Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions - Chapter 4a



Chapter 4a - The Alchymists
or
Searchers for the Philosopher's Stone and the Water of Life.

Mercury (loquitur). The mischief a secret any of them know, above
the consuming of coals and drawing of usquebaugh! howsoever they
may pretend, under the specious names of Geber, Arnold, Lulli, or
bombast of Hohenheim, to commit miracles in art, and treason
against nature! As if the title of philosopher, that creature of
glory, were to be fetched out of a furnace! I am their crude and
their sublimate, their precipitate and their unctions; their male
and their female, sometimes their hermaphrodite—what they list to
style me! They will calcine you a grave matron, as it might be a
mother of the maids, and spring up a young virgin out of her
ashes, as fresh as a phœnix; lay you an old courtier on the coals,
like a sausage or a bloat-herring, and, after they have broiled
him enough, blow a soul into him, with a pair of bellows! See,
they begin to muster again, and draw their forces out against me!
The genius of the place defend me!"
—Ben Jonson's Masque: Mercury vindicated from the Alchymists.

DISSATISFACTION WITH HIS LOT seems to be the characteristic of man
in all ages and climates. So far, however, from being an evil, as
at first might be supposed, it has been the great civiliser of our
race; and has tended, more than anything else, to raise us above
the condition of the brutes. But the same discontent which has
been the source of all improvement, has been the parent of no
small progeny of follies and absurdities; to trace these latter is
our present object. Vast as the subject appears, it is easily
reducible within such limits as will make it comprehensive without
being wearisome, and render its study both instructive and
amusing.

Three causes especially have excited the discontent of mankind;
and, by impelling us to seek for remedies for the irremediable,
have bewildered us in a maze of madness and error. These are
death, toil, and ignorance of the future—the doom of man upon this
sphere, and for which he shews his antipathy by his love of life,
his longing for abundance, and his craving curiosity to pierce the
secrets of the days to come. The first has led many to imagine
that they might find means to avoid death, or, failing in this,
that they might, nevertheless, so prolong existence as to reckon
it by centuries instead of units. From this sprang the search, so
long continued and still pursued, for the elixir vitæ, or water of
life, which has led thousands to pretend to it and millions to
believe in it. From the second sprang the absurd search for the
philosopher's stone, which was to create plenty by changing all
metals into gold; and from the third, the false sciences of
astrology, divination, and their divisions of necromancy,
chiromancy, augury, with all their train of signs, portents, and
omens.

In tracing the career of the erring philosophers, or the wilful
cheats, who have encouraged or preyed upon the credulity of
mankind, it will simplify and elucidate the subject, if we divide
it into three classes: the first comprising alchymists, or those
in general who have devoted themselves to the discovering of the
philosopher's stone and the water of life; the second comprising
astrologers, necromancers, sorcerers, geomancers, and all those
who pretended to discover futurity; and the third consisting of
the dealers in charms, amulets, philters, universal-panacea
mongers, touchers for the evil, seventh sons of a seventh son,
sympathetic powder compounders, homœopathists, animal magnetisers,
and all the motley tribe of quacks, empirics, and charlatans.

But, in narrating the career of such men, it will be found that
many of them united several or all of the functions just
mentioned; that the alchymist was a fortune-teller, or a
necromancer—that he pretended to cure all maladies by touch or
charm, and to work miracles of every kind. In the dark and early
ages of European history, this is more especially the case. Even
as we advance to more recent periods, we shall find great
difficulty in separating the characters. The alchymist seldom
confined himself strictly to his pretended science—the sorcerer
and necromancer to theirs, or the medical charlatan to his.
Beginning with alchymy, some confusion of these classes is
unavoidable; but the ground will clear for us as we advance.

Let us not, in the pride of our superior knowledge, turn with
contempt from the follies of our predecessors. The study of the
errors into which great minds have fallen in the pursuit of truth
can never be uninstructive. As the man looks back to the days of
his childhood and his youth, and recalls to his mind the strange
notions and false opinions that swayed his actions at that time,
that he may wonder at them; so should society, for its
edification, look back to the opinions which governed the ages
fled. He is but a superficial thinker who would despise and refuse
to hear of them merely because they are absurd. No man is so wise
but that he may learn some wisdom from his past errors, either of
thought or action; and no society has made such advances as to be
capable of no improvement from the retrospect of its past folly
and credulity. And not only is such a study instructive: he who
reads for amusement only, will find no chapter in the annals of
the human mind more amusing than this. It opens out the whole
realm of fiction—the wild, the fantastic, and the wonderful, and
all the immense variety of things "that are not, and cannot be;
but that have been imagined and believed."

FOR MORE THAN A THOUSAND YEARS the art of alchymy captivated many
noble spirits, and was believed in by millions. Its origin is
involved in obscurity. Some of its devotees have claimed for it an
antiquity coeval with the creation of man himself; others, again,
would trace it no further back than the time of Noah. Vincent de
Beauvais argues, indeed, that all the antediluvians must have
possessed a knowledge of alchymy; and particularly cites Noah as
having been acquainted with the elixir vitæ, or he could not have
lived to so prodigious an age, and have begotten children when
upwards of five hundred. Lenglet du Fresnoy, in his History of the
Hermetic Philosophy, says, "Most of them pretended that Shem, or
Chem, the son of Noah, was an adept in the art, and thought it
highly probable that the words chemistry and alchymy were both
derived from his name." Others say, the art was derived from the
Egyptians, amongst whom it was first founded by Hermes
Trismegistus. Moses, who is looked upon as a first-rate alchymist,
gained his knowledge in Egypt; but he kept it all to himself, and
would not instruct the children of Israel in its mysteries. All
the writers upon alchymy triumphantly cite the story of the golden
calf, in the 32nd chapter of Exodus, to prove that this great
lawgiver was an adept, and could make or unmake gold at his
pleasure. It is recorded, that Moses was so wrath with the
Israelites for their idolatry, "that he took the calf which they
had made, and burned it in the fire, and ground it to powder, and
strewed it upon the water, and made the children of Israel drink
of it." This, say the alchymists, he never could have done, had he
not been in possession of the philosopher's stone; by no other
means could he have made the powder of gold float upon the water.
But we must leave this knotty point for the consideration of the
adepts in the art, if any such there be, and come to more modern
periods of its history. The Jesuit, Father Martini, in his
Historia Sinica, says, it was practised by the Chinese two
thousand five hundred years before the birth of Christ; but his
assertion, being unsupported, is worth nothing. It would appear,
however, that pretenders to the art of making gold and silver
existed in Rome in the first centuries after the Christian era,
and that, when discovered, they were liable to punishment as
knaves and impostors. At Constantinople, in the fourth century,
the transmutation of metals was very generally believed in, and
many of the Greek ecclesiastics wrote treatises upon the subject.
Their names are preserved, and some notice of their works given,
in the third volume of Lenglet du Fresnoy's History of the
Hermetic Philosophy. Their notion appears to have been, that all
metals were composed of two substances; the one, metallic earth;
and the other, a red inflammable matter, which they called
sulphur. The pure union of these substances formed gold; but other
metals were mixed with and contaminated by various foreign
ingredients. The object of the philosopher's stone was to dissolve
or neutralise all these ingredients, by which iron, lead, copper,
and all metals would be transmuted into the original gold. Many
learned and clever men wasted their time, their health, and their
energies, in this vain pursuit; but for several centuries it took
no great hold upon the imagination of the people. The history of
the delusion appears, in a manner, lost from this time till the
eighth century, when it appeared amongst the Arabians. From this
period it becomes easier to trace its progress. A master then
appeared, who was long looked upon as the father of the science,
and whose name is indissolubly connected with it.


Geber

Of this philosopher, who devoted his life to the study of alchymy,
but few particulars are known. He is thought to have lived in the
year 730. His true name was Abou Moussah Djafar, to which was
added Al Sofi, or "The Wise," and he was born at Hauran, in
Mesopotamia.18* Some have thought he was a Greek, others a
Spaniard, and others, a prince of Hindostan: but, of all the
mistakes which have been made respecting him, the most ludicrous
was that made by the French translator of Sprenger's History of
Medicine, who thought, from the sound of his name, that he was a
German, and rendered it as the "Donnateur," or Giver. No details
of his life are known; but it is asserted, that he wrote more than
five hundred works upon the philosopher's stone and the water of
life. He was a great enthusiast in his art, and compared the
incredulous to little children shut up in a narrow room, without
windows or aperture, who, because they saw nothing beyond, denied
the existence of the great globe itself. He thought that a
preparation of gold would cure all maladies, not only in man, but
in the inferior animals and plants. He also imagined that all the
metals laboured under disease, with the exception of gold, which
was the only one in perfect health. He affirmed, that the secret
of the philosopher's stone had been more than once discovered; but
that the ancient and wise men who had hit upon it, would never, by
word or writing, communicate it to men, because of their
unworthiness and incredulity.19* But the life of Geber, though
spent in the pursuit of this vain chimera, was not altogether
useless. He stumbled upon discoveries which he did not seek, and
science is indebted to him for the first mention of corrosive
sublimate, the red oxide of mercury, nitric acid, and the nitrate
of silver.20*

For more than two hundred years after the death of Geber, the
Arabian philosophers devoted themselves to the study of alchymy,
joining with it that of astrology. Of these the most celebrated
was


Alfarabi

Alfarabi flourished at the commencement of the tenth century, and
enjoyed the reputation of being one of the most learned men of his
age. He spent his life in travelling from country to country, that
he might gather the opinions of philosophers upon the great
secrets of nature. No danger dismayed him; no toil wearied him of
the pursuit. Many sovereigns endeavoured to retain him at their
courts; but he refused to rest until he had discovered the great
object of his life—the art of preserving it for centuries, and of
making gold as much as he needed. This wandering mode of life at
last proved fatal to him. He had been on a visit to Mecca, not so
much for religious as for philosophical purposes, when, returning
through Syria, he stopped at the court of the Sultan Seifeddoulet,
who was renowned as the patron of learning. He presented himself
in his travelling attire in the presence of that monarch and his
courtiers; and, without invitation, coolly sat himself down upon
the sofa, beside the prince. The courtiers and wise men were
indignant; and the sultan, who did not know the intruder, was at
first inclined to follow their example. He turned to one of his
officers; and ordered him to eject the presumptuous stranger from
the room; but Alfarabi, without moving, dared them to lay hands
upon him; and, turning himself calmly to the prince, remarked,
that he did not know who was his guest, or he would treat him with
honour, not with violence. The sultan, instead of being still
further incensed, as many potentates would have been, admired his
coolness; and, requesting him to sit still closer to him on the
sofa, entered into a long conversation with him upon science and
divine philosophy. All the court were charmed with the stranger.
Questions for discussion were propounded, on all of which he
shewed superior knowledge. He convinced every one that ventured to
dispute with him; and spoke so eloquently upon the science of
alchymy, that he was at once recognised as only second to the
great Geber himself. One of the doctors present inquired whether a
man who knew so many sciences was acquainted with music? A1farabi
made no reply, but merely requested that a lute should be brought
him. The lute was brought; and he played such ravishing and tender
melodies, that all the court were melted into tears. He then
changed his theme, and played airs so sprightly, that he set the
grave philosophers, sultan and all, dancing as fast as their legs
could carry them. He then sobered them again by a mournful strain,
and made them sob and sigh as if broken-hearted. The sultan,
highly delighted with his powers, entreated him to stay, offering
him every inducement that wealth, power, and dignity could supply;
but the alchymist resolutely refused, it being decreed, he said,
that he should never repose till he had discovered the
philosopher's stone. He set out accordingly the same evening, and
was murdered by some thieves in the deserts of Syria. His
biographers give no further particulars of his life beyond
mentioning that he wrote several valuable treatises on his art,
all of which, however, have been lost. His death happened in the
year 954.


