The last true believer in alchemy was, according to Mr. Brande, one
Peter Woulfe, who occupied chambers in Barnard's Inn, Holborn, while in
London, and usually spent the summer in Paris. He died in 1805. About
the year 1801, another solitary adept lived, or rather starved, in
London, in the person of an editor of an evening newspaper, who expected
to compound the alkahest, if he could keep his materials digested in a
lamp-furnace for the space of seven years. The lamp burnt brightly
during six years eleven months, and some odd days besides; and then,
unluckily, it went out. Why it went out, the adept could never guess;
but he was certain that if the name could only have burnt to the end of
the septenary cycle, his experiment must have succeeded.
In 1828, Sir Richard Phillips visited "an alchemist," named Kellerman,
at the village of Lilley, midway between Luton and Hitchen; he was
believed by some of his neighbours to have succeeded in discovering the
Philosopher's Stone, and also the universal solvent. He had been a man
of fashion, and an adventurer on the turf; but had for many years shut
himself up at Lilley, and been inaccessible and invisible to the world;
his house being barricaded, and the walls of his grounds protected by
hurdles, with spring-guns, so planted as to resist intrusion in every
direction. Sir Richard, however, obtained an interview with this strange
being, and the account of his visit is very graphic:--
"The front-door was opened, and Mr. Kellerman presented himself. I
lament that I have not the pencil of Hogarth, for a more original figure
never was seen. He was about six feet high, and of athletic make. On his
head was a white nightcap, and his dress consisted of a long great-coat,
once green, and a sort of jockey waistcoat, with three tiers of pockets.
His manner was extremely polite and graceful; but my attention was
chiefly absorbed by his singular physiognomy. His complexion was deeply
sallow, and his eyes large, black, and rolling. He conducted me into a
very large parlour, with a window looking backward, and having locked
the door and put the key into his pocket, he desired me to be seated in
one of two large armchairs, covered with sheepskins. The room was a
realization of the well-known picture of Teniers's Alchemist. The floor
was strewed with retorts, crucibles, alembics, jars, and bottles of
various shapes, intermingled with old books, the whole covered with dust
and cobwebs. Different shelves were filled in the same manner; and on
one side stood the Alchemist's bed. In a corner, somewhat shaded from
the light, I beheld two heads, white, with dark wigs on them; I
entertained no doubt, therefore, that, among other fancies, he was
engaged in re making the brazen speaking head of Roger Bacon and
Albertus."
"He then gave me a history of his studies, mentioned some men in London
whom I happened to know, and who, he alleged, had assured him that they
had made gold. That having, in consequence, examined the works of the
ancient alchemists, and discovered the key which they had studiously
concealed from the multitude, he had pursued their system under the
influence of new lights; and, after suffering numerous disappointments,
owing to the ambiguity with which they describe their processes, he had
at length happily succeeded; had made gold, and could make as much more
as he pleased, even to the extent of paying off the national debt in the
coin of the realm."
"I yielded to the declaration, expressed my satisfaction at so
extraordinary a discovery, and asked him to show me some of the precious
metal which he had made."
"'Not so,' said he, 'I will show it to no one. I made Lord Liverpool the
offer that, if he would introduce me to the King, I would show it to his
Majesty; but Lord Liverpool insolently declined, on the ground that
there was no precedent; and I am therefore determined that the secret
shall die with me. It is true that, in order to avenge myself of such
contempt, I made a communication to the French ambassador, Prince
Polignac, and offered to go to France, and transfer to the French
government the entire advantages of the discovery; but, after deluding
me, and shuffling for some time, I found it necessary to treat him with
the same contempt as the others. Every court in Europe,' he added,
'knows that I have made the discovery, and they are all in a confederacy
against me; lest, by giving it to any one, I should make that country
master of all the rest--the world, Sir,' he exclaimed with great
emotion, 'is in my hands, and my power.'"
* * * * *
"I now inquired whether he had been alarmed by the ignorance of the
people in the country, so as to shut himself up in this unusual manner?"
"'No,' he replied, 'not on their account wholly. They are ignorant and
insolent enough; but it was to protect myself against the governments of
Europe, who are determined to get possession of my secret by force. I
have been,' he exclaimed, 'twice fired at through that window, and three
times attempted to be poisoned. They believed I had written a book
containing my secrets, and to get possession of this book has been their
object. To baffle them, I burnt all that I had ever written; and I have
so guarded the windows with spring-guns, and have such a collection of
combustibles in the range of bottles which stand at your elbow, that I
could destroy a whole regiment of soldiers if sent against me.' He then
related that, as a further protection, he lived entirely in that room,
and permitted no one to come into the house; while he had locked up
every room except that with patent padlocks, and sealed the keyholes."
In a conversation of two or three hours with the narrator, Kellerman
enlarged upon the merits of the ancient alchemists, and on the blunders
and impertinent assumptions of modern chemists. He quoted Roger and Lord
Bacon, Paracelsus, Boyle, Boerhaave, Woolfe, and others, to justify his
pursuits. As to the term philosopher's stone, he alleged that it was a
mere figure to deceive the vulgar. He appeared to give full credit to
the silly story of Dee's assistant, Kelly, finding some of the powder of
projection in the tomb of Roger Bacon, at Glastonbury, by means of
which, as he said, Kelly for a length of time supported himself in
princely splendour. Kellerman added, that he had discovered the blacker
than black of Appolonius Tyanus: it was itself "the powder of projection
for producing gold."
It further appeared he had lived in the premises at Lilley for
twenty-three years, during fourteen of which he had pursued his
alchemical studies with unremitting ardour; keeping eight assistants for
the purpose of superintending his crucibles, two at a time, relieving
each other every six hours: that he had exposed some preparations to
intense heat for many months at a time, but that all except one crucible
had burst--and that, Kellerman said, contained the true "blacker than
black." One of his assistants, however, protested that no gold had ever
been found, and that no mercury had ever been fixed, for he was quite
sure Kellerman could not have concealed it from his assistants; while,
on the contrary, they witnessed his severe disappointment at the result
of his most elaborate experiments.
By the way, in the introduction to _Zanoni_, Sir E. Bulwer Lytton has
given a clever sketch of an eccentric antiquarian bookseller, in the
neighbourhood of Covent Garden, who is said to have assembled "the most
notable collection ever amassed by an enthusiast, of the works of
alchemist, cabalist, and astrologer." The "vindictive glare and uneasy
vigilance," and the frowning and groaning of the anti-bookseller (for it
absolutely went to his heart when a customer entered his shop), are all
very characteristic and life-like in this sketch. When free from such
annoyance, he might be seen gloating over his musty, unsaleable
treasures, on which he had, it was said, spent a fortune.
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