The Shining Pyramid (collection)/The Spagyric Quest of Beroaldus Cosmopolita

by Arthur Machen

 

THE SPAGYRIC QUEST OF BEROALDUS COSMOPOLITA

When the worthy quintessencer and most respectable traveller in the subterranean Heaven, Master Beroalde, of fragrant and delectable memory, had reduced into elemental powder and sophospagyrick dust all his worldly goods and found himself so sophisticated, metallurgised, suffused, salivated, and petrobolised that he had not a crown in his pouch, he cried out without caring who heard him, Accursed be my furnace, and proceeded to drive his servant away, which was wrong, for he was a canon, and as such should not have endeavoured to be better than his neighbours, who were all canons, and who all kept serving-maids. Hence we may conclude that he was extremely annoyed and desperately despairing, which indeed was the case, for he had passed the following articles through the furnace without any result:

• Item—Twelve meadows by the river.
• Item—A house, by the same.
• Item—Three orchards.
• Item—A vineyard.
• Item—A medlar tree, bearing one hundred sacks of medlars every year.
• Item—Three cows, whose tails had been docked as a sign of mortification, to show that they were theological animals. Item —A house with a garden in the best street of Tours (where can one find in these days such a house and such a garden as this was?).
• Item—Three thousand crowns; and there remained not a farthing, or an apple, or a wine-flask, or a blade of grass, or a medlar.—Amen.

The devil take those who endeavour to lead us the wrong way and make us meddle with metals, or medals; persons whose throats are dry with smoke so that they cannot taste good wine! Let us leave such men and their devices and search for the delectable quintessence of the true Alchemy and the first matter of the world, which cannot thus be obtained, since it is mystagorical and resides in the mountains of the Moon. Be silent! This is the true path, and it was opened to the Canon Beroaldus that very night in which he cursed his furnace; and for seven days he was not to be found in his stall, nor anywhere else. At this much popular indignation was aroused, for his disappearance was connected with his sending away his poor girl, who had served him well and theologically, and had done her best. But people said that the produce of his own country was not good enough for Beroaldus, and he was gone to Paris to see what he could find. There were some in the chapter who said he had thereby offended ecclesiastically, and should be admonished to be content with what came to his hand, like the countryman of whom it is said that on whatever, or whomsoever, he put his hand, he did it with all his might. Some of the canons, however, thought differently, and a dispute arose concerning warming-pans. (I make no apology for using theological terms, for the story is a theological one.)

Stay! Let us argue no more, but search for the cause of things, which is to be found in certain circular vessels well known to oenologists, and the brethren of the Holy Jar. This treatise teaches the true way of the Spagyrick Quest, and is the most opuscular of all opusculums, opus-coleorum, as an old canon used to call it, but he lived in the old scholastic days, when ecclesiastics could dispute in mode and figure.

Beroaldus then having foresworn his furnace, became in a state to receive grace ex congruo; which is a theological mystery not to be disputed, though some persons have not been able to under stand how he could receive anything ex congruo after sending away his maid. Peace! do not tamper with the faith, or your fate will be like that of the student who undertook to see a girl named Faith home from the fair, and was afterwards burnt alive for heresy: he had tampered with Faith. Let this be a lesson to you.