Avicenna

Avicenna, whose real name was Ebn Cinna, another great alchymist,
was born at Bokhara, in 980. His reputation as a physician and a
man skilled in all sciences was so great, that the Sultan Magdal
Douleth resolved to try his powers in the great science of
government. He was accordingly made Grand Vizier of that prince,
and ruled the state with some advantage: but, in a science still
more difficult, he failed completely. He could not rule his own
passions, but gave himself up to wine and women, and led a life of
shameless debauchery. Amid the multifarious pursuits of business
and pleasure, he nevertheless found time to write seven treatises
upon the philosopher's stone, which were for many ages looked upon
as of great value by pretenders to the art. It is rare that an
eminent physician, as Avicenna appears to have been, abandons
himself to sensual gratification; but so completely did he become
enthralled in the course of a few years, that he was dismissed
from his high office, and died shortly afterwards of premature old
age and a complication of maladies, brought on by debauchery. His
death took place in the year 1036. After his time, few
philosophers of any note in Arabia are heard of as devoting
themselves to the study of alchymy; but it began shortly
afterwards to attract greater attention in Europe. Learned men in
France, England, Spain, and Italy expressed their belief in the
science, and many devoted their whole energies to it. In the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries especially, it was extensively
pursued, and some of the brightest names of that age are connected
with it. Among the most eminent of them are


Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas

The first of these philosophers was born in the year 1193, of a
noble family at Lawingen, in the Duchy of Neuburg, on the Danube.
For the first thirty years of his life, he appeared remarkably
dull and stupid, and it was feared by every one that no good could
come of him. He entered a Dominican monastery at an early age; but
made so little progress in his studies, that he was more than once
upon the point of abandoning them in despair; but he was endowed
with extraordinary perseverance. As he advanced to middle age, his
mind expanded, and he learned whatever he applied himself to with
extreme facility. So remarkable a change was not, in that age, to
be accounted for but by a miracle. It was asserted and believed
that the Holy Virgin, touched with his great desire to become
learned and famous, took pity upon his incapacity, and appeared to
him in the cloister where he sat almost despairing, and asked him
whether he wished to excel in philosophy or divinity. He chose
philosophy, to the chagrin of the Virgin, who reproached him in
mild and sorrowful accents that he had not made a better choice.
She, however, granted his request that he should become the most
excellent philosopher of the age; but set this drawback to his
pleasure, that he should relapse, when at the height of his fame,
into his former incapacity and stupidity. Albertus never took the
trouble to contradict the story, but prosecuted his studies with
such unremitting zeal that his reputation speedily spread over all
Europe. In the year 1244, the celebrated Thomas Aquinas placed
himself under his tuition. Many extraordinary stories are told of
the master and his pupil. While they paid all due attention to
other branches of science, they never neglected the pursuit of the
philosopher's stone and the elixir vitæ. Although they discovered
neither, it was believed that Albert had seized some portion of
the secret of life, and found means to animate a brazen statue,
upon the formation of which, under proper conjunctions of the
planets, he had been occupied many years of his life. He and
Thomas Aquinas completed it together, endowed it with the faculty
of speech, and made it perform the functions of a domestic
servant. In this capacity it was exceedingly useful; but, through
some defect in the machinery, it chattered much more than was
agreeable to either philosopher. Various remedies were tried to
cure it of its garrulity, but in vain; and one day Thomas Aquinas
was so enraged at the noise it made when he was in the midst of a
mathematical problem, that he seized a ponderous hammer and
smashed it to pieces.21* He was sorry afterwards for what he had
done, and was reproved by his master for giving way to his anger,
so unbecoming in a philosopher. They made no attempt to re-animate
the statue.

Such stories as these shew the spirit of the age. Every great man
who attempted to study the secrets of nature was thought a
magician; and it is not to be wondered at that, when philosophers
themselves pretended to discover an elixir for conferring
immortality, or a red stone which was to create boundless wealth,
that popular opinion should have enhanced upon their pretensions,
and have endowed them with powers still more miraculous. It was
believed of Albertus Magnus that he could even change the course
of the seasons; a feat which the many thought less difficult than
the discovery of the grand elixir. Albertus was desirous of
obtaining a piece of ground on which to build a monastery in the
neighbourhood of Cologne. The ground belonged to William Count of
Holland and King of the Romans, who, for some reason or other, did
not wish to part with it. Albertus is reported to have gained it
by the following extraordinary method: He invited the prince as he
was passing through Cologne to a magnificent entertainment
prepared for him and all his court. The prince accepted it, and
repaired with a lordly retinue to the residence of the sage. It
was in the midst of winter, the Rhine was frozen over, and the
cold was so bitter, that the knights could not sit on horseback
without running the risk of losing their toes by the frost. Great,
therefore, was their surprise, on arriving at Albert's house, to
find that the repast was spread in his garden, in which the snow
had drifted to the depth of several feet. The earl in high dudgeon
remounted his steed; but Albert at last prevailed upon him to take
his seat at the table. He had no sooner done so, than the dark
clouds rolled away from the sky—a warm sun shone forth—the cold
north wind veered suddenly round and blew a mild breeze from the
south—the snows melted away—the ice was unbound upon the streams,
and the trees put forth their green leaves and their fruit—flowers
sprang up beneath their feet, while larks, nightingales,
blackbirds, cuckoos, thrushes, and every sweet song-bird sang
hymns from every tree. The earl and his attendants wondered
greatly; but they ate their dinner, and in recompence for it,
Albert got his piece of ground to build a convent on. He had not,
however, shewn them all his power. Immediately that the repast was
over, he gave the word, and dark clouds obscured the sun—the snow
fell in large flakes—the singing-birds fell dead—the leaves
dropped from the trees, and the winds blew so cold, and howled so
mournfully, that the guests wrapped themselves up in their thick
cloaks, and retreated into the house to warm themselves at the
blazing fire in Albert's kitchen.22*

Thomas Aquinas also could work wonders as well as his master. It
is related of him that he lodged in a street at Cologne, where he
was much annoyed by the incessant clatter made by the horses'
hoofs, as they were led through it daily to exercise by their
grooms. He had entreated the latter to select some other spot
where they might not disturb a philosopher, but the grooms turned
a deaf ear to all his solicitations. In this emergency he had
recourse to the aid of magic. He constructed a small horse of
bronze, upon which he inscribed certain cabalistic characters, and
buried it at midnight in the midst of the highway. The next
morning, a troop of grooms came riding along as usual; but the
horses, as they arrived at the spot where the magic horse was
buried, reared and plunged violently—their nostrils distended with
terror—their manes grew erect, and the perspiration ran down their
sides in streams. In vain the riders applied the spur—in vain they
coaxed or threatened, the animals would not pass the spot. On the
following day, their success was no better. They were at length
compelled to seek another spot for their exercise, and Thomas
Aquinas was left in peace.23*

Albertus Magnus was made Bishop of Ratisbon in 1259; but he
occupied the see only four years, when he resigned, on the ground
that its duties occupied too much of the time which he was anxious
to devote to philosophy. He died in Cologne in 1280, at the
advanced age of eighty-seven. The Dominican writers deny that he
ever sought the philosopher's stone, but his treatise upon
minerals sufficiently proves that he did.


Artephius

Artephius, a name noted in the annals of alchymy, was born in the
early part of the twelfth century. He wrote two famous treatises;
the one upon the philosopher's stone, and the other on the art of
prolonging human life. In the latter he vaunts his great
qualifications for instructing mankind on such a matter, as he was
at that time in the thousand and twenty-fifth year of his age! He
had many disciples who believed in his extreme age, and who
attempted to prove that he was Apollonius of Tyana, who lived soon
after the advent of Jesus Christ, and the particulars of whose
life and pretended miracles have been so fully described by
Philostratus. He took good care never to contradict a story which
so much increased the power he was desirous of wielding over his
fellow-mortals. On all convenient occasions, he boasted of it; and
having an excellent memory, a fertile imagination, and a thorough
knowledge of all existing history, he was never at a loss for an
answer when questioned as to the personal appearance, the manners,
or the character of the great men of antiquity. He also pretended
to have found the philosopher's stone; and said that, in search of
it, he had descended to hell, and seen the devil sitting on a
throne of gold, with a legion of imps and fiends around him. His
works on alchymy have been translated into French, and were
published in Paris in 1609 or 1610.


Alain de Lisle

Contemporary with Albertus Magnus was Alain de Lisle of Flanders,
who was named, from his great learning, the "universal doctor." He
was thought to possess a knowledge of all the sciences, and, like
Artephius, to have discovered the elixir vitæ. He became one of
the friars of the abbey of Citeaux, and died in 1298, aged about
one hundred and ten years. It was said of him that he was at the
point of death when in his fiftieth year; but that the fortunate
discovery of the elixir enabled him to add sixty years to his
existence. He wrote a commentary on the prophecies of Merlin.


Arnold de Villeneuve

This philosopher has left a much greater reputation. He was born
in the year 1245, and studied medicine with great success in the
University of Paris. He afterwards travelled for twenty years in
Italy and Germany, where he made acquaintance with Pietro d'Apone;
a man of a character akin to his own, and addicted to the same
pursuits. As a physician, he was thought, in his own lifetime, to
be the most able the world had ever seen. Like all the learned men
of that day, he dabbled in astrology and alchymy, and was thought
to have made immense quantities of gold from lead and copper. When
Pietro d'Apone was arrested in Italy, and brought to trial as a
sorcerer, a similar accusation was made against Arnold; but he
managed to leave the country in time and escape the fate of his
unfortunate friend. He lost some credit by predicting the end of
the world, but afterwards regained it. The time of his death is
not exactly known; but it must have been prior to the year 1311,
when Pope Clement V wrote a circular letter to all the clergy of
Europe who lived under his obedience, praying them to use their
utmost efforts to discover the famous treatise of Arnold on The
Practice of Medicine. The author had promised, during his
lifetime, to make a present of the work to the Holy See, but died
without fulfilling it.

In a very curious work by Monsieur Longeville Harcouet, entitled
The History of the Persons who have lived several centuries and
then grown young again, there is a receipt, said to have been
given by Arnold de Villeneuve, by means of which any one might
prolong his life for a few hundred years or so. In the first
place, say Arnold and Monsieur Harcouet, "the person intending so
to prolong his life must rub himself well, two or three times a
week, with the juice or marrow of cassia (moëlle de la casse).
Every night, upon going to bed, he must put upon his heart a
plaster, composed of a certain quantity of oriental saffron, red
rose-leaves, sandal-wood, aloes, and amber, liquified in oil of
roses and the best white wax. In the morning, he must take it off,
and enclose it carefully in a leaden box till the next night, when
it must be again applied. If he be of a sanguine temperament, he
shall take sixteen chickens;if phlegmatic, twenty-five;and if
melancholy, thirty, which he shall put into a yard where the air
and the water are pure. Upon these he is to feed, eating one a
day; but previously the chickens are to be fattened by a peculiar
method, which will impregnate their flesh with the qualities that
are to produce longevity in the eater. Being deprived of all other
nourishment till they are almost dying of hunger, they are to be
fed upon broth made of serpents and vinegar, which broth is to be
thickened with wheat and bran." Various ceremonies are to be
performed in the cooking of this mess, which those may see in the
book of M. Harcouet who are at all interested in the matter; and
the chickens are to be fed upon it for two months. They are then
fit for table, and are to be washed down with moderate quantities
of good white wine or claret. This regimen is to be followed
regularly every seven years, and any one may live to be as old as
Methuselah! It is right to state that M. Harcouet has but little
authority for attributing this precious composition to Arnold of
Villeneuve. It is not to be found in the collected works of that
philosopher; but was first brought to light by a M. Poirier, at
the commencement of the sixteenth century, who asserted that he
had discovered it in MS. in the undoubted writing of Arnold.


