The Chemistry of Alchemy Read online

  The next two speculators we encounter will not be of the hard-scrabble lives of Digby and Drebble, but the difficulties they encounter in their search for understanding will resonate through the air.

  But first, to the submarines!

  DEMONSTRATION 16. UP IN THE AIR

  DISPOSAL

  All the materials in this demonstration are disposable: solids in the trash; liquids down the sink (with a long, cool rinse).

  THE VOLATILIZATION OF TARTAR

  Volatilization was an important concept to the alchemists. As we noted in the second demonstration, the Islamic authors saw the sublimation, the volatilization, of sulfur as a remarkable process, as did their western-European heirs. Like the science fiction teleporters à la Star Trek, in sublimation alchemists witnessed materials disappearing in one place and reappearing in another. Sublimation also resulted in a purer product, which met one of their prime objectives. There was a third reason Christian alchemists venerated the process of volatilization, as pointed out by the historian Lawrence Principe.16 Christian alchemists saw the rising up of substances as representing the elevation of Christ on the cross, which had deep spiritual significance.

  Yet alchemists of any persuasion would be impressed by the process because they could relate it to the Emerald Tablet of Hermes, introduced in chapter 6. This is the line of interest:

  That which is below is like that which is above and that which is above is like that which is below to do the miracles of one only thing.17

  So, from this, they saw volatilization—which they called “making the fixed fly”—as a major goal and a step toward the philosophers’ stone. In fact, in The Secret of Alchemy (Synthesis), Principe proceeded to decode all twelve steps of Basil Valentine's allegorical tale (see chapter 13), including the third key, which was the volatilization of gold. We won't spoil the story by repeating it here, but suffice it to say it is a fascinating read of perseverance, chemistry, and reward.

  And the gold does volatilize.

  We won't be volatilizing gold—we're taking a cheaper flight—but we'll have fun, too. Our flyer is the salt of tartar, potassium or sodium carbonate, K2CO3 or Na2CO3. The recipe comes from Johann van Helmont's Ortus Medicinae (1648),18 but Digby also performed the operation. Partington reports a publication of demonstrations done by Digby that included

  A Choice Collection Of Rare Chymical Secrets And Experiments In Philosophy; And Also Rare and unheard-of Medicines, Menstruums, and Alkahests; with the True Secret of Volatilizing the fixt Salt of Tartar. Collected and Experimented by the Honourable and truly Learned Sir Kenelm Digby…Hitherto kept Secret since his Decease, but now Published for the good and benefit of the Publick.19

  The process Van Helmont used, which we will assume is close to the one Digby used, has been translated as follows.

  Dissolve Salt of Tartar in warm wine vinegar and set it to digest in a warm place for 40 days. Remove the vinegar and a clear crystalline salt will remain. Dissolve this salt in distilled rainwater and filter several times. Evaporate the water and a clear snow-white salt remains. From this salt distill by water-bath a spirit. Once the spirit has been removed, let the salt sit for another month in a sand bath. The salt will sublime and fix itself to the sides of the glass. This is the Volatilized Salt of Tartar.20

  Don't have two months to devote to the trial? Don't worry. Remember our starting materials don't have to be purified, and, in addition, the alchemists rarely did comparison studies to answer questions such as, “How is the yield changed if I wait a week instead of two months?” We found we were able to do the process in two days, but then our crystals were not snow white. Maybe there is something to be said for patience.

  Find your safety glasses and put them on. You will also need vinegar, baking soda, one clean 125-milliliter Erlenmeyer flask, and a teaspoon or 5-milliliter measuring spoon.

  Put about a teaspoon (5 milliliters) of baking soda into the flask. Add vinegar slowly and carefully until all the baking soda has reacted and more vinegar does not cause additional fizzing. There should be no powder left on the bottom of the flask.

  Put the flask in your cast-iron skillet on a warm setting but not quite to boiling. Allow the excess liquid to evaporate slowly until you have reduced the liquid by about two-thirds, leaving about a third of the original liquid in the flask. This may take a while, so start reading about our next alchemist while keeping your eye on the flask.