The Canon sat alone in his room, which smelt like the Bottomless Pit smells on melting-day when there is a heavy consignment of fat heretics, smug water-drinkers, and blasphemers of joyous diversions to be boiled down. His furnace was empty; the room was dark, and the books sat still on the shelves, looking about as lively as an Œcumenical Council, a row of empty bottles, or the Three Bar bels on the sign. Thus dark and drear sat Beroalde in his room, when, as he gazed before him, expecting I do not know what, there rose a light at the window, which grew brighter and brighter, fumes of sweet-scented vapour, smelling like the incense at the Introit, gathered below and above and all around the light so glorious, and in the midst and inmost brightness Beroalde saw written these high and famous sentences, which are the essence, groundwork, foundation ante sæcula, interior meaning, full commentary, perspicuous gloss, hypothetical symbol, cabalistic import, and gnostic mystigorification of all tomes of true science and registers of ancient wisdom. It is certain that on the Tomb of the Scarab, on the Gate of the Abyss of Demiourgos, on the tables of the Sephiroth, near to Ayin-Soph, in the lightened places of the Subterranean Heaven, and in the Authentic Formula of the first matter of the world, this magistral breviate is inscribed. For it means—Hush! let us have it first, and the meaning will become apparent. On the outer circle was written:—ALGAR + ALGASTNA + + + AMRTET +. On the inner circle was written: — TE + DAGIRAM ADAM . And on the inmost circle was written the four letters R T N T. There! you who have been working at the bellows and calling on Baal, you who have ridden post through wet and dry, up hill and down dale in Valentine's Triumphal Chariot, and have never reached the Mons Magorum Invisibilis, you who have taken Our Sulphur, Our Salt, Our Earth, and Our Mercury, you who live on Cabalistic Sauces and drink the juices of the Green Dragon, you know now how to philosophise to some purpose, and by philosophise I mean the obtaining of the Philosophical Stone; the source of which is contained in the letters of the above juicy inscription or conscription, as the Penitentiarius, who was noted for beginning everything with con, would have called it. You ask why I call the above inscription or conscription juicy? I bid you who ask go and search in that rich treasure-house of conceptions, interludes, furnaces, fountains, sauces, records, mirrors, high tomes of weighty meaning, and lamps for sages to lanternise withal, where our Great Master dispenses wisdom in eternal paraphrases, while the great golden clouds cease their flight to listen to him. There are stored in golden vessels those juices which alone avail to the completion of the Spagyrick Quest, which are called in good lingo the Sum of the Stars. Wait! let us come to our purpose. The Canon got up from his chair and gazed at the appearance like dogs gaze at the full moon, and then he saw a hand pointing to a wheel of fire at one side of the circle, and then another hand beside it, and strange to say he saw two arms which appeared to pertain to the two hands. "Good," said he to himself, "now we are getting at it; they will bring you strong wine if you drink all day." When he had gazed till the words of light were deeply printed in the hollows of his skull, all of a sudden the whole blaze vanished out of sight, and instead of it there was the sun shining in at the window, though it was an hour after sunset. Beroalde, the Spagyrist, stared long enough at this marvel, as he thought somebody must have been saying mass backwards over him; but his wonder was much increased when he heard a mellow voice saying "Shall we set out now?" He looked at the place where the voice came from, and there he saw a short thick-set man, yellow-skinned and black-haired, with a mouth as large as a cow's, and eyes of fire. He wore a square cap and scholar's gown, and stood just under the window where the vision had appeared. "Who are you, and where should we go?" said the Canon, in whose body butter was flowing. "I am sent," said the short man, "to lead you to the place where what is below is that which is above, where the earth is separated from the fire, where the brood of the crow change their feathers and are made like unto doves, where is performed the engendering of the sun from the Philosophal Egg. For know that of your own wit you can never attain to this work, but in a manner you are found worthy. Follow me." Forthwith he touched the window and the glass melted away, and Beroalde followed him, and saw that from the window was built a very great flight of steps of white marble, that descended and went down, and was prolonged, extended, pursued, multiplied, and reduplicated, till it became black and invisible, and (as it was revealed) it consists only of seven steps added to one another in a certain mystic manner. And the guide said again, "Follow me, but look not to the right or to the left where is the Abyss, but only beyond and above." And Beroalde, looking beyond, saw only the stairs, and above he saw how the heaven was divided, and half of it was night with the moon and stars, and half of it was light with the sun shining. "This is the mystery of the heaven above the earth called celestial, we seek the mystery of the heaven below the earth called subterranean," said the guide; and forthwith he began to descend the stairs, Beroalde following closely behind him. Verily, it seemed as if they would never reach the deepest depth, as the king once observed on a notorious occasion, which cost some persons who had pushed the matter on their share of the royal favour. Well, but all