his magistery! Haply assisted by that monk from Citeaux, yclept Geofroi de Lemorier, this ambitious pharmacist vowed he would separate the yolks from the whites of two thousand chicken eggs. Yea! What next? He would mortify in dung this auspicious yellow residue, from which he meant to distil or congeal a panacea. We think aspirants that choose a foot-path among labyrinths of apparent contradiction, cautiously eschewing predilection or lumpish misconjecture, will anoint themselves with glory. Not so our misguided innocent subordinating life and wealth and holy reputation to one egregious sophistry. O, how often do we hear men debate across the sun, comprehending too much or too little.

  FRESH TALK OF a great English Philosopher or Mathematic—we know not which—that spends each afternoon inspecting bubbles puffed out of his clay pipe, and all bemused with attractive color believes chymists of Schemnitrium have conspired to liberate noble copper from gross iron! Woe is us! Might we contend that Egypt’s monarch Hermes compounded an universal solvent? Did he not? Incredulity being as hurtful as credulity, we would essay all matter while holding tight to what has been ordained, mistaking not ormolu for royal metal. That presumptuous shards of ice after centuries underground might accomplish their destiny by changing to rock crystal, as many believe, we ourselves would no more certify than dispute—elements being subject within themselves neither to change nor growth, unalterable and incontrovertible, one after the next. Yet the integrity of this universe has been dictated by homogeneous aspects. Therefore nature’s purpose must be to establish and fix the highest above the lowest, despite resident impurities, winding up Scripture in a nut-shell.

  WE HAVE HEARD of some Italian who pontificates upon our world—that it is encompassed by others, all twisting through space, and argues for moving particles, saying Heat is a mere swarm of corpuscles and Heaven might be solid! We suspect Jesuits will fry his flesh for the motions of his mouth. As children we are ignorant, says he, but being conscious of deficiencies we admit to ignorance. Yet as we are brought up to the habit of discipline in our house we listen to the faith and custom and rituals and conduct of our adversaries being subject to vilification since these do not sound orthodox, much as they have been instructed about us with the temper of our affairs. And within us are scattered a multitude of improvident forces so that in others various customs will beat down their paths, and therefore it is axiomatic that what impedes our progress must be meant for humiliation and slaughter—which we accept as agreeable and tributary since antagonists in their conceit do the like, and pledge obeisance to what deities they worship for having vouchsafed the light of immortality upon assurances equaling our own. Now all this does he preach, but all in vain since new divinity follows new philosophy. Let him consider the f
irmament from the Campo de’ Fiori with his logic, limited as we must be to a universe where delicate arguments postulate others more misleading and difficult. Yet we stand astonished before the passion of his intellect—which some label a Sword that needs close handling. Skeptics and fanatics we must admit make good brothers.

  DAME NATURE ADOPTS strange children. Look upon Petrus d’Abano questioned in his eightieth year by suspicious ecclesiarchs. That Petrus did immerse or replenish his soul with oracular science, that he could summon spent coins back to his pocket and did hold hostage within a Crystal wicked spirits—so much was alleged. And being adjudged guilty by reason of circuitous answers our aged recusant expired before his auto-da-fé! Is not Satan a master of versatility? Thus at Padua, close by the village of his birth, was a likeness in straw substituted for our departed apostate and set afire. Ah well, we suspect pointed shoes fit the fisherman no better than mortar boards balance the brains of zealots.

  POPE JOHN XXII having ascended to heaven by way of Avignon, Anno Domini 1334, we think his estate might be worth mention. We count eighteen million Florins with jewelry to the value of seven, plus innumerable consecrated goblets he acquired through hermetic craft, since we know this worldly pontiff each night submitted to anagogic indoctrination from Brother Arnold, meanwhile interdicting divinatory art. Distribution of transfigured bread and wine, a magic laying-on of hands—by such shameless investiture does Christian ceremony proclaim its merit. Who can measure humanity’s divagation?

  PRAISE WE HEAR for the shrewdness of a British ecclesiastic that purchased a flourishing brothel with sacerdotal funds. And is he subject to blame? We know how men in their hearts hide one thing while from their mouths comes another. Do we therefore extend as a terror to malfeasance the reprobation of posterity? Did not Jehovah pour the truth into blemished vessels? Aye, he did. Besides, such unscrupulous enterprise seems much less apt to fail than prosper, and on this logic we observe salvation recede from us, not we from it.

  WELL, WE HAVE watched men flying toward fulfillment like bees frantic for honey. We have watched others crouch like spiders taut with poison. Some attribute sibylline power to the mole—at which Pliny scoffs—while others would eat the palpitating heart of a weasel. So do men pour liquids up and down, or one into this, another into that, all brewing mixtures from sunrise onward. Avicenna teaches that where any matter rests upon salt it becomes salt and what stands on a stinking place will stink. Natures move indissolubly toward their own.

  NOW WE HAVE heard men offering contraries as principles until Proteus himself could not differ so much. Still, did this not hold true for Hippocrates? And we ourselves submit to deeper discrepancies and quarrels within than ever we met on the cobbled streets of Ingolstadt. Divers indeed is the mind’s apparel! How queer. Fustian sleeves, tattered lining. See us step forth adorned with intricate riddles and figures. But have lines fallen down about us at pleasant places? Do we feel pinched with straightness?

  ARE MEN LESS apt to lose their reason than be lost to it? Let us contemplate the labor of Meister Alexander Sethon with his difficult progress toward a coagulation of gold, fluttering from province to province across the Continent, squawking like a rooster that would escape its monarch’s table, stripped of amity and denied the magisterial fruit, imprisoned by Christian, Elector of Saxony, for refusing to express the Inexpressible—until the bloody wreckage of our recalcitrant chymist was rewarded with molten lead. Such a spectacle! Does iniquity adhere to suffering flesh? Could it be true of God that He lives with careless ease? Being totally good, does He love none but Himself?

