Alchymic Journals

by Evan S. Connell

  ACCORDING TO MONKS, the Prince of Darkness assisted by ghouls suspends fertile maidens and lusty youths from oak branches, binds their inverted bodies to stakes and boils their flesh in cauldrons. I wonder at this. Also, regarding the disposal of plague corpses—especially those of sodomites, harlots, thieves and maugre chirugeons—whether these be devoured or discarded, I cannot decide. Physicians debate in themselves. On few matters am I positive, but the recollection of birth and an expectation of death lurks always within and makes us separate, so that we find the taste of humanity intoxicating, delectable and precious.

  I HAVE HEARD that images buried under stones by necromancers cause the intended subject to feel oppressed and lethargic, so that he lies helpless until the onerous weight is lifted. Or if a magician should twist the likeness of an arm or leg until it wrinkles and breaks, then will a similar infirmity be duplicated on the hapless victim. Or if a copy is stabbed or burnt or disfigured with acid, this too shall be repeated. Why so? I think it happens because our spirits act in concord. I believe all things establish their colony.

  EACH INDIVIDUAL IS permitted to live out the existence nature assigned, therefore who should decide to protest or object or complain against lives pulsing contrarily to his own? The pulse of granite is not rapid or brief while that of a horse is variable. Whatever is ordained cannot be dissuaded from its usage. Why would we inquire of the rose where it blooms without prickles?

  IT MAY BE that nature subsists upon this agreement: flowers, insects, animals, birds, minerals, fishes, herbs and trees have their parts so qualified that nothing seems homogeneous, yet all creatures have their class and each variety aspires to its own estate. As a tree with buds, leaves and branches is at root one, and as the leaf survives the exhausted bloom, or the trunk without either was made to endure a frigid blast, so do all things manifest their quintessence in this respect, independent yet complimentary, neither more nor less.

  IT IS OBVIOUS how each presence—flower, thorn, metal or worm—cannot but exhibit some virtue, albeit less than the planets which deliver our light and governing intelligence. Selenite is a divers stone growing purple or green or oftentimes white that we pick from the bosom of Indian snails, which if tasted will provide hints of future matters. Sapphire also is a rock that traveled to India out of a mysterious eastern provenance, which adorns itself with suitable colors, the most prominent being luteous—engendering rapport, devotion and concurrence—so that any man who wishes to feel at peace should grasp it. Amandinus is a rock prodigiously formed, enabling every man to overcome his adversaries, or to prophesy and to interpret and expound upon dreams while unraveling difficult questions. Also with Chelonites, which is found inside a mollusc’s head. If a man place this under his tongue while the moon comes up he will forejudge and conjecture upon swiftly rising problems. Also there is one called Adamas, which the English have named Diamond, with a very sparkling color and impossible to crush, that is rumored to grow in Cyprus or Arabia and being bathed in the blood of a goat it will fracture—from what inadequacy? We know not. Despite this I think nothing can exist that fails to hide within a recess some private impulse or significance. The constituence of tin, for example, seems disproportionate because its mercury may be fine whereas its sulphur is corrupt, and since a commingling is thought to occur between the layers this metal is heard to shriek. I have met men so commingled.

  ALCHYMY EMPLOYS STONE to alleviate Stone—crab’s claw, lapis lazuli, eagle-stone, selenite of Judaic—since out of these we procure a calcined excretion which dissolves more quickly than salt in heated water. Distillation enhances our deposit, providing the essence of restorative balsam. Yet those virtues resident in every panacea, congenial to many, prove malignant and damaging to others. The salamander dips himself in fire, the peacock hungers after serpents, the ostrich swallows rock. What good to them are humanity’s nutriments? What men consider instrumental, sacred or wondrous may prove deformed and untrue. Let us ask if the workman that acquires his important illness from a lead mine should be purged with circulations of galena or by cathartics derived from its opposite. Ash of the burnt cray-fish—Karkinoi—is this not effective against carcinoma? Has not every path some ultimate turning?