Pietro d'Apone

This unlucky sage was born at Apone, near Padua, in the year 1250.
Like his friend Arnold de Villeneuve, he was an eminent physician,
and a pretender to the arts of astrology and alchymy. He practised
for many years in Paris, and made great wealth by killing and
curing, and telling fortunes. In an evil day for him, he returned
to his own country, with the reputation of being a magician of the
first order. It was universally believed that he had drawn seven
evil spirits from the infernal regions, whom he kept enclosed in
seven crystal vases, until he required their services, when he
sent them forth to the ends of the earth to execute his pleasure.
One spirit excelled in philosophy; a second, in alchymy; a third,
in astrology; a fourth, in physic; a fifth, in poetry; a sixth, in
music; and the seventh, in painting: and whenever Pietro wished
for information or instruction in any of these arts, he had only
to go to his crystal vase, and liberate the presiding spirit.
Immediately, all the secrets of the art were revealed to him; and
he might, if it pleased him, excel Homer in poetry, Apelles in
painting, or Pythagoras himself in philosophy. Although he could
make gold out of brass, it was said of him that he was very
sparing of his powers in that respect, and kept himself constantly
supplied with money by other and less creditable means. Whenever
he disbursed gold, he muttered a certain charm, known only to
himself; and next morning the gold was safe again in his own
possession. The trader to whom he gave it might lock it in his
strong box and have it guarded by a troop of soldiers; but the
charmed metal flew back to its old master. Even if it were buried
in the earth, or thrown into the sea, the dawn of the next morning
would behold it in the pockets of Pietro. Few people, in
consequence, liked to have dealings with such a personage,
especially for gold. Some, bolder than the rest, thought that his
power did not extend over silver; but, when they made the
experiment, they found themselves mistaken. Bolts and bars could
not restrain it, and it sometimes became invisible in their very
hands, and was whisked through the air to the purse of the
magician. He necessarily acquired a very bad character; and,
having given utterance to some sentiments regarding religion which
were the very reverse of orthodox, he was summoned before the
tribunals of the Inquisition to answer for his crimes as a heretic
and a sorcerer. He loudly protested his innocence, even upon the
rack, where he suffered more torture than nature could support. He
died in prison ere his trial was concluded, but was afterwards
found guilty. His bones were ordered to be dug up and publicly
burned. He was also burned in effigy in the streets of Padua.


Raymond Lulli

While Arnold de Villeneuve and Pietro d'Apone flourished in France
and Italy, a more celebrated adept than either appeared in Spain.
This was Raymond Lulli, a name which stands in the first rank
among the alchymists. Unlike many of his predecessors, he made no
pretensions to astrology or necromancy; but, taking Geber for his
model, studied intently the nature and composition of metals,
without reference to charms, incantations, or any foolish
ceremonies. It was not, however, till late in life that he
commenced his study of the art. His early and middle age were
spent in a different manner, and his whole history is romantic in
the extreme. He was born of an illustrious family, in Majorca, in
the year 1235. When that island was taken from the Saracens by
James I king of Aragon, in 1230, the father of Raymond, who was
originally of Catalonia, settled there, and received a
considerable appointment from the crown. Raymond married at an
early age; and, being fond of pleasure, he left the solitudes of
his native isle, and passed over with his bride into Spain. He was
made Grand Seneschal at the court of King James, and led a gay
life for several years. Faithless to his wife, he was always in
the pursuit of some new beauty, till his heart was fixed at last
by the lovely but unkind Ambrosia de Castello. This lady, like her
admirer, was married; but, unlike him, was faithful to her vows,
and treated all his solicitations with disdain. Raymond was so
enamoured, that repulse only increased his flame; he lingered all
night under her windows, wrote passionate verses in her praise,
neglected his affairs, and made himself the butt of all the
courtiers. One day, while watching under her lattice, he by chance
caught sight of her bosom, as her neckerchief was blown aside by
the wind. The fit of inspiration came over him, and he sat down
and composed some tender stanzas upon the subject, and sent them
to the lady. The fair Ambrosia had never before condescended to
answer his letters; but she replied to this. She told him that she
could never listen to his suit; that it was unbecoming in a wise
man to fix his thoughts, as he had done, on any other than his
God; and entreated him to devote himself to a religious life, and
conquer the unworthy passion which he had suffered to consume him.
She, however, offered, if he wished it, to shew him the fair bosom
which had so captivated him. Raymond was delighted. He thought the
latter part of this epistle but ill corresponded with the former,
and that Ambrosia, in spite of the good advice she gave him, had
at last relented, and would make him as happy as he desired. He
followed her about from place to place, entreating her to fulfil
her promise: but still Ambrosia was cold, and implored him with
tears to importune her no longer; for that she never could be his,
and never would, if she were free to-morrow. "What means your
letter, then?" said the despairing lover. "I will shew you!"
replied Ambrosia, who immediately uncovered her bosom, and exposed
to the eyes of her horror-stricken admirer a large cancer which
had extended to both breasts. She saw that he was shocked; and,
extending her hand to him, she prayed him once more to lead a
religious life, and set his heart upon the Creator, and not upon
the creature. He went home an altered man. He threw up, on the
morrow, his valuable appointment at the court, separated from his
wife, and took a farewell of his children, after dividing one-half
of his ample fortune among them. The other half he shared among
the poor. He then threw himself at the foot of a crucifix, and
devoted himself to the service of God, vowing, as the most
acceptable atonement for his errors, that he would employ the
remainder of his days in the task of converting the Mussulmans to
the Christian religion. In his dreams he saw Jesus Christ, who
said to him, "Raymond! Raymond! follow me!" The vision was three
times repeated, and Raymond was convinced that it was an
intimation direct from heaven. Having put his affairs in order, he
set out on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James of Compostello,
and afterwards lived for ten years in solitude amid the mountains
of Aranda. Here he learned the Arabic, to qualify himself for his
mission of converting the Mahometans. He also studied various
sciences, as taught in the works of the learned men of the East,
and first made acquaintance with the writings of Geber, which were
destined to exercise so much influence over his future life.

At the end of this probation, and when he had entered his fortieth
year, he emerged from his solitude into more active life. With
some remains of his fortune, which had accumulated during his
retirement, he founded a college for the study of Arabic, which
was approved of by the pope, with many commendations upon his zeal
and piety. At this time he narrowly escaped assassination from an
Arabian youth whom he had taken into his service. Raymond had
prayed to God, in some of his accesses of fanaticism, that he
might suffer martyrdom in his holy cause. His servant had
overheard him; and, being as great a fanatic as his master, he
resolved to gratify his wish, and punish him, at the same time,
for the curses which he incessantly launched against Mahomet and
all who believed in him, by stabbing him to the heart. He,
therefore, aimed a blow at his master as he sat one day at table;
but the instinct of self-preservation being stronger than the
desire of martyrdom, Raymond grappled with his antagonist, and
overthrew him. He scorned to take his life himself; but handed him
over to the authorities of the town, by whom he was afterwards
found dead in his prison.

After this adventure Raymond travelled to Paris, where he resided
for some time, and made the acquaintance of Arnold de Villeneuve.
From him he probably received some encouragement to search for the
philosopher's stone, as he began from that time forth to devote
less of his attention to religious matters, and more to the study
of alchymy. Still he never lost sight of the great object for
which he lived—the conversion of the Mahometans—and proceeded to
Rome, to communicate personally with Pope John XXI on the best
measures to be adopted for that end. The Pope gave him
encouragement in words, but failed to associate any other persons
with him in the enterprise which he meditated. Raymond, therefore,
set out for Tunis alone, and was kindly received by many Arabian
philosophers, who had heard of his fame as a professor of alchymy.
If he had stuck to alchymy while in their country, it would have
been well for him; but he began cursing Mahomet, and got himself
into trouble. While preaching the doctrines of Christianity in the
great bazaar of Tunis, he was arrested and thrown into prison. He
was shortly afterwards brought to trial, and sentenced to death.
Some of his philosophic friends interceded hard for him, and he
was pardoned upon condition that he left Africa immediately, and
never again set foot in it. If he was found there again, no matter
what his object might be, or whatever length of time might
intervene, his original sentence would be carried into execution.
Raymond was not at all solicitous of martyrdom when it came to the
point, whatever he might have been when there was no danger, and
he gladly accepted his life upon these conditions, and left Tunis
with the intention of proceeding to Rome. He afterwards changed
his plan, and established himself at Milan, where, for a length of
time, he practised alchymy, and some say astrology, with great
success.

Most writers who believed in the secrets of alchymy, and who have
noticed the life of Raymond Lulli, assert, that while in Milan, he
received letters from Edward King of England, inviting him to
settle in his states. They add that Lulli gladly accepted the
invitation, and had apartments assigned for his use in the Tower
of London, where he refined much gold; superintended the coinage
of "rose-nobles," and made gold out of iron, quicksilver, lead,
and pewter, to the amount of six millions. The writers in the
Biographie Universelle, an excellent authority in general, deny
that Raymond was ever in England, and say, that in all these
stories of his wondrous powers as an alchymist, he has been
mistaken for another Raymond, a Jew, of Tarragona. Naudé, in his
Apologie, says, simply, "that six millions were given by Raymond
Lulli to King Edward, to make war against the Turks and other
infidels:" not that he transmuted so much metal into gold; but, as
he afterwards adds, that he advised Edward to lay a tax upon wool,
which produced that amount. To shew that Raymond went to England,
his admirers quote a work attributed to him, De Transmutatione
Animæ Metallorum, in which he expressly says, that he was in
England at the intercession of the king.24* The hermetic writers
are not agreed whether it was Edward I or Edward II who invited
him over; but, by fixing the date of his journey in 1312, they
make it appear that it was Edward II. Edmond Dickenson, in his
work on the Quintessences of the Philosophers, says, that Raymond
worked in Westminster Abbey, where, a long time after his
departure, there was found in the cell which he had occupied a
great quantity of golden dust, of which the architects made a
great profit. In the biographical sketch of John Cremer, Abbot of
Westminster, given by Lenglet, it is said that it was chiefly
through his instrumentality that Raymond came to England. Cremer
had been himself for thirty years occupied in the vain search for
the philosopher's stone, when he accidentally met Raymond in
Italy, and endeavoured to induce him to communicate his grand
secret. Raymond told him that he must find it for himself, as all
great alchymists had done before him. Cremer, on his return to
England, spoke to King Edward in high terms of the wonderful
attainments of the philosopher, and a letter of invitation was
forthwith sent him. Robert Constantinus, in the Nomenclator
Scriptorum Medicorum, published in 1515, says, that after a great
deal of research, be found that Raymond Lulli resided for some
time in London, and that he actually made gold, by means of the
philosopher's stone, in the Tower; that he had seen the golden
pieces of his coinage, which were still named in England the
nobles of Raymond, or rose-nobles. Lulli himself appears to have
boasted that he made gold; for, in his well-known Testamentum, he
states, that he converted no less than fifty thousand pounds
weight of quicksilver, lead, and pewter into that metal.25* It
seems highly probable that the English king, believing in the
extraordinary powers of the alchymist, invited him to England to
make test of them, and that he was employed in refining gold and
in coining. Camden, who is not credulous in matters like these,
affords his countenance to the story of his coinage of nobles; and
there is nothing at all wonderful in the fact of a man famous for
his knowledge of metals being employed in such a capacity. Raymond
was, at this time, an old man, in his seventy-seventh year, and
somewhat in his dotage. He was willing enough to have it believed
that he had discovered the grand secret, and supported the rumour
rather than contradicted it. He did not long remain in England;
but returned to Rome, to carry out the projects which were nearer
to his heart than the profession of alchymy. He had proposed them
to several successive popes with little or no success. The first
was a plan for the introduction of the oriental languages into all
the monasteries of Europe; the second, for the reduction into one
of all the military orders, that, being united, they might move
more efficaciously against the Saracens; and the third, that the
sovereign pontiff should forbid the works of Averroes to be read
in the schools, as being more favourable to Mahometanism than to
Christianity. The pope did not receive the old man with much
cordiality; and, after remaining for about two years in Rome, he
proceeded once more to Africa, alone and unprotected, to preach
the Gospel of Jesus. He landed at Bona in 1314; and so irritated
the Mahometans by cursing their prophet, that they stoned him, and
left him for dead on the sea-shore. He was found some hours
afterwards by a party of Genoese merchants, who conveyed him on
board their vessel, and sailed towards Majorca. The unfortunate
man still breathed, but could not articulate. He lingered in this
state for some days, and expired just as the vessel arrived within
sight of his native shores. His body was conveyed with great pomp
to the church of St. Eulalia, at Palma, where a public funeral was
instituted in his honour. Miracles were afterwards said to have
been worked at his tomb.