  When the solution is a third of its original volume, remove the flask from the heat using your oven mitt and set it on a heat-resistant surface to cool. Reset the burner to 25 percent power and wait for it to cool (about fifteen minutes). Set the flask back in the skillet and allow the solution to continue to reduce.

  You may see a crystal film start to form on the solution's surface, but keep reducing the liquid. Once the solution and crystals are almost dry, reduce the heat even further.

  The crystals should eventually start to appear on the sides or creep up the sides of the flask. In the bottom of the flask, the crystals start to appear to stack up on each other and form mini mountain ranges and stalagmite-looking structures.

  In truth, it is not the salt of tartar (which in our case is baking soda, sodium hydrogen carbonate) that is volatilizing. It is the product of the reaction of baking soda and acetic acid, sodium acetate. However, the alchemist would not have known this. But they would have known something was up.

  BAD BREATH

  For this demonstration you will need pickling lime, two Erlenmeyer flasks, two small beakers, a drinking straw, a teaspoon or 5-milliliter measuring spoon, distilled water, and a device for stirring, such as a plastic spoon or a clean wooden stick or a glass rod. And safety glasses.

  There are solutions that can clean carbon dioxide from air, and it is possible they could have been used by Drebble. Their use would have been cumbersome, but possible. One such solution, as pointed out by Partington,21 would be a caustic alkali, such as lye. The caustic alkali we are going to use in this demonstration is pickling lime.

  Make your solution of caustic alkali by adding a quarter teaspoon (about 1 milliliter) of pickling lime to a little more than half a cup (about 150 milliliters) of distilled water in a flask. Not all of the lime will dissolve, but allow the solution to sit for at least fifteen minutes with stirring to get as much lime into solution as possible.

  After the solution has had a chance to dissolve as much as it can, allow the residual lime to settle to the bottom. This should take about a half hour to forty-five minutes.

  When the solution has settled, carefully decant the liquid into a second Erlenmeyer flask, that is, gently pour off the clear solution and leave the dregs, just as one would decant wine. Divide the solution into two small beakers.

  Now take one of the clear solutions, place a straw in it, and gently blow into the solution. When you blow into the solution, you are exhaling carbon dioxide, the material that would have to be removed from breathable air. You should see the solution you are blowing into become cloudy after several breaths, and you may even see particles settling out. You can compare the beaker you blew into and the other beaker to confirm the cloudiness. The material that is making the solution cloudy is solid calcium carbonate, which is formed from your exhaled carbon dioxide and the calcium from the pickling lime.

  It would be bad to inhale instead of exhale, but if you have a rude friend who decides to come up and slap you on the back while you are blowing out and you accidently suck in, spit out the liquid and rinse your mouth out thoroughly. The pickling lime is not a poison, but more than a mouthful of any chemical (including water) is not a good idea.

  Have a heart-to-heart discussion with your friend.

  TINY BUBBLES

  For this next demonstration you could use a retort, the big, bulbed, goosenecked flask described in “Stores and Ores,” and a retort would be fun because it is an authentic piece of alchemical glassware, but you may not want to borrow or invest in one. Fortunately a retort can be simulated by a b
endable straw and a small Erlenmeyer flask. Simply bend the straw and seal the shorter end to the flask with modeling clay as shown in the drawing at the beginning of this demonstration. There it is. Your retort. (A drawing of an actual retort is shown in the background.)

  You will also need a 250-milliliter beaker.

  This demonstration illustrates an effect that Drebble found remarkable, though we did not find his explanation, if he had one, so we do not know how well he understood the cause.

  With safety glasses in place, fill the beaker nearly to the top with water. Position your empty, clean retort so that its neck extends into the beaker, as shown in the drawing at the beginning of this demonstration. Place just the flask on the cast-iron skillet and turn on the heat to about 20 percent power.

  You should soon see bubbles coming from the tip of the retort where it is immersed in the water. After about five minutes of bubbling, turn off the heat and lift the assembly to the countertop, being careful to keep the water end of the straw in the beaker. In a very short time you should see water start to suck back into the retort.

