genii of the globe, the cabalist accomplished all his desires. In intercourse with the sylphs and other supernatural intelligence of the material world the adept sought to obtain ineffable joys unknown to the majority of men.

*

Agrippa claims for the occult science the highest rank, and defines it as "the perfection and accomplishment of all the natural sciences." In the universities of the thirteenth century there were professors and courses of magic. Although these evidently had little faith in their own pretensions, they studiously concealed the fact from the public, and by them were regarded as veritable enchanters. In addition, a cloud of quacks still further deluded the people by their charlatanism.

Hence we see the danger of the alchemist being confounded with the magician in case of his revealing the least of his knowledge. Friar Bacon, than whom no truer scientist ever lived, was in his day regarded as a sort of Dr. Faust, and was brought upon the stage of the period as a personification of magic. The story of his long imprisonment and sufferings, under the charge of being in league with the devil, although he published a book on the nullity of magic, is familiar to all.

To see the necessity of esoteric writings, it is only necessary to look at the fate of Vanini Bruno, and thousands of others burned at the stake or otherwise cruelly destroyed. Said Bruno, in his last work:

"If I had held the plough, or fed a flock, or cultivated a garden, or mended old clothes, none would distinguish and few regard me. But now for describing the field of nature; for being solicitous about the posture of the soul; for being curious about the improvement of the understanding, and for some skill about the faculties of the mind, am I treated in this manner."

Bacon himself gives the reasons for this enigmatic style: "induced," as he tells us, "partly by the conduct of other philosophers, partly by the propriety of the thing, and partly

* E. Salverte, Des Sciences Occultes, p. 110.

+ Pouchet, Histoire des Sciences Naturelles au Moyen Age, p. 467.

by the danger of speaking too plainly." The symbols themselves are curious and interesting; and, as the philosopher suggests, not without propriety. The earth, air, fire, and water of Empedocles and the Greek philosophers, which result from the chemical process of burning wood, were generalized by the Greek mind to represent what in modern science are known as the four forms of matter-the imponderables, gases, liquids, and.solids. These are the salt, sulphur, and mercury of the later alchemists, which also symbolize the body, soul, and spirit of man. Geber reduced the elements to two, sulphur and mercury. The striking transformation which takes place in these substances when mercury is thrown upon melted sulphur, and the subsequent change from black to red, was, as Hoefer remarks, peculiarly adapted to excite the imagination of the ancient artist. " Black and red are nothing less than the symbols of darkness and light, of the bad and good principles; and the reunion of the two principles represent, in the moral order, the universal God. This pantheistical idea has, without doubt, contributed much to establish this famous principle, adopted by the alchemists, that all bodies have for their elements sulphur and mercury." The apparent restora-` tion of lead from the ashes which remain after the "death of the metal," by grains of wheat, caused them to become the symbol of life, and by extension, of resurrection and eternal life. The heating of argentiferous lead in a cupel of pulverized bone-the disappearance of the lead, and the button of silver found at the end of the operation-contributed, not a little, to establish the theory that lead could be transmuted into silver. Animals, as we have seen, were extensively employed in the symbolism of the Egyptians. Thus, the "yellow lion" represents sulphur; the "red lion," cinnabar; the green lion," the salt of iron or copper; and the "black eagle," the compound of sulphur with mercury. The transformation of this compound into cinnabar, the adepts expressed by saying that the black eagle is transferred into the red lion. The triple influence of matter, of life, and of intelligence, they symbolized by the equilateral triangle. The alchemists called the fire of the furnace simply "the dragon," as its

nature was to devour the corruptible elements of a body. The "flying dragon" signified mercury, on account of its power of being volatalized. The dragon guarding the fleece of gold was mercury, which is so difficult to be confined or to sleep. The "dragon put to sleep by Jason" was mercury, fixed by the operations of the adepts. The "dragon devouring his tail" was the symbol of any solid that absorbs water. Human blood was pyroacetic acid. The sun and moon were the emblems respectively of gold and silver. A work of peculiar difficulty was denominated the "labors of Hercules"; and "to gather the apples of Hesperides" was to reap the fruits of the philosopher's stone.