Thus ended the career of Raymond Lulli, one of the most
extraordinary men of his age; and, with the exception of his last
boast about the six millions of gold, the least inclined to
quackery of any of the professors of alchymy. His writings were
very numerous, and include nearly five hundred volumes, upon
grammar, rhetoric, morals, theology, politics, civil and canon
law, physics, metaphysics, astronomy, medicine, and chemistry.


Roger Bacon

The powerful delusion of alchymy seized upon a mind still greater
than that of Raymond Lulli. Roger Bacon firmly believed in the
philosopher's stone, and spent much of his time in search of it.
His example helped to render all the learned men of the time more
convinced of its practicability, and more eager in the pursuit. He
was born at Ilchester, in the county of Somerset, in the year
1214. He studied for some time in the University of Oxford, and
afterwards in that of Paris, in which he received the degree of
doctor of divinity. Returning to England in 1240, he became a monk
of the order of St. Francis. He was by far the most learned man of
his age; and his acquirements were so much above the comprehension
of his contemporaries, that they could only account for them by
supposing that he was indebted for them to the devil. Voltaire has
not inaptly designated him "De l'or encrouté de toutes les ordures
de son siècle;" but the crust of superstition that enveloped his
powerful mind, though it may have dimmed, could not obscure the
brightness of his genius. To him, and apparently to him only,
among all the inquiring spirits of the time, were known the
properties of the concave and convex lens. He also invented the
magic lantern; that pretty plaything of modern days, which
acquired for him a reputation that embittered his life. In a
history of alchymy, the name of this great man cannot be omitted,
although, unlike many others of whom we shall have occasion to
speak, he only made it secondary to other pursuits. The love of
universal knowledge that filled his mind, would not allow him to
neglect one branch of science, of which neither he nor the world
could yet see the absurdity. He made ample amends for his time
lost in this pursuit by his knowledge in physics and his
acquaintance with astronomy. The telescope, burning-glasses, and
gunpowder, are discoveries which may well carry his fame to the
remotest time, and make the world blind to the one spot of
folly—the diagnosis of the age in which he lived, and the
circumstances by which he was surrounded. His treatise on the
Admirable Power of Art and Nature in the Production of the
Philosopher's Stone was translated into French by Girard de
Tormes, and published at Lyons in 1557. His Mirror of Alchymy was
also published in French in the same year, and in Paris in 1612,
with some additions from the works of Raymond Lulli. A complete
list of all the published treatises upon the subject may be seen
in Lenglet du Fresnoy.


Pope John XXII

This prelate is said to have been the friend and pupil of Arnold
de Villeneuve, by whom he was instructed in all the secrets of
alchymy. Tradition asserts of him, that he made great quantities
of gold, and died as rich as Crœsus. He was born at Cahors, in the
province of Guienne, in the year 1244. He was a very eloquent
preacher, and soon reached high dignity in the Church. He wrote a
work on the transmutation of metals, and had a famous laboratory
at Avignon. He issued two bulls against the numerous pretenders to
the art, who had sprung up in every part of Christendom; from
which it might be inferred that he was himself free from the
delusion. The alchymists claim him, however, as one of the most
distinguished and successful professors of their art, and say that
his bulls were not directed against the real adepts, but the false
pretenders. They lay particular stress upon these words in his
bull, "Spondent, quas non exhibent, divitias, pauperes
alchymistæ." These, it is clear, they say, relate only to poor
alchymists, and therefore false ones. He died in the year 1344,
leaving in his coffers a sum of eighteen millions of florins.
Popular belief alleged that he had made, and not amassed, this
treasure; and alchymists complacently cite this as a proof that
the philosopher's stone was not such a chimera as the incredulous
pretended. They take it for granted that John really left this
money, and ask by what possible means he could have accumulated
it. Replying to their own question, they say triumphantly, "His
book shews it was by alchymy, the secrets of which he learned from
Arnold de Villeneuve and Raymond Lulli. But he was as prudent as
all other hermetic philosophers. Whoever would read his book to
find out his secret, would employ all his labour in vain; the pope
took good care not to divulge it." Unluckily for their own credit,
all these gold-makers are in the same predicament; their great
secret loses its worth most wonderfully in the telling, and
therefore they keep it snugly to themselves. Perhaps they thought
that, if everybody could transmute metals, gold would be so
plentiful that it would be no longer valuable, and that some new
art would be requisite to transmute it back again into steel and
iron. If so, society is much indebted to them for their
forbearance.


Jean de Meung

All classes of men dabbled in the art at this time; the last
mentioned was a pope, the one of whom we now speak was a poet.
Jean de Meung, the celebrated author of the Roman de la Rose, was
born in the year 1279 or 1280, and was a great personage at the
courts of Louis X, Philip the Long, Charles IV, and Philip de
Valois. His famous poem of the Roman de la Rose, which treats of
every subject in vogue at that day, necessarily makes great
mention of alchymy. Jean was a firm believer in the art, and
wrote, besides his, Roman, two shorter poems, the one entitled,
The Remonstrance of Nature to the wandering Alchymist and The
Reply of the Alchymist to Nature. Poetry and alchymy were his
delight, and priests and women were his abomination. A pleasant
story is related of him and the ladies of the court of Charles IV.
He had written the following libellous couplet upon the fair sex:

"Toutes êtes, serez, ou fûtes,
De fait ou de volonté, putains;
Et qui, très bien vous chercherait,
Toutes putains, vous trouverait."26*

This naturally gave great offence; and being perceived one day, in
the king's antechamber, by some ladies who were waiting for an
audience, they resolved to punish him. To the number of ten or
twelve, they armed themselves with canes and rods; and surrounding
the unlucky poet, called upon the gentlemen present to strip him
naked, that they might wreak just vengeance upon him, and lash him
through the streets of the town. Some of the lords present were in
no wise loath, and promised themselves great sport from his
punishment. But Jean de Meung was unmoved by their threats, and
stood up calmly in the midst of them, begging them to hear him
first, and then, if not satisfied, they might do as they liked
with him. Silence being restored, he stood upon a chair, and
entered on his defence. He acknowledged that he was the author of
the obnoxious verses, but denied that they bore reference to all
womankind. He only meant to speak of the vicious and abandoned,
whereas those whom he saw around him, were patterns of virtue,
loveliness, and modesty. If, however, any lady present thought
herself aggrieved, he would consent to be stripped, and she might
lash him till her arms were wearied. It is added, that by this
means Jean escaped his flogging, and that the wrath of the fair
ones immediately subsided. The gentlemen present were, however, of
opinion, that if every lady in the room, whose character
corresponded with the verses had taken him at his word, the poet
would in all probability have been beaten to death. All his life
long he evinced a great animosity towards the priesthood, and his
famous poem abounds with passages reflecting upon their avarice,
cruelty, and immorality. At his death he left a large box, filled
with some weighty material, which he bequeathed to the Cordeliers,
as a peace-offering, for the abuse he had lavished upon them. As
his practice of alchymy was well-known, it was thought the box was
filled with gold and silver, and the Cordeliers congratulated each
other on their rich acquisition. When it came to be opened, they
found to their horror that it was filled only with slates,
scratched with hieroglyphic and cabalistic characters. Indignant
at the insult, they determined to refuse him Christian burial, on
pretence that he was a sorcerer. He was, however, honourably
buried in Paris, the whole court attending his funeral.


Nicholas Flamel

The story of this alchymist, as handed down by tradition, and
enshrined in the pages of Lenglet du Fresnoy, is not a little
marvellous. He was born at Pontoise of a poor but respectable
family, at the end of the thirteenth, or beginning of the
fourteenth, century. Having no patrimony, he set out for Paris at
an early age, to try his fortune as a public scribe. He had
received a good education, was well skilled in the learned
languages, and was an excellent penman. He soon procured
occupation as a letter-writer and copyist, and used to sit at the
corner of the Rue de Marivaux, and practise his calling; but he
hardly made profits enough to keep body and soul together. To mend
his fortunes he tried poetry; but this was a more wretched
occupation still. As a transcriber he had at least gained bread
and cheese; but his rhymes were not worth a crust. He then tried
painting with as little success; and as a last resource, began to
search for the philosopher's stone and tell fortunes. This was a
happier idea; he soon increased in substance, and had wherewithal
to live comfortably. He therefore took unto himself his wife
Petronella, and began to save money; but continued to all outward
appearance as poor and miserable as before. In the course of a few
years, he became desperately addicted to the study of alchymy, and
thought of nothing but the philosopher's stone, the elixir of
life, and the universal alkahest. In the year 1257, he bought by
chance an old book for two florins, which soon became his sole
study. It was written with a steel instrument upon the bark of
trees, and contained twenty-one, or as he himself always expressed
it, three times seven, leaves. The writing was very elegant and in
the Latin language. Each seventh leaf contained a picture and no
writing. On the first of these was a serpent swallowing rods; on
the second, a cross with a serpent crucified; and on the third,
the representation of a desert, in the midst of which was a
fountain with serpents crawling from side to side. It purported to
be written by no less a personage than "Abraham, patriarch, Jew,
prince, philosopher, priest, Levite, and astrologer;" and invoked
curses upon any one who should cast eyes upon it, without being a
"sacrificer or a scribe." Nicholas Flamel never thought it
extraordinary that Abraham should have known Latin, and was
convinced that the characters on his book had been traced by the
hands of that great patriarch himself. He was at first afraid to
read it, after he became aware of the curse it contained; but he
got over that difficulty by recollecting that, although he was not
a sacrificer, he had practised as a scribe. As he read he was
filled with admiration, and found that it was a perfect treatise
upon the transmutation of metals. All the processes were clearly
explained; the vessels, the retorts, the mixtures, and the proper
times and seasons for the experiment. But as ill-luck would have
it, the possession of the philosopher's stone or prime agent in
the work was presupposed. This was a difficulty which was not to
be got over. It was like telling a starving man how to cook a
beefsteak, instead of giving him the money to buy one. But
Nicholas did not despair, and set about studying the hieroglyphics
and allegorical representations with which the book abounded. He
soon convinced himself that it had been one of the sacred books of
the Jews, and that it was taken from the temple of Jerusalem on
its destruction by Titus. The process of reasoning by which he
arrived at this conclusion is not stated.

