Rosa Alchemica-第1章

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Rosa　AlchemicaI


it　is　now　more　than　ten　years　since　i　met；　for　the　last　time；　michael　robartes；　and　for　the　first　time　and　the　last　time　his　friends　and　fellow　students；　and　witnessed　his　and　their　tragic　end；　and　endured　those　strange　experiences；　which　have　changed　me　so　that　my　writings　have　grown　less　popular　and　less　intelligible；　and　driven　me　almost　to　the　verge　of　taking　the　habit　of　st。　dominic。　i　had　just　published　rosa　alchemica；　a　little　work　on　the　alchemists；　somewhat　in　the　manner　of　sir　thomas　browne；　and　had　received　many　letters　from　believers　in　the　arcane　sciences；　upbraiding　what　they　called　my　timidity；　for　they　could　not　believe　so　evident　sympathy　but　the　sympathy　of　the　artist；　which　is　half　pity；　for　everything　which　has　moved　mens　hearts　in　any　age。　i　had　discovered；　early　in　my　researches；　that　their　doctrine　was　no　merely　chemical　phantasy；　but　a　philosophy　they　applied　to　the　world；　to　the　elements　and　to　man　himself；　and　that　they　sought　to　fashion　gold　out　of　mon　metals　merely　as　part　of　an　universal　transmutation　of　all　things　into　some　divine　and　imperishable　substance；　and　this　enabled　me　to　make　my　little　book　a　fanciful　reverie　over　the　transmutation　of　life　into　art；　and　a　cry　of　measureless　desire　for　a　world　made　wholly　of　essences。

i　was　sitting　dreaming　of　what　i　had　written；　in　my　house　in　one　of　the　old　parts　of　dublin；　a　house　my　ancestors　had　made　almost　famous　through　their　part　in　the　politics　of　the　city　and　their　friendships　with　the　famous　men　of　their　generations；　and　was　feeling　an　unwonted　happiness　at　having　at　last　acplished　a　long？cherished　design；　and　made　my　rooms　an　expression　of　this　favourite　doctrine。　the　portraits；　of　more　historical　than　artistic　interest；　had　gone；　and　tapestry；　full　of　the　blue　and　bronze　of　peacocks；　fell　over　the　doors；　and　shut　out　all　history　and　activity　untouched　with　beauty　and　peace；　and　now　when　i　looked　at　my　crevelli　and　pondered　on　the　rose　in　the　hand　of　the　virgin；　wherein　the　form　was　so　delicate　and　precise　that　it　seemed　more　like　a　thought　than　a　flower；　or　at　the　grey　dawn　and　rapturous　faces　of　my　francesca；　i　knew　all　a　christians　ecstasy　without　his　slavery　to　rule　and　custom；　when　i　pondered　over　the　antique　bronze　gods　and　goddesses；　which　i　had　mortgaged　my　house　to　buy；　i　had　all　a　pagans　delight　in　various　beauty　and　without　his　terror　at　sleepless　destiny　and　his　labour　with　many　sacrifices；　and　i　had　only　to　go　to　my　bookshelf；　where　every　book　was　bound　in　leather；　stamped　with　intricate　ornament；　and　of　a　carefully　chosen　colour：　shakespeare　in　the　orange　of　the　glory　of　the　world；　dante　in　the　dull　red　of　his　anger；　milton　in　the　blue　grey　of　his　formal　calm；　and　i　could　experience　what　i　would　of　human　passions　without　their　bitterness　and　without　satiety。　i　had　gathered　about　me　all　gods　because　i　believed　in　none；　and　experienced　every　pleasure　because　i　gave　myself　to　none；　but　held　myself　apart；　individual；　indissoluble；　a　mirror　of　polished　steel：　i　looked　in　the　triumph　of　this　imagination　at　the　birds　of　hera；　glowing　in　the　firelight　as　though　they　were　wrought　of　jewels；　and　to　my　mind；　for　which　symbolism　was　a　necessity；　they　seemed　the　doorkeepers　of　my　world；　shutting　out　all　that　was　not　of　as　affluent　a　beauty　as　their　own；　and　for　a　moment　i　thought　as　i　had　thought　in　so　many　other　moments；　that　it　was　possible　to　rob　life　of　every　bitterness　except　the　bitterness　　of　death；　and　then　a　thought　which　had　followed　this　thought；　time　after　time；　filled　me　with　a　passionate　sorrow。　all　those　forms：　that　madonna　with　her　brooding　purity；　those　rapturous　faces　singing　in　the　morning　light；　those　bronze　divinities　with　their　passionless　dignity；　those　wild　shapes　rushing　from　despair　to　despair；　belonged　to　a　divine　world　wherein　i　had　no　part；　and　every　experience；　however　profound；　every　perception；　however　exquisite；　would　bring　me　the　bitter　dream　of　a　limitless　energy　i　could　never　know；　and　even　in　my　most　perfect　moment　i　would　be　two　selves；　the　one　watching　with　heavy　eyes　the　others　moment　of　content。