things come to an end at last; wedding-nights, the generating of fools and of quintessencers, the dreams of dreamers, organ-sounds and singers' voices; the pinnacles of the Cloud Castle of Rohalgo and the old Canon's Easter sermon, and the journey across the Waste, do they not all cease? Truly they do, and, in one way or another, sleep. Amen. So then it came to pass that Beroalde and his guide came at last to the lowest stair, and the man in the scholar's gown told the Canon to look round, and there he saw far off as far could be the top of the stair leading into his house, and the city of Tours with clouds all around it. This was a marvel, but the guide led him on through a narrow passage, which was quite dark, but short enough, and then he knocked at a door five times, and it was opened. And as it was being opened the guide whispered to Beroalde, "Enter into the Foursquare Garden, where all things are lawful, and here you shall learn what you desire." "Here comes the Spagyrist," cried out the porter, whom Beroalde knew very well, for he kept the Three Puddings in Tours; "come in, come in, most worthy sir, there are puddings enough here, and chitterlings, and sauces, and enough mustard for the Great Master himself, and a puncheonful of grapeguts. What the devil! Ora pro nobis in omnia sæcula sæculorum, amen, alleluia, alleluia; there are girls, too, Deo Gratias, the fields are ready for the harvest, ut bos locutus est in populo barbaro, O Domine feliposophidexterandorum." Beroalde made no answer to this intelligible discourse, for he was looking before him, and turning to his guide said to him, "Tell me, most admirable leader, what these things mean." "Call me Liripipiastor," answered he; "and come forward, and I will show everything to you, as you have indeed much to learn, and many doctrines wherewith to be indoctrinated. But tell me, before we go farther, can you answer me this: In quo sit bonum vinum continendum?" "In boteliis, et flaccis, et barillis, et tonnis," answered Beroalde, who was a learned metaphysician and jurist, and had taken a great part in the trial before the Cathedral Penitentiary of the woman accused of offending with a wine-skin. This great case, be it added, was tried before the Penitentiary Raoul de Fermeboise, lasted for two years, and resulted in the condemnation of the accused, whereby great tumults were excited among the Tourainian women, who considered the sentence as an unjust abbreviature of their liberties. The Canon therefore answered firmly, and looked the scholar in the face, but Master Liripipiastor said, "’Tis answered carnally and according to the wisdom of the flesh, which, as the Apostle teacheth, is accursed, such answers will not pass here. Come with me and hear how the matter stands." And Beroalde followed him, but what was it that he saw the meaning of which he craved to know? He saw the four-square garden. What is that? It is a garden of pleasure, of high discourse, of wisdom, of sages, of good wine, of philosophising, lanternising, symbolising, spagyrising, the garden of the old concoction and the new juice, of songs and melodies, where there are hundreds piping and hundreds playing on viols; it is a garden to look for maidens in. Did I say to find them? No; then do not interrupt me. It is a garden of games and pastimes and joyous diversions, where they play and extract fifth essence, and toss balls, and drink all day; in fine, it is a garden whence all good books proceed. What books are good? Why those which teach us in a thousand ways to laugh, and therefore contain all wisdom; books of concubines, multiplication, entrances into secret places, books full of merry demons who dance and twine about every page. It is a garden full of sun and shade, of groves and lawns, and hedgerows and rivulets, and pools, and wells; of marble seats and carven stalls, of rich stuffs, of halls, sculptures, towers, bells, chimes, pinnacles, galleries, courts, cupboards; a garden where they make green sauce all night. All these circumstances and pursuits made the Canon Beroalde wish to know about things, and the scholar Liripipiastor drew him through the throng who were amusing themselves to a well where the Great Master sat on a marble seat, and was discoursing to a few apart. And what a man was he, of what a noble presence, with long white beard and a cassock flowing royally about him like a king's robe. He made Beroalde look down, since the Canon had never met such a gaze before, and he asked, "Who is this, Liripipiastor? Is he dogmatised sufficiently to come here?" "He is the alchemist Beroalde, whom I led down the stairs to-night as he desires to attain the spagyrick quest." "Ha! ha! he comes from Tours, I swear, his father sold onions in the Rue Chaude; well, son, do you know in what good wine should be contained, or, in other words, what is the temple of good wine?" "He lacks right knowledge on that point," said Liripipiastor, "for he says it is contained in boteliis, et flaccis, et barillis, et tonnis; wherefore I have brought him to you to be instructed." "Listen, then, Beroalde, and you Liripipiastor, Grobiscornus, Rotifuntulus, and Patuloformus, and you other wenches. What, there are no wenches; well, bottles then, and let us see whether they are not ejusdem substantiæ. Sic probatur! What would be the use of bottles without openings? The wine would have to be drunk inclusive; that is to say, it would be included in the bottles and secluded from you, therefore it would not be drunk at all; or, better still, it would be drunk, and not drunk, ut probatum est, which is a contradiction, ergo non esse Deum. What do you say to this, philosophasters and lanternisers? But let us return to