From some expression in the treatise, he learned that the
allegorical drawings on the fourth and fifth leaves, enshrined the
secret of the philosopher's stone, without which all the fine
Latin of the directions was utterly unavailing. He invited all the
alchymists and learned men of Paris to come and examine them, but
they all departed as wise as they came. Nobody could make any
thing either of Nicholas or his pictures; and some even went so
far as to say that his invaluable book was not worth a farthing.
This was not to be borne; and Nicholas resolved to discover the
great secret by himself, without troubling the philosophers. He
found on the first page of the fourth leaf, the picture of Mercury
attacked by an old man resembling Saturn or Time. The latter had
an hour-glass on his head, and in his hand a scythe, with which he
aimed a blow at Mercury's feet. The reverse of the leaf
represented a flower growing on a mountain top, shaken rudely by
the wind, with a blue stalk, red and white blossoms, and leaves of
pure gold. Around it were a great number of dragons and griffins.
On the first page of the fifth leaf was a fine garden, in the
midst of which was a rose-tree in full bloom, supported against
the trunk of a gigantic oak. At the foot of this there bubbled up
a fountain of milk-white water, which, forming a small stream,
flowed through the garden, and was afterwards lost in the sands.
On the second page was a king, with a sword in his hand,
superintending a number of soldiers, who, in execution of his
orders, were killing a great multitude of young children, spurning
the prayers and tears of their mothers, who tried to save them
from destruction. The blood of the children was carefully
collected by another party of soldiers, and put into a large
vessel, in which two allegorical figures of the sun and moon were
bathing themselves.

For twenty-one years poor Nicholas wearied himself with the study
of these pictures, but still he could make nothing of them. His
wife Petronella at last persuaded him to find out some learned
rabbi; but there was no rabbi in Paris learned enough to be of any
service to him. The Jews met but small encouragement to fix their
abode in France, and all the chiefs of that people were located in
Spain. To Spain accordingly Nicholas Flamel repaired. He left his
book in Paris, for fear, perhaps, that he might be robbed of it on
the road; and telling his neighbours that he was going on a
pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James of Compostello, he trudged
on foot towards Madrid in search of a rabbi. He was absent two
years in that country, and made himself known to a great number of
Jews, descendants of those who had been expelled from France in
the reign of Philip Augustus. The believers in the philosopher's
stone give the following account of his adventures: They say that
at Leon he made the acquaintance of a converted Jew, named
Cauches, a very learned physician, to whom he explained the title
and the nature of his little book. The doctor was transported with
joy as soon as he heard it named, and immediately resolved to
accompany Nicholas to Paris, that he might have a sight of it. The
two set out together; the doctor on the way entertaining his
companion with the history of his book, which, if the genuine book
he thought it to be, from the description he had heard of it, was
in the handwriting of Abraham himself, and had been in the
possession of personages no less distinguished than Moses, Joshua,
Solomon, and Esdras. It contained all the secrets of alchymy and
of many other sciences, and was the most valuable book that had
ever existed in this world. The doctor was himself no mean adept,
and Nicholas profited greatly by his discourse, as in the garb of
poor pilgrims they wended their way to Paris, convinced of their
power to turn every old shovel in that capital into pure gold.
But, unfortunately, when they reached Orleans, the doctor was
taken dangerously ill. Nicholas watched by his bedside, and acted
the double part of a physician and nurse to him; but he died after
a few days, lamenting with his last breath that he had not lived
long enough to see the precious volume. Nicholas rendered the last
honours to his body; and with a sorrowful heart, and not one sou
in his pocket, proceeded home to his wife Petronella. He
immediately recommenced the study of his pictures; but for two
whole years he was as far from understanding them as ever. At
last, in the third year, a glimmer of light stole over his
understanding. He recalled some expression of his friend, the
doctor, which had hitherto escaped his memory, and he found that
all his previous experiments had been conducted on a wrong basis.
He recommenced them now with renewed energy, and at the end of the
year had the satisfaction to see all his toils rewarded. On the
13th January 1382, says Lenglet, he made a projection on mercury,
and had some very excellent silver. On the 25th April following,
he converted a large quantity of mercury into gold, and the great
secret was his.

Nicholas was now about eighty years of age, and still a hale and
stout old man. His friends say that, by the simultaneous discovery
of the elixir of life he found means to keep death at a distance
for another quarter of a century; and that he died in 1415, at the
age of 116. In this interval he had made immense quantities of
gold, though to all outward appearance he was as poor as a mouse.
At an early period of his changed fortune, he had, like a worthy
man, taken counsel with his old wife Petronella, as to the best
use he could make of his wealth. Petronella replied, that as
unfortunately they had no children, the best thing he could do,
was to build hospitals and endow churches. Nicholas thought so
too, especially when he began to find that his elixir could not
keep off death, and that the grim foe was making rapid advances
upon him. He richly endowed the church of St. Jacques de la
Boucherie, near the Rue de Marivaux, where he had all his life
resided, besides seven others in different parts of the kingdom.
He also endowed fourteen hospitals, and built three chapels.

The fame of his great wealth and his munificent benefactions soon
spread over all the country, and he was visited, among others, by
the celebrated doctors of that day, Jean Gerson, Jean de
Courtecuisse, and Pierre d'Ailli. They found him in his humble
apartment, meanly clad, and eating porridge out of an earthen
vessel; and with regard to his secret, as impenetrable as all his
predecessors in alchymy. His fame reached the ears of the king,
Charles VI, who sent M. de Cramoisi, the Master of Requests, to
find out whether Nicholas had indeed discovered the philosopher's
stone. But M. de Cramoisi took nothing by his visit; all his
attempts to sound the alchymist were unavailing, and he returned
to his royal master no wiser than he came. It was in this year,
1414, that he lost his faithful Petronella. He did not long
survive her; but died in the following year, and was buried with
great pomp by the grateful priests of St. Jacques de la Boucherie.

The great wealth of Nicholas Flamel is undoubted, as the records
of several churches and hospitals in France can testify. That he
practised alchymy is equally certain, as he left behind several
works upon the subject. Those who knew him well, and who were
incredulous about the philosopher's stone, give a very
satisfactory solution of the secret of his wealth. They say that
he was always a miser and a usurer; that his journey to Spain was
undertaken with very different motives from those pretended by the
alchymists; that, in fact, he went to collect debts due from Jews
in that country to their brethren in Paris, and that he charged a
commission of fully cent per cent in consideration of the
difficulty of collecting and the dangers of the road; that when he
possessed thousands, he lived upon almost nothing; and was the
general money-lender, at enormous profits, of all the dissipated
young men at the French court.

Among the works written by Nicholas Flamel on the subject of
alchymy is The Philosophic Summary, a poem, reprinted in 1735, as
an appendix to the third volume of the Roman de la Rose. He also
wrote three treatises upon natural philosophy, and an alchymic
allegory, entitled Le Désir désiré. Specimens of his writing, and
a fac-simile of the drawings in his book of Abraham, may be seen
in Salmon's Bibliothèque des Philosophes Chimiques. The writer of
the article, Flamel, in the Biographie Universelle says, that for
a hundred years after the death of Flamel, many of the adepts
believed that he was still alive, and that he would live for
upwards of six hundred years. The house he formerly occupied, at
the corner of the Rue de Marivaux, has been often taken by
credulous speculators, and ransacked from top to bottom, in the
hopes that gold might be found. A report was current in Paris, not
long previous to the year 1816, that some lodgers had found in the
cellars several jars filled with a dark-coloured ponderous matter.
Upon the strength of the rumour, a believer in all the wondrous
tales told of Nicholas Flamel bought the house, and nearly pulled
it to pieces in ransacking the walls and wainscoting for hidden
gold. He got nothing for his pains, however, and had a heavy bill
to pay to restore his dilapidations.


George Ripley

While alchymy was thus cultivated on the continent of Europe, it
was not neglected in the isles of Britain. Since the time of Roger
Bacon, it had fascinated the imagination of many ardent men in
England. In the year 1404, an act of parliament was passed,
declaring the making of gold and silver to be felony. Great alarm
was felt at that time lest any alchymist should succeed in his
projects, and perhaps bring ruin upon the state, by furnishing
boundless wealth to some designing tyrant, who would make use of
it to enslave his country. This alarm appears to have soon
subsided; for, in the year 1455, King Henry VI, by advice of his
council and parliament, granted four successive patents and
commissions to several knights, citizens of London, chemists,
monks, mass-priests, and others, to find out the philosopher's
stone and elixir, "to the great benefit," said the patent, "of the
realm, and the enabling of the king to pay all the debts of the
crown in real gold and silver." Prinn, in his Aurum Reginæ,
observes, as a note to this passage, that the king's reason for
granting this patent to ecclesiastics was, that "they were such
good artists in transubstantiating bread and wine in the
eucharist, and therefore the more likely to be able to effect the
transmutation of baser metals into better." No gold, of course,
was ever made; and, next year, the king, doubting very much of the
practicability of the thing, took further advice, and appointed a
commission of ten learned men and persons of eminence to judge and
certify to him whether the transmutation of metals were a thing
practicable or no. It does not appear whether the commission ever
made any report upon the subject.

In the succeeding reign, an alchymist appeared who pretended to
have discovered the secret. This was George Ripley, the canon of
Bridlington, in Yorkshire. He studied for twenty years in the
universities of Italy, and was a great favourite with Pope
Innocent VIII, who made him one of his domestic chaplains, and
master of the ceremonies in his household. Returning to England in
1477, he dedicated to King Edward IV his famous work, The Compound
of Alchymy; or, the Twelve Gates leading to the Discovery of the
Philosopher's Stone. These gates he described to be calcination,
solution, separation, conjunction, putrefaction, congelation,
cibation, sublimation, fermentation, exaltation, multiplication,
and projection; to which he might have added botheration, the most
important process of all. He was very rich, and allowed it to be
believed that he could make gold out of iron. Fuller, in his
Worthies of England, says that an English gentleman of good credit
reported, that in his travels abroad he saw a record in the island
of Malta which declared that Ripley gave yearly to the knights of
that island, and of Rhodes, the enormous sum of one hundred
thousand pounds sterling to enable them to carry on the war
against the Turks. In his old age, he became an anchorite near
Boston, and wrote twenty-five volumes upon the subject of alchymy,
the most important of which is the Duodecim Portarum already
mentioned. Before he died, he seems to have acknowledged that he
had misspent his life in this vain study, and requested that all
men, when they met with any of his books, would burn them, or
afford them no credit, as they had been written merely from his
opinion, and not from proof; and that subsequent trial had made
manifest to him that they were false and vain.27*


Basil Valentine

Germany also produced many famous alchymists in the fifteenth
century, the chief of whom are Basil Valentine, Bernard of Trèves,
and the Abbot Trithemius. Basil Valentine was born at Mayence, and
was made prior of St. Peter's, at Erfurt, about the year 1414. It
was known, during his life, that he diligently sought the
philosopher's stone, and that he had written some works upon the
process of transmutation. They were thought for many years to be
lost, but were, after his death, discovered enclosed in the stone
work of one of the pillars in the Abbey. They were twenty-one in
number, and are fully set forth in the third volume of Lenglet's
History of the Hermetic Philosophy. The alchymists asserted that
heaven itself conspired to bring to light these extraordinary
works; and that the pillar in which they were enclosed was
miraculously shattered by a thunderbolt; and that, as soon as the
manuscripts were liberated, the pillar closed up again of its own
accord!