  WHAT OF THOMAS Aquinas objecting that every yellow mineral must qualify as gold? How is this? We listen to him declare in Thesaurus Alchymiae how the purpose of mystic experiment should be transference of metals from imperfect to perfect, avowing that he believes in such a possibility! O, paradox upon paradox! Next, in tractates addressed to Frater Regnauld he discourses upon his search for an essence to tinge mercury that would pierce any known substance while overcoming fire! Under which meridian do we live?

  NEXT, OF ROGER Bacon we hear that he would study the furious multiplicities of light while simultaneously projecting gold through revelation of natural ligatures. We suspect Providence does award small things to the small, so do large minds reach out toward nimble motions, fortified against divisible shapes like scattered mercury seeking to collect and reunite itself. Is not a man’s thought marvelous at its operation?

  PIETISTS LOOK TO colonies of God. Others go walking in Corsica. Jakob Böhme fixedly gazing toward the burnished pewter dish embarks upon his celebrated trance during which he remarks Chaos transfigured. Ah, the watchful dog! Grant him a papal throne and the triune mitre! Yet we do not forget Valentinus observing how vision disappears if gnomic art disintegrates. Should we like Nestorians slice apart the nature of Jehovah to put aboard some Narrenschiff where black winds draw?

  FOUR PASSIONS LIKE the wheels of a carriage transport us from one estate to the next—which are called Joy, Love, Desire and Hate—as the moon and sun are said to pirouette and whirl across our semesters while encircling the earth—or as three superior planets dance about, now stationary, now direct, being now retrograde or in apogee or perigee, slow, swift, oriental or occidental, gracefully undulant—or as Mercury with Venus trails harping about the universe and four phantasmic lights wink toward Jupiter, all belike to handsome music out of the spheres. Hence few stand amazed to see men sport the frenzied look of squeezed cats.

  WITH WHAT ANXIETY do we discard one object for its neighbor while juggling tumultuous ideas of what we want, delirious, everywhere presuming the utmost gratification, so accustomed are we to seek benefits where we believe they should be met. We listen to Frater Albertus propose that men renounce home, take leave of bewildered families, debase honorable lineage and pitch fortune to the sea while enduring disease, hunger and thirst in order to scour tropic latitudes—but for what? That they might search out fugitive chimeras faintly descried in a wordless dream! Now what are these? Longevity, liberty and gold. O, such a tongue for such a tiny monk of tiny wit! Yet are we told that he despaired of what his habit demanded until the gracious Virgin vouchsafed excellence at Divinity or Philosophy whereupon he most imprudently chose the second, for which she chastised him since as he stood to the rostrum lecturing at the university in Cologne and all his thoughts thickly encrusted with jewels of rhetoric—Woe! Every idea fled! Yea, he fell mute. Therefore, if we reflect upon Frater Albertus we avow that having been transmogrified from an ass to a philosopher he was converted back again. Mercy! What fearful tragedies ambush the scholiast! We feel stricken. We sigh with remorse. We think mortals exhibit greater brains in their heels than up above.

  HO! COMES THIS most respected monk journeying from Bollstaedt wagging his plump book lately printed at Nuremberg—Compendium theologicae veritatis—which excited pedagogues. What a splash do these mighty buckets make! Withal we find wisdom difficult to communicate since rung aloud it gives off the uncommon ring and chime of common folly. We ourselves like spinning spiders wisely restrict our wisdom to its net.

  WELL, WHAT DO we say about Asses? We listen to Frater Cornelius Agrippa assert with his Vanity of Sciences how it is prudent to be transported on the back of one—the beast exemplifying both patience and fortitude. And in regard to that of Balaam, we consider it more discerning and perceptive than its master since it learnt to speak intelligibly. And of the philosopher Ammonius—each day he allowed an ass to audit his lecture. We know also how Abraham chose to take his seat upon an ass. And Jesus Christ, so did he recognize the incomparable merit of this lowly creature by selecting an ass for the occasion of his terrestrial entrance. Therefore, it seems to us that few animals are so appropriate to honor and to uphold Man’s irrefutable superiority.

  MAGISTER VAUGHAN IN Coelum Terrae reflects on the mephitic Dragon which is everywhere present, out of whose nostrils stems a loathsome fire that presages imminent destruction, and with touching modesty labels
himself the Egg of Nature. Pious he is. Indeed he drips effacement, conceived by God while admitting to weakness, equivalent to father and mother, invisible, visible, within the light is he as well as without, signifying both heaven and earth. Simultaneously is he bright or dark, sprung from the soil while descending toward mankind from above, disseminating every color, a carbuncle of the Sun transmuting copper, iron, lead and other subordinate minerals into predestined shapes. What? So did we read with Fulcanelli how innumerable secrets have been carved into the Great Porch of Notre Dame—which edifice patiently outlasts the centuries in silence while it awaits one adept capable of understanding. Bravo! To every sort of incantation we cry Alleluia!

  EIRENAEUS EXPLAINS HOW a furious cur upon a snarling bitch will generate a pallid whelp the color of wisdom. Indeed! Further, he informs us how two embattled dogs—one Armenian, one Corascene—illustrate this principle more tenaciously than opposing magnets contend, or as jousting knights reveal how combat opening with violence must end with coalescence. Seldom have we felt more enlightened. Now off to the alembic for there in a glass haply we may watch earth turn to water and water turn to air and air to flame and then down again, meanwhile between each working many things worth admiration. But how many horses shall we requisition to transport such masterful conceit?