  HOMEOPATHIC PRINCIPLES CONSPIRE to surmount disease even as outward aspects of medicaments define their usage. Eufragia, which endeavors to duplicate the appearance of the human eye, directs itself sympathetically toward this vulnerable organ. Thistle, which seldom hesitates to attack the hand, assuages interior stitches. And the root Satyrion, that orders itself to the shape of mankind’s generative part, restores virility. Hence I think it unwise to discard that which providentially invites inspection. Nevertheless, I have met physicians with no more brains than a dolt at a banquet who lacked wit enough to stick the game in his mouth. What they fail to comprehend they damn. Speech is granted to all, intelligence to few.

  CELANDINE, TORMENTIL, BURNET, eyebright, pimpernel, rue, heart-trefoil and lovage genuflect to the command of Sol, even as lettuce, colewort, arrach, fluellein, loosestrife, pellitory and saxifrage subordinate their lives to Luna. So do bourage, chervil, hyssop and melilot and cinquefoil render obeisance to Jupiter. Bifoil and fumitory comfrey, mullein, woad and darnel relinquish themselves to Saturn. Beneficial partnerships frequently develop between heaven and earth—this is beyond dispute. Now whether the passion of an herb may resurrect the departed, we know not, nor if exaltation by the soul revivifies the body. If so, hermetic medicine exemplifies precepts betrothing science to magic. Might we be induced to live again? Who can say? We are sure only that familiar animals such as the bear renew themselves after prolonged sleep, while house-flies and wasps stupefied by frost grow nimble once they are warm, and aged hawthorns that for decades have languished will proliferate and bloom as though they were rejuvenated. Hence, the ponderable world represents a simulacrum, or palimpsest, of all that subsists invisibly—as with portraits the feature is not truly shown but takes up equivocal shape.

  VERY LITTLE OUT of fiction does a prudent alchymist credit, but states honestly what he considers reliable and positive. Should he grow hesitant or feel uncertain of his diagnosis, then he abstains from counsel. But should he feel persuaded he will abjure equivocation by publishing and disseminating whatever he has learned, thereby reflecting honor on himself in accordance with the compassionate majesties of his craft. So it is incumbent that every doctor proceed on experiments with their contingencies. Suppose one neglected to appraise the ebb or flow of macrocosm, how would a physician estimate the frequency of feminine menorrhagia? How could he predict the course of bloody flux if he failed to identify the source of showers, detect the humors of colic if he did not follow the wind’s birth backward toward its grotto? For innumerable gifts we receive we feel obligated and of these the fairest must be a propensity to reason. Thus, with Saturn ascendant under a full moon, having removed the heads from two spaniels I affixed them by intricate sutures to the body of a third, and contrived with praise, stroking and constant affectionate encouragement to preserve the similitude of life until dawn. The inferior head remained conscious. It seemed by a yearning look to approve, as though it might again participate in life, while the superior head displayed neither sense nor activity. What this reveals is doubtful, but where nothing comes to pass nothing keeps its shape. This being so, enquiry continued. Inside a stoppered bottle I placed twelve new-born titmice exactly at sunset, recording how they shuddered and twisted from lack of sufficient aether before submitting to fate. Also I have macerated the bones of tiny birds, and sliced apart fish bellies to probe toward the secret fundamentals of matter. Yet everywhere I meet that mysterious serpentine line traced by the hand of some incomprehensible presence. What else have I learned save the imperious ring and pulse of insistent life?

  PLAGUE! PLAGUE AT Lübeck! Plague preceded by a bluish veil or cloud visible from Bremerhaven. Disorder. Tumult. Panic. We are told by Johannes Nohl that teardrops trickling down cathedral walls and blood-stains on previous
ly immaculate garments betoken this curse. A dragon swimming up the Tiber proclaimed a similar visit, according to Gregory of Tours. So did ash hurled from Vesuvio. No doubt. But as with twins which manifestation has gained its likeness from the other? Cosmic emanations that presage catastrophe stream toward us while mankind looks to the ascendant—to a fresh and binding regeneration. Now rising news of peste like a wisp of basil breeds scorpions in delirious minds. Let the Lamb keep time, evil marches west. I think we may anticipate a trumpet blast with terrified calculation on the number of our days.