Bernard of Trèves

The life of this philosopher is a remarkable instance of talent
and perseverance misapplied. In the search of his chimera nothing
could daunt him. Repeated disappointment never diminished his
hopes; and, from the age of fourteen to that of eighty-five, he
was incessantly employed among the drugs and furnaces of his
laboratory, wasting his life with the view of prolonging it, and
reducing himself to beggary in the hopes of growing rich.

He was born at either Trèves or Padua in the year 1406. His father
is said by some to have been a physician in the latter city; and
by others to have been Count of the Marches of Trèves, and one of
the most wealthy nobles of his country. At all events, whether
noble or physician, he was a rich man, and left his son a
magnificent estate. At the age of fourteen he first became
enamoured of the science of alchymy, and read the Arabian authors
in their own language. He himself has left a most interesting
record of his labours and wanderings, from which the following
particulars are chiefly extracted. The first book which fell into
his hands was that of the Arabian philosopher Rhazes, from the
reading of which he imagined that he had discovered the means of
augmenting gold a hundred fold. For four years he worked in his
laboratory, with the book of Rhazes continually before him. At the
end of that time, he found that he had spent no less than eight
hundred crowns upon his experiment, and had got nothing but fire
and smoke for his pains. He now began to lose confidence in
Rhazes, and turned to the works of Geber. He studied him
assiduously for two years; and, being young, rich, and credulous,
was beset by all the alchymists of the town, who kindly assisted
him in spending his money. He did not lose his faith in Geber, or
patience with his hungry assistants, until he had lost two
thousand crowns—a very considerable sum in those days.

Among all the crowd of pretended men of science who surrounded
him, there was but one as enthusiastic and as disinterested as
himself. With this man, who was a monk of the order of St.
Francis, he contracted an intimate friendship, and spent nearly
all his time. Some obscure treatises of Rupecissa and Sacrobosco
having fallen into their hands, they were persuaded, from reading
them, that highly rectified spirits of wine was the universal
alkahest, or dissolvent, which would aid them greatly in the
process of transmutation. They rectified the alcohol thirty times,
till they made it so strong as to burst the vessels which
contained it. After they had worked three years, and spent three
hundred crowns in the liquor, they discovered that they were on
the wrong track. They next tried alum and copperas; but the great
secret still escaped them. They afterwards imagined that there was
a marvellous virtue in all excrement, especially the human, and
actually employed more than two years in experimentalising upon
it, with mercury, salt, and molten lead! Again the adepts flocked
around him from far and near to aid him with their counsels. He
received them all hospitably, and divided his wealth among them so
generously and unhesitatingly, that they gave him the name of the
"good Trevisan," by which he is still often mentioned in works
that treat on alchymy. For twelve years he led this life, making
experiments every day upon some new substance, and praying to God
night and morning that he might discover the secret of
transmutation.

In this interval he lost his friend the monk, and was joined by a
magistrate of the city of Trèves, as ardent as himself in the
search. His new acquaintance imagined that the ocean was the
mother of gold, and that sea-salt would change lead or iron into
the precious metals. Bernard resolved to try; and, transporting
his laboratory to a house on the coast of the Baltic, he worked
upon salt for more than a year, melting it, sublimating it,
crystallising it, and occasionally drinking it, for the sake of
other experiments. Still the strange enthusiast was not wholly
discouraged, and his failure in one trial only made him the more
anxious to attempt another.

He was now approaching the age of fifty, and had as yet seen
nothing of the world. He, therefore, determined to travel through
Germany, Italy, France, and Spain. Wherever he stopped he made
inquiries whether there were any alchymists in the neighbourhood.
He invariably sought them out; and, if they were poor, relieved,
and, if affluent, encouraged them. At Citeaux he became acquainted
with one Geoffrey Leuvier, a monk of that place, who persuaded him
that the essence of egg-shells was a valuable ingredient. He
tried, therefore, what could be done; and was only prevented from
wasting a year or two on the experiment by the opinions of an
attorney, at Berghem, in Flanders, who said that the great secret
resided in vinegar and copperas. He was not convinced of the
absurdity of this idea until he had nearly poisoned himself. He
resided in France for about five years, when, hearing accidentally
that one Master Henry, confessor to the Emperor Frederic III, had
discovered the philosopher's stone, he set out for Germany to pay
him a visit. He had, as usual, surrounded himself with a set of
hungry dependants, several of whom determined to accompany him. He
had not heart to refuse them, and he arrived at Vienna with five
of them. Bernard sent a polite invitation to the confessor, and
gave him a sumptuous entertainment, at which were present nearly
all the alchymists of Vienna. Master Henry frankly confessed that
he had not discovered the philosopher's stone, but that he had all
his life been employed in searching for it, and would so continue,
till he found it, or died. This was a man after Bernard's own
heart, and they vowed with each other an eternal friendship. It
was resolved, at supper, that each alchymist present should
contribute a certain sum towards raising forty-two marks of gold,
which, in five days, it was confidently asserted by Master Henry,
would increase, in his furnace, fivefold. Bernard, being the
richest man, contributed the lion's share, ten marks of gold,
Master Henry five, and the others one or two a-piece, except the
dependants of Bernard, who were obliged to borrow their quota from
their patron. The grand experiment was duly made; the golden marks
were put into a crucible, with a quantity of salt, copperas,
aquafortis, egg-shells, mercury, lead, and dung. The alchymists
watched this precious mess with intense interest, expecting that
it would agglomerate into one lump of pure gold. At the end of
three weeks they gave up the trial, upon some excuse that the
crucible was not strong enough, or that some necessary ingredient
was wanting. Whether any thief had put his hands into the crucible
is not known, but it is alleged that the gold found therein at the
close of the experiment was worth only sixteen marks, instead of
the forty-two, which were put there at the beginning.

Bernard, though he made no gold at Vienna, made away with a very
considerable quantity. He felt the loss so acutely, that he vowed
to think no more of the philosopher's stone. This wise resolution
he kept for two months; but he was miserable. He was in the
condition of the gambler, who cannot resist the fascination of the
game while he has a coin remaining, but plays on with the hope of
retrieving former losses, till hope forsakes him, and he can live
no longer. He returned once more to his beloved crucibles, and
resolved to prosecute his journey in search of a philosopher who
had discovered the secret, and would communicate it to so zealous
and persevering an adept as himself. From Vienna he travelled to
Rome, and from Rome to Madrid. Taking ship at Gibraltar, he
proceeded to Messina; from Messina to Cyprus; from Cyprus to
Greece; from Greece to Constantinople; and thence into Egypt,
Palestine, and Persia. These wanderings occupied him about eight
years. From Persia he made his way back to Messina, and from
thence into France. He afterwards passed over into England, still
in search of his great chimera; and this occupied four years more
of his life. He was now growing both old and poor; for he was
sixty-two years of age, and had been obliged to sell a great
portion of his patrimony to provide for his expenses. His journey
to Persia had cost upwards of thirteen thousand crowns, about
one-half of which had been fairly melted in his all-devouring
furnaces: the other half was lavished upon the sycophants that he
made it his business to search out in every town he stopped at.

On his return to Trèves he found, to his sorrow, that, if not an
actual beggar, he was not much better. His relatives looked upon
him as a madman, and refused even to see him. Too proud to ask for
favours from any one, and still confident that, some day or other,
he would be the possessor of unbounded wealth, he made up his mind
to retire to the island of Rhodes, where he might, in the mean
time, hide his poverty from the eyes of all the world. Here he
might have lived unknown and happy; but, as ill luck would have
it, he fell in with a monk as mad as himself upon the subject of
transmutation. They were, however, both so poor that they could
not afford to buy the proper materials to work with. They kept up
each other's spirits by learned discourses on the hermetic
philosophy, and in the reading of all the great authors who had
written upon the subject. Thus did they nurse their folly, as the
good wife of Tam O'Shanter did her wrath, "to keep it warm." After
Bernard had resided about a year in Rhodes, a merchant, who knew
his family, advanced him the sum of eight thousand florins, upon
the security of the last-remaining acres of his formerly large
estate. Once more provided with funds, he recommenced his labours
with all the zeal and enthusiasm of a young man. For three years
he hardly stepped out of his laboratory: he ate there, and slept
there, and did not even give himself time to wash his hands and
clean his beard, so intense was his application. It is melancholy
to think that such wonderful perseverance should have been wasted
in so vain a pursuit, and that energies so unconquerable should
have had no worthier field to strive in. Even when he had fumed
away his last coin, and had nothing left in prospective to keep
his old age from starvation, hope never forsook him. He still
dreamed of ultimate success, and sat down a grey-headed man of
eighty, to read over all the authors on the hermetic mysteries,
from Geber to his own day, lest he should have misunderstood some
process, which it was not yet too late to recommence. The
alchymists say, that he succeeded at last, and discovered the
secret of transmutation in his eighty-second year. They add, that
he lived three years afterwards to enjoy his wealth. He lived, it
is true, to this great age, and made a valuable discovery—more
valuable than gold or gems. He learned, as he himself informs us,
just before he had attained his eighty-third year, that the great
secret of philosophy was contentment with our lot. Happy would it
have been for him if he had discovered it sooner, and before he
became decrepit, a beggar, and an exile!

He died at Rhodes, in the year 1490, and all the alchymists of
Europe sang elegies over him, and sounded his praise as the "good
Trevisan." He wrote several treatises upon his chimera, the chief
of which are, the Book of Chemistry, the Verbum dimissum, and an
essay De Natura Ovi.


Trithemius

The name of this eminent man has become famous in the annals of
alchymy, although he did but little to gain so questionable an
honour. He was born in the year 1462, at the village of Trittheim,
in the electorate of Trèves. His father was John Heidenberg, a
vine-grower, in easy circumstances, who, dying when his son was
but seven years old, left him to the care of his mother. The
latter married again very shortly afterwards, and neglected the
poor boy, the offspring of her first marriage. At the age of
fifteen he did not even know his letters, and was, besides, half
starved, and otherwise ill-treated by his step-father; but the
love of knowledge germinated in the breast of the unfortunate
youth, and he learned to read at the house of a neighbour. His
father-in-law set him to work in the vineyards, and thus occupied
all his days; but the nights were his own. He often stole out
unheeded, when all the household were fast asleep, poring over his
studies in the fields, by the light of the moon; and thus taught
himself Latin and the rudiments of Greek. He was subjected to so
much ill-usage at home, in consequence of this love of study, that
he determined to leave it. Demanding the patrimony which his
father had left him, he proceeded to Trèves; and, assuming the
name of Trithemius, from that of his native village of Trittheim,
lived there for some months under the tuition of eminent masters,
by whom he was prepared for the university. At the age of twenty,
he took it into his head that he should like to see his mother
once more; and he set out on foot from the distant university for
that purpose. On his arrival near Spannheim, late in the evening
of a gloomy winter's day, it came on to snow so thickly, that he
could not proceed onwards to the town. He, therefore, took refuge
for the night in a neighbouring monastery; but the storm continued
several days, the roads became impassable, and the hospitable
monks would not hear of his departure. He was so pleased with them
and their manner of life, that he suddenly resolved to fix his
abode among them, and renounce the world. They were no less
pleased with him, and gladly received him as a brother. In the
course of two years, although still so young, he was unanimously
elected their abbot. The financial affairs of the establishment
had been greatly neglected, the walls of the building were falling
into ruin, and every thing was in disorder. Trithemius, by his
good management and regularity, introduced a reform in every
branch of expenditure. The monastery was repaired, and a yearly
surplus, instead of a deficiency, rewarded him for his pains. He
did not like to see the monks idle, or occupied solely between
prayers for their business, and chess for their relaxation. He,
therefore, set them to work to copy the writings of eminent
authors. They laboured so assiduously, that, in the course of a
few years, their library, which had contained only about forty
volumes, was enriched with several hundred valuable manuscripts,
comprising many of the classical Latin authors, besides the works
of the early fathers, and the principal historians and
philosophers of more modern date. He retained the dignity of Abbot
of Spannheim for twenty-one years, when the monks, tired of the
severe discipline he maintained, revolted against him, and chose
another abbot in his place. He was afterwards made Abbot of St.
James, in Wurtzburg, where he died in 1516.