  What happened? The air in the retort expanded as it warmed and contracted as it cooled, an effect that would be quantified in the late eighteenth century, quite a while from the time of Drebble. In fact, denizens of the seventeenth century were still struggling with the nature of air. In our next chapter we will meet two more grapplers who try to tame this problem. But where the heroes of the present chapter have been dealers and swashbucklers, these next two will be more spiritual and sedate.

  But just as eager to know.

  The Authour flyeth on his owne Wings.

  Robert Fludd, alchemist, ca. 1620*

  The chemical revolution would come, and when it came, it would be the result of the identification of oxygen as an independent element. How close were they? Pretty close. Sendivogius found a life-giving spirit of the Earth in saltpeter, and this spirit of the Earth would later be known as oxygen. Van Helmont tamed gases and declared the total weight of matter did not change over the course of a reaction. Even the pirate and the speculator, Digby and Drebble, recognized there was an essential something in the air and it could be released from saltpeter. So they were close.

  Close—but no cigar.

  What was getting in the way? Technology, for one. The person who would lead the revolutionary charge, Lavoisier, tax collector and gunpowder expert of pre-revolutionary France, based his mass measurements on a precision balance he had built specifically for the purpose. But Lavoisier's outlook was helpful, too. By the mid-eighteenth century mysticism had become a separate pursuit from natural philosophy, but in the seventeenth century they were in the process of parting. Did mysticism hold the seventeenth-century alchemist back? To shed some light on this question, we'll look at the careers of two seventeenth-century alchemists: Robert Fludd and Athanasius Kircher. One Protestant, one Catholic; one English, one Italian. Both mystics.

  ROBERT FLUDD

  Born in Elizabethan England into a wealthy family well connected with Elizabeth's court, Robert Fludd (1574–1637) should have prospered. But brash, arrogant, and filled with the self-conceit of entitled youth, his haughty refusal to acknowledge any value in the Galenic system of medicine caused him to repeatedly fail the entrance exam into the Royal College of Physicians.1 Finally admitted four years after obtaining his doctor of medicine, he set up practice in London. As a physician he was no doubt familiar with standard alchemical techniques, accepted by this time as means of purifying and producing medicines. However, he had his own apothecary, so it is doubtful he spent much time in the alchemical workroom—at this point.

  Then, in 1614, five years into his medical career, his world turned over. A book appeared on the continent telling of the discovery of an ancient fraternity of mystical alchemists who knew the secret to making gold and the philosophers’ stone: the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross. The Rosicrucians.

  THE ROSICRUCIANS

  In chapter 6, during our discussion of the philosophers’ stone, we introduced a poem attributed to Hermes Trismegistus, the supposed antediluvian recipe for the philosophers’ stone. As time wore on, more writings appeared under the name Hermes Trismegistus, and gradually the legend grew until Hermes Trismegistus became the origin for all alchemical art, the Hermetic art. Then, in 1614, Isaac Casaubon, a classics scholar, demonstrated Hermetic writings were no earlier than 200 CE, which put them in league with Zosimos, a respected authority, but not the thousands of years old they were supposed to be.2

  Yet the need for mysticism was built into the seventeenth-century psyche. Accordingly, just as Hermes was debunked, an anonymous pamphlet made the rounds, The Fama Fraternitas of the Meritorius Order of the Rosy Cross (1614), and was quickly followed by The Confession of the Rosicrucian Fraternity (1615) and The Chymical Marriage of Christian Rosenkreuz (1616).3 Made-to-order mysticism.

  Allegedly the fraternity had been around since 1408, and the founder, Christian Rosencreutz, lived between 1378 and 1484 (one hundred six years). Predictably, the story of Rosencreutz is every bit as imaginative as that of Basil Valentine and Sendivogius of legend.

  According to the writings (found in Rosencreutz's grave, of course), Rosencreutz's poor but noble family had to place him in a cloister at the tender age of five, where he learned both Greek and Latin. When he was sixteen he was able to study abroad: one of the brothers made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and Rosencreutz went with him. The brother died, but instead of returning, Rosencreutz traveled on to Damascus and learned what the Arabs could teach him of mathematics, medicine, magic, and language. At nineteen he went to Egypt, and finally at the age of twenty-one he was ready to return to Europe and show the Europeans the error of their ways.