We see, then, that this symbolism was employed from the most ancient period of the art; that it was a necessity to the alchemists of the middle ages; that by it they communicated with each other in a sort of freemasonry; and by its intentional vagueness they not only saved their lives, but escaped being ridiculed. It is also evident that in a period in which there existed no scientific nomenclature, it was impossible otherwise to communicate with each other. Many of those great minds, under a strong but vague inspiration, broke away from the trammels of so inadequate a language into expressions often grand and lofty, but to us, at present, almost unintelligible. It is, doubtless, in a large degree due to this ancient symbolism that chemistry possesses the most exact and convenient nomenclature of any of the sciences. It is the possession of this instrument, an adequate and exact language drawn from the body of classic literature, that constitutes the chief advantage of modern over ancient science. This must be added to the invaluable results which alchemy has bequeathed to modern times.

The true alchemists then, while they were diligent experimentists in pharmaceutical and other practical chemistry, cherished three objects of enthusiastic hope. 1. They believed in the transmutability of metals: it has already been seen on what grounds. The idea of transmutation is as old as Thebes, and as recent as Davy. In one shape or another it is ineradi

2. The European

cable from the instincts of the science.* alchemists also believed in the elixir of life, or universal medicine, capable of curing all curable diseases, and of prolonging life far beyond its present average duration. It was not until the dotage of alchemy that the conception of an elixir of immortality amused the world. In connection with this unattainable ideal of theirs, it is just to add that Lord Bacon and Descartes were quite as much bent upon the invention of means for the prolongation of life as any alchemist. Worn and exhausted by his constant labors over his furnace and alembic, it is not strange that the alchemist sought therein the means of restoring his wasted health and energies. 3. They believed in the alcahest, or universal solvent. Modern chemistry has realized it in the discovery of fluorine. Lavoisier once expressed his surprise that it should never have occurred to the masters that no vessel on earth could contain this universal solvent, because it would solve the vessel too. As is well known, this was precisely the difficulty with fluorine, until it was suggested that the vessel should be cut out of fluorspar itself, seeing it is a substance already saturated with fluorine.

The question now arises why, with all these grand ideals, their wonderful patience, and incalculable amount of labor, their success was not greater still. The answer readily presents itself. 1. They sought too much. They demanded not only the art of making gold and a universal panacea— riches and health-but the aid of a supernatural power capable of dominating spirit and matter, which opened the door to the realms of mysticism and those inextricable problems before which the most robust reason was obliged to succumb. They placed no limit to the human reason, and were not able to obey their own precepts in addition. "Know thyself," "know nothing too much." They attempted, as it were, at one effort to overleap the whole intermediate chain of links that lead to the primal cause. They also were not aware of the source of error which their lamentable failures have so

*S. Brown, Lectures and Essays, p. 183.

signally pointed out to all coming generations. 2. They lived in what has been characterized as the "theological period" of science, in which man, reasoning from the analogy of his own will and variableness, ascribed the same attributes to nature and her laws. Ages passed before her invariableness and orderliness could be impressed upon his mind. Her operations were supposed from this analogy to be the result of the volition of a spiritual agency, at first considered independent of matter, and afterward as residing in its molecules. By the simple elimination of this agent, leaving still the forces in the atoms themselves, we have the modern theory complete. Lastly, they accomplished all that the human mind is capable of, unaided by instruments and a vast amount of accumulated knowledge. We have seen their great want of the instrument of a precise and universal language. We know the defects of the Aristotelian method, the orthodox philosophy of the middle ages; we have seen them hampered upon every side by spiritual power and popular prejudice. We have observed the century growth of rude apparatus in their tireless hands, the gradual wrenching from the arcana of nature of those powerful acids without which the chemist toils in vain. But there is a more comprehensive cause for their slow advancement. It is found in the paradoxical fact that the true methods of discovery were themselves first to be discovered. Or, in other words, "The appropriate ideas said to determine this progress are themselves perfected-brought into distinctness-during the progress of discovery, and cannot be applied as instruments until some progress has been achieved." The interconnection of all the sciences necessitate a simultaneous and slow growth. "It was impossible for any mind, however great, to give a scientific explanation of any phenomenon. He could only suggest an hypothesis or work out a point."* By this false method they were unable to increase their knowledge, and through their imperfect knowledge they failed to detect the falsity of their methods. The wonder is not that they

* Aristotle, Chapter from History of Science. G. H. Lewes, London, 1864, p. 55.

VOL. XXVII.-NO. LIII.

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