During his learned leisure at Spannheim, he wrote several works
upon the occult sciences, the chief of which are an essay on
geomancy, or divination by means of lines and circles on the
ground; another upon sorcery; a third upon alchymy; and a fourth
upon the government of the world by its presiding angels, which
was translated into English, and published by the famous William
Lilly in 1647.

It has been alleged by the believers in the possibility of
transmutation, that the prosperity of the abbey of Spannheim,
while under his superintendence, was owing more to the
philosopher's stone than to wise economy. Trithemius, in common
with many other learned men, has been accused of magic; and a
marvellous story is told of his having raised from the grave the
form of Mary of Burgundy, at the intercession of her widowed
husband, the Emperor Maximilian. His work on steganographia, or
cabalistic writing, was denounced to the Count Palatine, Frederic
II, as magical and devilish; and it was by him taken from the
shelves of his library and thrown into the fire. Trithemius is
said to be the first writer who makes mention of the wonderful
story of the devil and Dr. Faustus, the truth of which he firmly
believed. He also recounts the freaks of a spirit, named Hudekin,
by whom he was at times tormented.28*


The Maréchal de Rays

One of the greatest encouragers of alchymy in the fifteenth
century was Gilles de Laval, Lord of Rays and a Marshal of France.
His name and deeds are little known; but in the annals of crime
and folly, they might claim the highest and worst pre-eminence.
Fiction has never invented anything wilder or more horrible than
his career; and were not the details but too well authenticated by
legal and other documents which admit no doubt, the lover of
romance might easily imagine they were drawn to please him from
the stores of the prolific brain, and not from the page of
history.

He was born about the year 1420, of one of the noblest families of
Brittany. His father dying when Gilles had attained his twentieth
year, he came into uncontrolled possession, at that early age, of
a fortune which the monarchs of France might have envied him. He
was a near kinsman of the Montmorencys, the Roncys, and the
Craons; possessed fifteen princely domains, and had an annual
revenue of about three hundred thousand livres. Besides this, he
was handsome, learned, and brave. He distinguished himself greatly
in the wars of Charles VII, and was rewarded by that monarch with
the dignity of a marshal of France. But he was extravagant and
magnificent in his style of living, and accustomed from his
earliest years to the gratification of every wish and passion; and
this, at last, led him from vice to vice and from crime to crime,
till a blacker name than his is not to be found in any record of
human iniquity.

In his castle of Champtocé, he lived with all the splendour of an
eastern caliph. He kept up a troop of two hundred horsemen to
accompany him wherever he went; and his excursions for the
purposes of hawking and hunting were the wonder of all the country
around, so magnificent were the caparisons of his steeds and the
dresses of his retainers. Day and night, his castle was open all
the year round to comers of every degree. He made it a rule to
regale even the poorest beggar with wine and hippocrass. Every day
an ox was roasted whole in his spacious kitchens, besides sheep,
pigs, and poultry sufficient to feed five hundred persons. He was
equally magnificent in his devotions. His private chapel at
Champtocé was the most beautiful in France, and far surpassed any
of those in the richly-endowed cathedrals of Notre Dame in Paris,
of Amiens, of Beauvais, or of Rouen. It was hung with cloth of
gold and rich velvet. All the chandeliers were of pure gold,
curiously inlaid with silver. The great crucifix over the altar
was of solid silver, and the chalices and incense-burners were of
pure gold. He had besides a fine organ, which he caused to be
carried from one castle to another on the shoulders of six men,
whenever he changed his residence. He kept up a choir of
twenty-five young children of both sexes, who were instructed in
singing by the first musicians of the day. The master of his
chapel he called a bishop, who had under him his deans,
archdeacons, and vicars, each receiving great salaries; the bishop
four hundred crowns a year, and the rest in proportion.

He also maintained a whole troop of players, including ten dancing
girls and as many ballad-singers, besides morris-dancers,
jugglers, and mountebanks of every description. The theatre on
which they performed was fitted up without any regard to expense;
and they played mysteries or danced the morris-dance every evening
for the amusement of himself and household, and such strangers as
were sharing his prodigal hospitality.

At the age of twenty-three, he married Catherine, the wealthy
heiress of the house of Touars, for whom he refurnished his castle
at an expense of a hundred thousand crowns. His marriage was the
signal for new extravagance, and he launched out more madly than
ever he had done before; sending for fine singers or celebrated
dancers from foreign countries to amuse him and his spouse, and
instituting tilts and tournaments in his great court-yard almost
every week for all the knights and nobles of the province of
Brittany. The Duke of Brittany's court was not half so splendid as
that of the Maréchal de Rays. His utter disregard of wealth was so
well known that he was made to pay three times its value for
everything he purchased. His castle was filled with needy
parasites and panderers to his pleasures, amongst whom he lavished
rewards with an unsparing hand. But the ordinary round of sensual
gratification ceased at last to afford him delight: he was
observed to be more abstemious in the pleasures of the table, and
to neglect the beauteous dancing girls who used formerly to occupy
so much of his attention. He was sometimes gloomy and reserved;
and there was an unnatural wildness in his eye which gave
indications of incipient madness. Still his discourse was as
reasonable as ever; his urbanity to the guests that flocked from
far and near to Champtocé suffered no diminution; and learned
priests, when they conversed with him, thought to themselves that
few of the nobles of France were so well-informed as Gilles de
Laval. But dark rumours spread gradually over the country; murder,
and, if possible, still more atrocious deeds were hinted at; and
it was remarked that many young children of both sexes suddenly
disappeared, and were never afterwards heard of. One or two had
been traced to the castle of Champtocé, and had never been seen to
leave it; but no one dared to accuse openly so powerful a man as
the Maréchal de Rays. Whenever the subject of the lost children
was mentioned in his presence, he manifested the greatest
astonishment at the mystery which involved their fate, and
indignation against those who might be guilty of kidnapping them.
Still the world was not wholly deceived; his name became as
formidable to young children as that of the devouring ogre in
fairy tales, and they were taught to go miles round, rather than
pass under the turrets of Champtocé.

In the course of a very few years, the reckless extravagance of
the marshal drained him of all his funds, and he was obliged to
put up some of his estates for sale. The Duke of Brittany entered
into a treaty with him for the valuable seignory of Ingrande; but
the heirs of Gilles implored the interference of Charles VII to
stay the sale. Charles immediately issued an edict, which was
confirmed by the provincial Parliament of Brittany, forbidding him
to alienate his paternal estates. Gilles had no alternative but to
submit. He had nothing to support his extravagance but his
allowance as a marshal of France, which did not cover the
one-tenth of his expenses. A man of his habits and character could
not retrench his wasteful expenditure, and live reasonably; he
could not dismiss without a pang his horsemen, his jesters, his
morris-dancers, his choristers, and his parasites, or confine his
hospitality to those who really needed it. Notwithstanding his
diminished resources, he resolved to live as he had lived before,
and turn alchymist, that he might make gold out of iron, and be
still the wealthiest and most magnificent among the nobles of
Brittany.

In pursuance of this determination he sent to Paris, Italy,
Germany, and Spain, inviting all the adepts in the science to
visit him at Champtocé. The messengers he despatched on this
mission were two of his most needy and unprincipled dependants,
Gilles de Sillé and Roger de Bricqueville. The latter, the
obsequious panderer to his most secret and abominable pleasures,
he had intrusted with the education of his motherless daughter, a
child but five years of age, with permission that he might marry
her at the proper time to any person he chose, or to himself if he
liked it better. This man entered into the new plans of his master
with great zeal, and introduced to him one Prelati, an alchymist
of Padua, and a physician of Poitou, who was addicted to the same
pursuits.

The marshal caused a splendid laboratory to be fitted up for them,
and the three commenced the search for the philosopher's stone.
They were soon afterwards joined by another pretended philosopher,
named Anthony of Palermo, who aided in their operations for
upwards of a year. They all fared sumptuously at the marshal's
expense, draining him of the ready money he possessed, and leading
him on from day to day with the hope that they would succeed in
the object of their search. From time to time new aspirants from
the remotest parts of Europe arrived at his castle, and for months
he had upwards of twenty alchymists at work, trying to transmute
copper into gold, and wasting the gold which was still his own in
drugs and elixirs.

But the Lord of Rays was not a man to abide patiently their
lingering processes. Pleased with their comfortable quarters, they
jogged on from day to day, and would have done so for years, had
they been permitted. But he suddenly dismissed them all, with the
exception of the Italian Prelati, and the physician of Poitou.
These he retained to aid him to discover the secret of the
philosopher's stone by a bolder method. The Poitousan had
persuaded him that the devil was the great depository of that and
all other secrets, and that he would raise him before Gilles, who
might enter into any contract he pleased with him. Gilles
expressed his readiness, and promised to give the devil any thing
but his soul, or do any deed that the arch-enemy might impose upon
him. Attended solely by the physician, he proceeded at midnight to
a wild-looking place in a neighbouring forest; the physician drew
a magic circle around them on the sward, and muttered for half an
hour an invocation to the evil spirit to arise at his bidding, and
disclose the secrets of alchymy. Gilles looked on with intense
interest, and expected every moment to see the earth open, and
deliver to his gaze the great enemy of mankind. At last the eyes
of the physician became fixed, his hair stood on end, and he
spoke, as if addressing the fiend. But Gilles saw nothing except
his companion. At last the physician fell down on the sward as if
insensible. Gilles looked calmly on to see the end. After a few
minutes the physician arose, and asked him if he had not seen how
angry the devil looked? Gilles replied that he had seen nothing;
upon which his companion informed him that Beelzebub had appeared
in the form of a wild leopard, growled at him savagely, and said
nothing; and that the reason why the marshal had neither seen nor
heard him was, that he hesitated in his own mind as to devoting
himself entirely to the service. De Rays owned that he had indeed
misgivings, and inquired what was to be done to make the devil
speak out, and unfold his secret? The physician replied, that some
person must go to Spain and Africa to collect certain herbs which
only grew in those countries, and offered to go himself, if De
Rays would provide the necessary funds. De Rays at once consented;
and the physician set out on the following day with all the gold
that his dupe could spare him. The marshal never saw his face
again.