  I WONDER ABOUT the impulse of this scourge. I disagree with de Chauliac who would assign it to conjunctions of planets by which the atmosphere and various elements are so altered that poisonous fluids gravitate toward internal constituents of the body just as magnets may be observed to attract iron—from which arise frenzies with bloody sputum and depositions in the form of glandular edema leading to suppurating boils with agonizing death. Varro believes in a subtle provocation of inanimate creatures, which would explain the degeneration of susceptible organs. Kircher argues how spontaneous worms capable of flight upon being sucked into a receptive corpus by motilities essential to a lung might conflate the animus, vitiate blood and gnaw flesh apart, which I think reasonable. Agricola points to especially turgid aether that originates in putrid exhalations stemming from unburied corpses, notably those of mercenaries that were stabbed or died of starvation. Might stagnant lakes, caves, or miasma from swamps be a cause? Or possibly the atmosphere is corrupted with excess moisture through prolonged rain and fog after a warm spring when east winds prevail—resulting in a plethora of flies, gnats, lice and other deleterious insects through involuntary generation, these being known to transmit humors. Or the comets of autumn emitting morbid exhalations. Or infectious mice. Man himself could be responsible if excessive emotion unites with sinful imagining. Yet like an arrow this Black Death strikes toward three vulnerable locations—ear, groin, axillae—suggesting that its impetus be external. Possibilities multiply. Doctors stand helpless, weak soldiers that think to demolish a castle through musket shot. Myself, how might I know what to believe should I grasp at the counsel of others?

  THEY SAY PLAGUE walks to the accompaniment of a rushing noise followed by toads, snails, beetles. Moths fall upon vineyards, cats huddle unnaturally, dogs forget to bark. Oily rain falls, hideous flowers open. Women swathe their bodies with sheets, men lurch to the burial ground. Mountebanks employ juggling and musty relics—counterfeit miracles. Downward the spirit wheels, sucked beneath contrary tides past the secret glome or bottom of our days. Thus it seems self-evident how mortals squeeze more from rubefactions than albefactions—drunkenly circling, gesticulating, depositing goods on monastery steps although every portal be bolted by monks glazed with fright, sequestered against eternity. But what exercise of privilege is there to holy office? Gold coins hurled across the bulwark echo unpleasantly through God’s enclosure. So many demonstrate their low dimension, refusing to help the moribund and argue how Necessity supersedes our mutual bond. Yet as men permit others to fall they disparage the given franchise, arrogating to themselves a prerogative of divinity. Conscience I ascribe to those fundamentals we are offered, according to the dictate of which each should act without inquiring as to its purpose. What we are taught, that we do—so have men been instructed. Otherwise we look at reflections of emptiness.

  HOW AND BY what method could this pestilence be contracted? Some assert that like dust it accompanies the wind, lodging where it pleases as do worms in fruit. This I think unlikely. Others point to contagious vapors drifting north from Egypt, which sounds plausible. I suspect vulnerability occurs during effervescence when the blood decays after furious attempts to expel turbid, foaming redundancies. Also, children whose organs lack development readily succumb to epidemics and the reason is clear: Inadequate or excitable blood distorts the veins of adolescent bodies. Yet if asked, I could not answer which illnesses be justified. Who among us would judge the hind part of God?

  REGARDING PROPHYLAXIS, THE air being swollen with effluvia should be broken apart. Violent noises usually are helpful, such as the explosions of cannon, ringing of church bells, and snarling dogs. Sulphuric bonfires might be appropriate to correct the humidity by restoring an equivalent balance to consonance, because this scourge very possibly emanates from atmospheric distemper. Interior and exterior surfaces must be sprinkled with vinegar in order to weaken virulent atoms. Spiders should be encouraged to devise complex webs at every corner, subduing evil. Fresh baked loaves of bread displayed on a stick absorb toxic influences. Curdled milk on a window-sill or outside the door is a sovereign panacea. Bezoar and hyacinth-stone show equally admirable properties. I think the breath of oxen is salubrious after midnight so these animals ought to be tethered inside the dwelling, but should not be eaten since turgid meat proves dangerous. Suckling pig is unhealthful, as is the flesh of waterbirds. Any food which is cold, moist or slippery could be harmful. Bathing might prove fatal. Intercourse promotes diarrhoea, which is debilitating and conducive to melancholic apathy. Heirlooms made of gold or silver assuage the troubled heart, hence these may be regarded as prophylactic by untutored or fatuous doctors. Nonsense! Many times have I seen the beard and cloak while the analeptic I doubt. Yet what am I if my experience stands useless? Very often I have no idea what to prescribe. Perhaps we are governed by atomi within the seed.