  Rosencreutz wanted to create a society of learning where all the sciences that God allowed to be known could be taught, including the methods for making gold, silver, and precious stones. But he was ridiculed and rebuffed, so he decided to join with some brothers from the monastery to form a secret alchemical society.

  The new society, the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross, the Rosicrucians, affirmed they would do nothing that would reveal their part in the secret society. They agreed to act only as physicians and cure the sick for free. Because their mission was the betterment of humankind, they eschewed the making of gold. They preached disregard for physical alchemy and promoted spiritual alchemy instead. They vowed to meet once a year (or give a written excuse), and every brother would look for a worthy man to replace him on his demise. The Rosy Cross would be their only emblem, and the society would remain secret for one hundred years. Apparently in 1614 it had been one hundred years, and voilà, the secret was out.

  News of the discovery of an ancient secret society spread across Europe like wildfire. Recently deprived of their beloved Hermes, mystical alchemists hungered for an antiquarian foundation for their art.

  Then a certain Johann Valentin Andreae (1586–1654), a Lutheran theologian, confessed to writing the pamphlet. He had done it as a way of making fun of all the mysticism that was believed at the time,4 perhaps in response to the behavior of his father. Andreae's father had been obsessed with alchemy to the point of neglecting his family and his duties as a Lutheran minister.

  His mother, an apothecary, did what she could to keep the family going. Andreae attended university but was expelled in 1607, after which he traveled and found employment as a private tutor. At the age of thirty-six he decided to return to his roots and become a minister himself, but he remained an idealist. He hoped that eventually all religions could find common ground and unite in the reasonable study of nature. In fact, it was his vision of a Christian community based on learning and critical examination of knowledge that led to the lampoon pamphlets describing the Fraternity of the Rosicrucians. Andreae, seeing what he had done, wrote another pamphlet in 1619 explaining his bad joke, Tower of Babel or the Judgment of the Brotherhood of Rose Cross Chaos, but he wrote it in a satirical vein, like the others.

  The satire
must have been too subtle because many didn't get the joke—or didn't want to get the joke. Even after he admitted he was the author, the existence of the society was still believed.

  Suddenly everyone who was anyone looked like a member of the Rosicrucians. Michael Sendivogius was said to be a member based on his own idea of forming a secret society. Johann Tholde, the probable inventor of the Basil Valentine persona, was said to be the secretary of the Rosicrucian brotherhood, though he must have had trouble taking roll or getting a quorum.

  Intelligent, well-meaning investigators into the new Paracelsian medicines read the Rosicrucian pamphlets and looked long and hard for a location or a representative of the Rosicrucian society with whom to converse. On finding no evidence for any solid, bricks-and-mortar establishment or organization, most gave up. Ole Worm, a Danish Paracelsian, looked for the Rosicrucians for several years, then pronounced, “I have seen this little book by ‘The Brothers’…I own it and judge therefrom that the whole Rosicrucian Society, if it is in fact anything at all,…smacks of fanaticism or anabaptism mixed together with Paracelsus. Accordingly, you should not take the trouble to buy it.”5 The mathematician Faulhaber declared, “I am not sparing any efforts in inquiring about the commendable Rosicrucian Society,”6 but he couldn't find it either. The famous scholars Descartes and Leibnitz tried without success to locate card-carrying members and then concluded Rosicrucian was a state of mind and not an actual organization.

  Such was the situation that even connivers were taken in. Michael Maier (1568–1622),7 a famous proponent of spiritual alchemy, got caught up in the hype, and he was no fool. He had been a courtier at the court of Rudolf II and, as such, had seen it all. And he knew the art of chicanery from personal practice. He granted himself his own degrees, such as “Michael Meierus Philosophiae et Medicinae Doctor Honoris Gratia,” and set up a medical practice, working out of an establishment called the White Horse Inn. He concocted and sold his own medicines, including dried frogs soaked in vinegar. But he, too, wrote of and identified with the mission of the Rosicrucians.