our potage, or rather our potus. Bottles must have openings, ut probatum est, and so must girls, for if they had not openings they could not eat; therefore bottles and wenches are of the same substance, ut probatum est. Listen to that, you doggrelisers of good logic, and learn what it is to conclude in primâ figurâ, modo Bacchi. As I was saying, listen, you other bottles, and learn what is the temple of good wine. What is wine? It is the true primum mobile which turns the spheres. You will see that proved in Raymond Lully and Bernard of Trevisan, and Arnold de Villa Nova and Aristotle De Gluc, chapter three. Wine therefore contains the universe, and makes the planets dance and engender stars; and how can anything contain that which contains all things? Listen: this is a great mystery, not to be revealed to the vulgar, but only to the true tosspots of true peculations, who live vivified and permeated with right doctrine. Matter is contained in space, but the soul contains space, the clouds, the sun and the stars, the oceans, and the heavens. Ergo, the soul contains bonum vinum, and by soul I mean the belly; therefore the sage's belly is the temple of good wine, ut probatum est. And the corollary of this fundamental dogma is that the soul must be purged and prepared, cleansed, sanctified, mystagorified, and enlightened by the mystagorical preparation, which is mustard. Now you have heard the reason of these things; and we will now sanctify our souls, I mean drink good wine, or rather make that which is above descend to that which is below, or perform the transmutation of juice into laughter, or what you please." "Master," said Liripipiastor, "I heard a bottle chink from the well." "Hush, it is an oracle, a globular omen, a regurgitation, an influence from the spheres. Stoop down, Rotifuntulus, and listen to the voice from the well of science." The young man, Rotifuntulus, who looked to Beroalde an angel of beauty, stooped down and put his ear to the bubbling well, and listened, but not a sound did Beroalde hear except the noise of the water. But the listener presently got up and said, "The holy and omniscient oracle has been delivered in my ear of the word Algarum, and from inspection of the well I foresee that a transmutation is at hand." "Son," said the Master to the alchemist, "this is a word for you, and you are now about to learn the First Matter of the work. (Give me some more wine, for I am dry. Ah, ha! that smacks well, nota bene.) Know that the interpretation of the mystical and regenerating symbol and allegorised paraphrase Algarum (a word well known to the magicians, who make children with it; ask again how it is done) is as follows: IN THE FRUIT OF THE TREE OF THE SECOND JUICE, which indeed is evident, as in the word there are seven letters, which render these paraphrases so mystagorical that mixed with water they turn into wine. Let him listen to me if any sophister or spagyrist desire to know how to turn water into wine by the addition of paraphrases, since the method is contained in these discourses. But I have spoken enough: go, son, and seek for that which is in the fruit of the tree of the second juice." "Who will show me how this is to be performed?" said the Canon. "Go, go, get into the midst of the garden and ask for the tree and it will be shown to you and everything else. Pax vobiscum amen, venite compotemus." At this Beroalde was compelled to depart, and, as it is related, he turned now to the right and now to the left and became entangled in a Labyrinth (for he was now without a guide) which would have put Daedalus to shame; it turned and returned a thousand times upon itself, and was so dark and vast a place that the Canon grew near to despair. But at last he came to a place where lamps were set, each lamp hanging by a golden chain, as it seemed, from empty space, and the light they gave him showed what was painted on the wall. And there was delineated in the most admirable colours and the most glorious gold the whole Operation of the Sons of Wisdom, or the Heavenly Marriage; proceeding from the First Concoction, the Birth of the Eagle, the Engendering of the Crow, the Balneum Solis, the Great Procession, the Torchbearers, the Storm at Night, the White Woman in the Purple Field, and the Son blessed of the Fire, so that Beroalde was utterly amazed, but yet without understanding, since he knew not the First Matter of the Work, nor how the White Woman could have copulation with the Red Man. So he wandered around and around in this Labyrinth, passing from Light to Dark and from Dark to Light, seeing now and again Pictures at the lasciviousness of which he was astonished, for he did not understand the spirit but only the letter. At last, weary and sick of all, he cried out, "O Domine Deus, if I could have a seat in the sun and a flask of wine I should be content, for this labyrinth is toil without knowledge." No sooner had he said this than he beheld a little door in the wall, and over it was written SOLUS INTROITUS IN V. S. D. M., and Beroalde lifted up the latch and passed through, and from black his garments had turned to white, and his hand feeling in the air closed upon a wine flask. Now, indeed, he had attained through the Labyrinth to the place called the Magician's Heavenly Chaos, where the subterranean sun shines eternally, bringing the magic fruit to perfection. It was surrounded with a wall of trees, thick, high, and dark; it was a green meadow of the softest grass, with banks whereon to lie in the sunlight. In the midst Beroalde beheld the so famous Seven Fountains which are set about the Tree of the Second Juice, and are as follows, according to the description of the best authors.