  CONCERNING TREATMENT, A poultice of figs and boiled onions mixed and simmered and mixed with fresh butter ripens styptic buboes. Leeches assist. Theriaca of snake may be good, or the rectum of a predatory bird macerated in chyle. That suppurating boils be cauterized with rods is preposterous, resulting in little except discomfort, albeit Guy de Chauliac reports twelve lives lengthened. At times I think most treatment less efficacious than eating night-owl eggs or pissing through a bronze ring. I consider it wise foolishness. Infirmities seem our fortune. These visitations that beleaguer us—I suspect they descend from above and our eyes open to a pitiless world where mirage begins.

  BLACK PESTE HAS leapt the Rhine. Theology falters, violence ensues. The muzzle of a black rat scurrying through darkness darkens with hate while we feed on terriculaments. Fright writ like letters on a map where topographers label some territory Unknown. And each victim, calling his anguish unjustified, begs to be excused. Earth rest lightly on the unfortunate.

  OUTSIDE THE BRUGES Gate at twilight this vagabond, his paunch puffed tight like a woman full of triplets, groaning piteous, dropsic from leaking buboes, all corrupt and red foamy lungs, swelling myrach with a blue flame flickering out of his mouth, gibbering, whining past bloody teeth, a stink like swine gall with a goose honking at his feet—none knew why. Blessed I am that I have yet to meet an imitation of Christ or a disciple selling such restrictive faith. I suspect the true Alchymist might be providence, our security and light.

  WHAT BENEFIT TO congelation or sublimation while the visage turns mottled? What purpose distillation and cupellation? In a mirror I see not myself but Ourobouros.

  OLA! THUS ACCOSTED by an unctuous Spaniard stroking a tidy mustache, velour cap overlaid in gold with a yellow feather, velvet upperstocks, pantafels and pynsons, with a satin cape hanging from one shoulder and a purse slung about his neck, sporting a gilt rapier and the luminous gaze of a sewer rat who swore he could produce the Infant—which secret he might barter for a trifle since his good wife had but recently died and he lacked funds to dig her grave. One drachm I displayed, bidding him exchange it for tickets to paradise. We are close, he said, very close to a beginning.

  Rumors of a wandering magus conceived in heresy and mistrust that would resurrect us . . .

  HOW OFTEN WE HEAR THAT NATURAL species may not be transmuted because one into another means spurious descendants. Hence, adaptation of gold by lead must constitute gross inadequacy—the superior species denied through admixture—which results not in corrupt gold but, according to their harmonic virtues, gold of a middle synthesis. Now this objection w
e acknowledge, although it appears to contravene both science and the Adept. Yet here is a misunderstanding born, since we do not endeavor to transmute species, nor do we teach how inferior specifics such as quick-silver can change to gold—no more than a dog should live again as a pig or vice-versa, or anything unlike. Indeed, it is but the primary substance and radical moisture of which things uniformly are comprised that we would extract, transporting through craft a lesser to a greater constituence. Thus we demand of Skeptics: how should one effect transparent glass out of lethargic flint, ashes and stone? Foreign riches accrue at foreign places, and being Scribes have we compounded divers records of successful transmutation from Lesser Egypt to the Baltic.

  WE DEPLORE THOSE that calibrate reconstitution by their wit and so doubt miracles of hermetic art—objecting about gold how it could not be present within copper, nor silver within galena. Should imponderables be weighed upon their balance? We point out that birds issue from eggs, while caterpillars develop into butterflies. We observe particles of the element water extant in wood, since heating fresh wood begets liquid. Similarly must wood be the home of atmosphere because we note vapor and rising steam, and because we find ash there is earth. Hence, any substance might be transmuted through proportionate realignment of its components. Therefore, what is the Skeptic but a new mouse fumbling through darkness?