i　had　heaped　about　me　the　gold　born　in　the　crucibles　of　others；　but　the　supreme　dream　of　the　alchemist；　the　transmutation　of　the　weary　heart　into　a　weariless　spirit；　was　as　far　from　me　as；　i　doubted　not；　it　had　been　from　him　also。　i　turned　to　my　last　purchase；　a　set　of　alchemical　apparatus　which；　the　dealer　in　the　rue　le　peletier　had　assured　me；　once　belonged　to　raymond　lully；　and　as　i　joined　the　alembic　to　the　athanor　and　laid　the　lavacrum　maris　at　their　side；　i　understood　the　alchemical　doctrine；　that　all　beings；　divided　from　the　great　deep　where　spirits　wander；　one　and　yet　a　multitude；　are　weary；　and　sympathized；　in　the　pride　of　my　connoisseurship；　with　the　consuming　thirst　for　destruction　which　made　the　alchemist　veil　under　his　symbols　of　lions　and　dragons；　of　eagles　and　ravens；　of　dew　and　of　nitre；　a　search　for　an　essence　which　would　dissolve　all　mortal　things。　i　repeated　to　myself　the　ninth　key　of　basilius　valentinus；　in　which　he　pares　the　fire　of　the　last　day　to　the　fire　of　the　alchemist；　and　the　world　to　the　alchemists　furnace；　and　would　have　us　know　that　all　must　be　dissolved　before　the　divine　substance；　material　gold　or　immaterial　ecstasy；　awake。　i　had　dissolved　indeed　the　mortal　world　and　lived　amid　immortal　essences；　but　had　obtained　no　miraculous　ecstasy。　as　i　thought　of　these　things；　i　drew　aside　the　curtains　and　looked　out　into　the　darkness；　and　it　seemed　to　my　troubled　fancy　that　all　those　little　points　of　light　filling　the　sky　were　the　furnaces　of　innumerable　divine　alchemists；　who　labour　continually；　turning　lead　into　gold；　weariness　into　ecstasy；　bodies　into　souls；　the　darkness　into　god；　and　at　their　perfect　labour　my　mortality　grew　heavy；　and　i　cried　out；　as　so　many　dreamers　and　men　of　letters　in　our　age　have　cried；　for　the　birth　of　that　elaborate　spiritual　beauty　which　could　alone　uplift　souls　weighted　with　so　many　dreams。

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Rosa　AlchemicaII

@小‘说〃网
my　reverie　was　broken　by　a　loud　knocking　at　the　door；　and　i　wondered　the　more　at　this　because　i　had　no　visitors；　and　had　bid　my　servants　do　all　things　silently；　lest　they　broke　the　dream　of　my　inner　life。　feeling　a　little　curious；　i　resolved　to　go　to　the　door　myself；　and；　taking　one　of　the　silver　candlesticks　from　the　mantlepiece；　began　to　descend　the　stairs。　the　servants　appeared　to　be　out；　for　though　the　sound　poured　through　every　corner　and　crevice　of　the　house　there　was　no　stir　in　the　lower　rooms。　i　remembered　that　because　my　needs　were　so　few；　my　part　in　life　so　little；　they　had　begun　to　e　and　go　as　they　would；　often　leaving　me　alone　for　hours。　the　emptiness　and　silence　of　a　world　from　which　i　had　driven　everything　but　dreams　suddenly　overwhelmed　me；　and　i　shuddered　as　i　drew　the　bolt。　i　found　before　me　michael　robartes；　whom　i　had　not　seen　for　years；　and　whose　wild　red　hair；　fierce　eyes；　sensitive；　tremulous　lips　and　rough　clothes；　made　him　look　now；　just　as　they　used　to　do　fifteen　years　before；　something　between　a　debauchee；　a　saint；　and　a　peasant。　he　had　recently　e　to　ireland；　he　said；　and　wished　to　see　me　on　a　matter　of　importance：　indeed；　the　only　matter　of　importance　for　him　and　for　me。　his　voice　brought　up　before　me　our　student　years　in　paris；　and　remembering　the　magnetic　power　ne　had　once　possessed　over　me；　a　little　fear　mingled　with　much　annoyance　at　this　irrelevant　intrusion；　as　i　led　the　way　up　the　wide　staircase；　where　swift　had　passed　joking　and　railing；　and　curran　telling　stories　and　quoting　greek；　in　simpler　days；　before　mens　minds；　subtilized　and　plicated　by　the　romantic　movement　in　art　and　literature；　began　to　tremble　on　the　verge　of　some　unimagined　revelation。

i　felt　that　my　hand　shook；　and　saw　that　the　light　of　the　candle　wavered　and　quivered　more　than　it　need　have　upon　the　maenads　on　the　old　french　panels；　making　them　look　like　the　first　beings　slowly　shaping　in　the　formless　and　void　darkness。　when　the　door　had　closed；　and　the　peacock　curtain；　glimmering　like　many？

coloured　flame；　fell　between　us　and　the　world；　i　felt；　in　a　way　i　could　not　understand；　that　some　singular　and　unexpected　thing　was　about　to　happen。　i　went　over　to　the　mantlepiece；　and　finding　that　a　little　chainless　bronze　censer；　set；　upon　the　outside；　with　pieces　of　painted　china　by　orazio　fontana；　which　i　had　filled　with　antique　amulets；　had　fallen　upon　its　side　and　poured　out　its　contents；　i　began　to　gather　the　amulets　into　the　bowl；　partly　to　collect　my　thoughts　and　partly　with　that　habitual　reverence　which　seemed　to　me　the　due　of　things　so　long　connected　with　secret　hopes　and　fears。　i　see；　said　michael　robartes；　that　you　are　still　fond　of　　incense；　and　i　can　show　you　an　incense　more　precious　than　any　you　have　ever　seen；　and　as　he　spoke　he　took　the　censer　out　of　my　hand　and　put　the　amulets　in　a　little　heap　between　the　athanor　and　the　alembic。　i　sat　down；　and　he　sat　down　at　the　side　of　the　fire；　and　sat　there　for　awhile　looking　into　the　fire；　and　holding　the　censer　in　his　hand。　i　have　e　to　ask　you　something；　he　said；　and　the　incense　will　fill　the　room；　and　our　thoughts；　with　its　sweet　odour　while　we　are　talking。　i　got　it　from　an　old　man　in　syria；　who　said　it　was　made　from　flowers；　of　one　kind　with　the　flo