The First is the fountain of the Spiritual Sol; it is a golden bowl, having carven on it the thousand names, the Process, the Multiplication, the Colour, the Immensity, the Depth, the Sound, the Voice, in short what is whispered at the Door. You understand what I mean; silence! This bowl is immeasurable, no one can say how broad it is; it is, in fact, a golden sea, welling up with an eternal spring; in the depths of its waters are all things reflected, the water is magical, a fluid in which to bathe most of the volumes that have been written.

The Second is the fountain of the Spiritual Luna, and contains the liquid from which beautiful girls with enticing shapes are produced by a quintessential process. In shape it is a spire of light, continually ascending, pointed like a spear, and having its base in the floods and waters. With a drop of this liquid of Luna a philosopher once anointed his flagon, and ever after it was full of wine.

The Third is the fountain of the Spiritual Venus, in shape a sphere, abounding and glowing with ruddy light. In the liquid of this sphere the Great Master beheld his Voyages and discovered the Way to Attain, for it contains all philosophies: in it may be seen the flights of all the Stars and the most precious secret of the Generation of Fools; a mystic matter; in it is delivered the sense Of the words Κοуξ δμπαξ

The Fourth is the fountain of the Spiritual Mercurius, the Argent Vive, full of a thick viscid and spermatic fluid which runs a race round a Bowl of Earth, and from it doves rise up continually and fly away into the heaven. I read in an ancient book that this liquor is the seed of the world and makes everything fertile; it was symbolised in those mysteries of Priapus, the Father of the Chitterlings, now counted obscene.

The Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh are not, as might be thought, Fountains of Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars, but are Mirrors in which each man sees what he desires; in them are cities, maidens, dances, clouds, stars, spires, phrases, allegories, treatises, breviates, tomes, songs and chanting, hieroglyphics, visions, and tennis-balls. Look in them for facetious sayings, you whose brains run dry; look for sunlight in the dark days, when a fine rain falls continually, these mirrors are magistral and enigmatical, fit only for sages.

While Beroalde was busily engaged in sucking in all these mysteries, without lifting an eye to what stood in the midst, he heard a voice saying, "First drink, and then demand what you will," and Beroalde saw an old man standing beside him, in a robe of ash-grey. "What shall I drink?" asked the Canon. "Drink the volume of delectation in your hand; it is the true wine, the comfortable potation, the orthodox commentary; it is full of reasons of everything, it warms the skull, and fills its dark places with the sun." So Beroalde drank and became full of boldness, and said with great courage, "I come here in search of Algarum; otherwise what is contained in the fruit of the tree of the Second Juice." "Where do you come from?" "The World." "What is the World?" "Listen; for I am drunk and full of reasons. Once there was a true world, a holy, spiritual city; but long ago, before the secrets of hot sauces were discovered, the Arch Concocter of Bad Productions dreamt an ill dream which we now call the world." "Well answered. How came you?" "By the Seven Stairs, and through the Four-square Garden, to the presence of the Master and to the Oracular Well. Hence I came through the Labyrinth, fortified with the word of Algarum, a paraphrase which turns water into wine," "Then behold, son of regeneration, the Tree of the Second Juice, and the fruit thereof." And Beroalde lifted up his face, and beheld in the midst of the fountains the mightiest tree he had ever seen, so lofty that the clouds swam across its top, and in breadth a day's journey, covered with dark green leaves from which is prepared the Green Sauce of the Philosophers, and with the golden fruit, somewhat like an apple, which the world desires in vain. And amidst the branches were cities, and castles, and golden spires, inhabited by the Homunculi; and Beroalde was bidden to climb this tree if he would gain the fruit. He therefore took of the Spiritual Mercurius and the Spiritual Sol from the fountains, and anointing himself, was carried on high into the tree, where he underwent the seven transmutations. He became a volume, a cloud, a star, a pinnacle, a faun, a song, a dream; he ate the fruit and drank the mixed draught, and was wedded to the Queen Soteris in the mystical marriage. And when he returned to the ground, he carried with him a book containing one leaf, and in it written: "IN THE SIXTH HOUR OF THE NIGHT SEARCH NOTHING BUT THYSELF, AND THOU SHALT FIND THE FIRST MATTER OF THE STONE, AND IN NO OTHER PLACE IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD SHALT THOU FIND IT."