But the eager Lord of Champtocé could not rest. Gold was necessary
for his pleasures; and unless by supernatural aid, he had no means
of procuring any further supplies. The physician was hardly twenty
leagues on his journey, before Gilles resolved to make another
effort to force the devil to divulge the art of gold-making. He
went out alone for that purpose, but all his conjurations were of
no effect. Beelzebub was obstinate, and would not appear.
Determined to conquer him if he could, he unbosomed himself to the
Italian alchymist, Prelati. The latter offered to undertake the
business, upon condition that de Rays did not interfere in the
conjurations, and consented besides to furnish him with all the
charms and talismans that might be required. He was further to
open a vein in his arm, and sign with his blood a contract that
"he would work the devil's will in all things," and offer up to
him a sacrifice of the heart, lungs, hands, eyes, and blood of a
young child. The grasping monomaniac made no hesitation, but
agreed at once to the disgusting terms proposed to him. On the
following night, Prelati went out alone, and after having been
absent for three or four hours, returned to Gilles, who sat
anxiously awaiting him. Prelati then informed him that he had seen
the devil in the shape of a handsome youth of twenty. He further
said, that the devil desired to be called Barron in all future
invocations; and had shewn him a great number of ingots of pure
gold, buried under a large oak in the neighbouring forest, all of
which, and as many more as he desired, should become the property
of the Maréchal de Rays if he remained firm, and broke no
condition of the contract. Prelati further shewed him a small
casket of black dust, which would turn iron into gold; but as the
process was very troublesome, he advised that they should be
contented with the ingots they found under the oak tree, and which
would more than supply all the wants that the most extravagant
imagination could desire. They were not, however, to attempt to
look for the gold till a period of seven times seven weeks, or
they would find nothing but slates and stones for their pains.
Gilles expressed the utmost chagrin and disappointment, and at
once said that he could not wait for so long a period; if the
devil were not more prompt, Prelati might tell him that the
Maréchal de Rays was not to be trifled with, and would decline all
further communication with him. Prelati at last persuaded him to
wait seven times seven days. They then went at midnight with picks
and shovels to dig up the ground under the oak, where they found
nothing to reward them but a great quantity of slates, marked with
hieroglyphics. It was now Prelati's turn to be angry; and he
loudly swore that the devil was nothing but a liar and a cheat.
The marshal joined cordially in the opinion, but was easily
persuaded by the cunning Italian to make one more trial. He
promised at the same time that he would endeavour on the following
night to discover the reason why the devil had broken his word. He
went out alone accordingly, and on his return informed his patron
that he had seen Barron, who was exceedingly angry that they had
not waited the proper time ere they looked for the ingots. Barron
had also said, that the Maréchal de Rays could hardly expect any
favours from him, at a time when he must know that he had been
meditating a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, to make atonement for
his sins. The Italian had doubtless surmised this, from some
incautious expression of his patron, for de Rays frankly confessed
that there were times when, sick of the world and all its pomps
and vanities, he thought of devoting himself to the service of
God.

In this manner the Italian lured on from month to month his
credulous and guilty patron, extracting from him all the valuables
he possessed, and only waiting a favourable opportunity to decamp
with his plunder. But the day of retribution was at hand for both.
Young girls and boys continued to disappear in the most mysterious
manner; and the rumours against the owner of Champtocé grew so
loud and distinct, that the Church was compelled to interfere.
Representations were made by the Bishop of Nantes to the Duke of
Brittany, that it would be a public scandal if the accusations
against the Maréchal de Rays were not inquired into. He was
arrested accordingly in his own castle, along with his accomplice
Prelati, and thrown into a dungeon at Nantes to await his trial.

The judges appointed to try him were the Bishop of Nantes
Chancellor of Brittany, the Vicar of the Inquisition in France,
and the celebrated Pierre l'Hôpital, the President of the
provincial Parliament. The offences laid to his charge were
sorcery, sodomy, and murder. Gilles, on the first day of his
trial, conducted himself with the utmost insolence. He braved the
judges on the judgment-seat, calling them simoniacs and persons of
impure life, and said he would rather be hanged by the neck like a
dog without trial, than plead either guilty or not guilty to such
contemptible miscreants. But his confidence forsook him as the
trial proceeded, and he was found guilty on the clearest evidence
of all the crimes laid to his charge. It was proved that he took
insane pleasure in stabbing the victims of his lust, and in
observing the quivering of their flesh, and the fading lustre of
their eyes as they expired. The confession of Prelati first made
the judges acquainted with this horrid madness, and Gilles himself
confirmed it before his death. Nearly a hundred children of the
villagers around his two castles of Champtocé and Machecoue, had
been missed within three years, the greater part, if not all, of
whom were immolated to the lust or the cupidity of this monster.
He imagined that he thus made the devil his friend, and that his
recompence would be the secret of the philosopher's stone.

Gilles and Prelati were both condemned to be burned alive. At the
place of execution they assumed the air of penitence and religion.
Gilles tenderly embraced Prelati, saying, "Farewell, friend
Francis! In this world we shall never meet again; but let us place
our hopes in God; we shall see each other in Paradise." Out of
consideration for his high rank and connections, the punishment of
the marshal was so far mitigated, that he was not burned alive
like Prelati. He was first strangled, and then thrown into the
flames: his body, when half consumed, was given over to his
relatives for interment; while that of the Italian was burned to
ashes, and then scattered to the winds.29*


Jacques Cœur

This remarkable pretender to the secret of the philosopher's stone
was contemporary with the last mentioned. He was a great personage
at the court of Charles VII, and in the events of his reign played
a prominent part. From a very humble origin he rose to the highest
honours of the state, and amassed enormous wealth by peculation
and the plunder of the country which he should have served. It was
to hide his delinquencies in this respect, and to divert attention
from the real source of his riches, that he boasted of having
discovered the art of transmuting the inferior metals into gold
and silver.

His father was a goldsmith in the city of Bourges; but so reduced
in circumstances towards the latter years of his life, that he was
unable to pay the necessary fees to procure his son's admission
into the guild. Young Jacques became, however, a workman in the
Royal Mint of Bourges, in 1428, and behaved himself so well, and
shewed so much knowledge of metallurgy, that he attained rapid
promotion in that establishment. He had also the good fortune to
make the acquaintance of the fair Agnes Sorel, by whom he was
patronised and much esteemed. Jacques had now three things in his
favour—ability, perseverance, and the countenance of the king's
mistress. Many a man succeeds with but one of these to help him
forward: and it would have been strange indeed, if Jacques Cœur,
who had them all, should have languished in obscurity. While still
a young man he was made master of the mint, in which he had been a
journeyman, and installed at the same time into the vacant office
of grand treasurer of the royal household.

He possessed an extensive knowledge of finance, and turned it
wonderfully to his own advantage as soon as he became entrusted
with extensive funds. He speculated in articles of the first
necessity, and made himself very popular by buying up grain,
honey, wines, and other produce, till there was a scarcity, when
he sold it again at enormous profit. Strong in the royal favour,
he did not hesitate to oppress the poor by continual acts of
forestalling and monopoly. As there is no enemy so bitter as the
estranged friend, so of all the tyrants and tramplers upon the
poor, there is none so fierce and reckless as the upstart that
sprang from their ranks. The offensive pride of Jacques Cœur to
his inferiors was the theme of indignant reproach in his own city,
and his cringing humility to those above him was as much an object
of contempt to the aristocrats into whose society he thrust
himself. But Jacques did not care for the former, and to the
latter he was blind. He continued his career till he became the
richest man in France, and so useful to the king that no important
enterprise was set on foot until he had been consulted. He was
sent, in 1446, on an embassy to Genoa, and in the following year
to Pope Nicholas V. In both these missions he acquitted himself to
the satisfaction of his sovereign, and was rewarded with a
lucrative appointment, in addition to those which he already held.

In the year 1449, the English in Normandy, deprived of their great
general, the Duke of Bedford, broke the truce with the French
king, and took possession of a small town belonging to the Duke of
Brittany. This was the signal for the recommencement of a war, in
which the French regained possession of nearly the whole province.
The money for this war was advanced, for the most part, by Jacques
Cœur. When Rouen yielded to the French, and Charles made his
triumphal entry into that city, accompanied by Dunois and his most
famous generals, Jacques was among the most brilliant of his
cortége. His chariot and horses vied with those of the king in the
magnificence of their trappings; and his enemies said of him that
he publicly boasted that he alone had driven out the English, and
that the valour of the troops would have been nothing without his
gold.

Dunois appears, also, to have been partly of the same opinion.
Without disparaging the courage of the army, he acknowledged the
utility of the able financier, by whose means they had been fed
and paid, and constantly afforded him his powerful protection.

When peace returned, Jacques again devoted himself to commerce,
and fitted up several galleys to trade with the Genoese. He also
bought large estates in various parts of France; the chief of
which were the baronies of St. Fargeau, Meneton, Salone,
Maubranche, Meaune, St. Gerant de Vaux, and St. Aon de Boissy; the
earldoms or counties of La Palisse, Champignelle, Beaumont, and
Villeneuve la Genêt, and the marquisate of Toucy. He also procured
for his son, Jean Cœur, who had chosen the Church for his
profession, a post no less distinguished than that of Archbishop
of Bourges.

Every body said that so much wealth could not have been honestly
acquired; and both rich and poor longed for the day that should
humble the pride of the man, whom the one class regarded as an
upstart and the other as an oppressor. Jacques was somewhat
alarmed at the rumours that were afloat respecting him, and of
dark hints that he had debased the coin of the realm and forged
the king's seal to an important document, by which he had
defrauded the state of very considerable sums. To silence these
rumours, he invited many alchymists from foreign countries to
reside with him, and circulated a counter rumour, that he had
discovered the secret of the philosopher's stone. He also built a
magnificent house in his native city, over the entrance of which
he caused to be sculptured the emblems of that science. Some time
afterwards, he built another, no less splendid, at Montpellier,
which he inscribed in a similar manner. He also wrote a treatise
upon the hermetic philosophy, in which he pretended that he knew
the secret of transmuting metals.

But all these attempts to disguise his numerous acts of peculation
proved unavailing; and he was arrested in 1452, and brought to
trial on several charges. Upon one only, which the malice of his
enemies invented to ruin him, was he acquitted; which was, that he
had been accessory to the death, by poison, of his kind patroness,
Agnes Sorel. Upon the others, he was found guilty; and sentenced
to be banished the kingdom, and to pay the enormous fine of four
hundred thousand crowns. It was proved that he had forged the
king's seal; that, in his capacity of master of the mint of
Bourges, he had debased, to a very great extent, the gold and
silver coin of the realm; and that he had not hesitated to supply
the Turks with arms and money to enable them to carry on war
against their Christian neighbours, for which service he had
received the most munificent recompenses. Charles VII was deeply
grieved at his condemnation, and believed to the last that he was
innocent. By his means the fine was reduced within a sum which
Jacques Cœur could pay. After remaining for some time in prison,
he was liberated, and left France with a large sum of money, part
of which, it was alleged, was secretly paid him by Charles out of
the produce of his confiscated estates. He retired to Cyprus,
where he died about 1460, the richest and most conspicuous
personage of the island.

The writers upon alchymy all claim Jacques Cœur as a member of
their fraternity, and treat as false and libellous the more
rational explanation of his wealth which the records of his trial
afford. Pierre Borel, in his Antiquités Gauloises, maintains the
opinion that Jacques was an honest man, and that he made his gold
out of lead and copper by means of the philosopher's stone. The
alchymic adepts in general were of the same opinion; but they
found it difficult to persuade even his contemporaries of the
fact. Posterity is still less likely to believe it.