The
Account Rendered
Solely to the True Wise,
by one
who desires nothing more ardently
than
to be deemed worthy
of their most highly esteemed
Confidence upon Earth.

Nuremberg,
Printed by Fleischmann Press, 1750



Translated from the book:
"Die denen wahren Weisen nur allein abgelegte Rechenschaft / von einem, welcher nichts sehnlichers wünschet als ihrer auf Erden Höchstschätzbahren Vertraulichkeit gewürdiget zu werden"

Most Highly Esteemed, God-Enlightened Men!

Since I have had the fortune to possess, by God’s special mercy, a complete knowledge of my Hermetic Art alone, I find all philosophizing superfluous, since thereby I would do nothing else than repeat the smallest part of that which you, moved by Christian love, have already graciously imparted to others — guiding the erring neighbor upon the path of salvation. Especially as this writing does not come to light in order to make me great before the world, which I neither desire nor pursue writing style justified; nor to teach others, which I value but little, but rather because I have felt within myself an undeniable heavenly impulse — to proclaim unto you alone the divine grace shown to me, an unworthy one, and to lament my distress, trusting that, upon recognizing it, you would not resist my humble pleas, but rather deem me worthy of your trust and admit me to brotherly fellowship.

Therefore, I shall keep myself brief and not write too plainly, for I know that the Most High has His almighty hand over this work, so as to conceal it from the proud and mighty; for they would sooner discern it among the corrosive vapors of their sublimated Mercury, red sulfur, and arsenic, etc., than attain to this divinely blessed art, they know not the lime with which one may catch the Hermetic Bird. Thus their search in lofty and most artful things — which are wholly contrary to Nature — is in vain, though they persist and vainly nourish the hope.

The sea of the Wise is before their eyes, yet they cannot draw forth the little fish from it. Rather, they are so taken and captivated by their sophistical labors — indeed, so bound to them — that they dwell amidst fumes of charcoal and smoke, oft for long periods, and scarcely dare to enjoy the clear air.

From fear, one might almost say, they labor not enough to preserve their own health and wealth. In all their wretched condition, they yet have this one thing — that they count the whole troop of these gold-craving folk as their company, so that it seems to them a great wager to be at stake that they can no longer make great boasts in the world; whereas the wise man shuns all company and seeks to remain hidden, avoiding even the smallest occasion to speak of the Art. I, at least, do so, and for many years have refrained, apart from the dealings required by my present vocation, from associating with worldly society.

The company of an honest and simple gardener is the most pleasant to me. To be distant from the city and near a beautiful river, in a remote garden, appears to me in springtime far more delightful than all splendid places filled with bustle and noise.

There I rent a small piece of earth, dig, cultivate, and plant what pleases me. At the close of day and before sunrise, I tend my beloved garden with my own hands tends to his own affairs; and before he resumes such work again, he assists me in managing the heavy labor.

The remaining time of heat or otherwise unpleasant weather I spend in reading philosophical books, and I await the moment when, through diligence and the influence of Nature, I shall be rewarded—when I may behold flowers of the most beautiful and lively colors.

Such innocent and useful recreations seek a true son and lover of heavenly and pure wisdom, leaving the false sophists meanwhile to their beer, wine, and other mind-clouding drinks, who, with much boasting, publicly proclaim all sorts of nonsense about their stone, until incapacity and final poverty compel them to lead a withdrawn and quiet life.

For until then, all admonitions, examples, and instructions are in vain with them. Indeed, I am almost certain, convinced that this company, upon reading this small treatise, will deride me as presumptuous; yet they would indeed be fortunate if they were able to confirm the things contained therein.

Nevertheless, I forgive them all their mockery and insults, and wish them, for their own best, that they may, in recognition of their own humility, free themselves from all arrogant and false imaginations, and repent of those things which they, partly through their delusion, partly through deceptive teachers, have contributed to the contempt of the noble and true art.

Therefore, comforted in the name of God, I continue my undertaken work, to bring my enterprise to completion.

So hear me then, O honorable and dearly beloved Wise Ones.

There is but one thing, purified from all foreign coarseness, through dried by the rays of the sun and turned into dust — according to its outward appearance very barren, yet in its inner nature a most reddish net, in which the little fish from the sea of the Wise are caught without resistance and with the greatest joy, for therein it is kept fresh and sound.

Yet it also easily perishes within the same, if one does not recognize its true signs; thus the inexperienced soon begin to despair of the most certain matter. Then the Work begins to falter — all hope then lies in the Water.

Therefore, this minera Mercurii must be taken in its fiery signs, and its moisture, along with the sublimate which settles in the neck of the retorts as a mild smoke, must finally be driven out by a very gradual yet strong heat is driven forth, so one finally obtains a clear, fatty yet tasteless and weak water, from which no other, at most a very faint smell of wild roses or sometimes a little scent of wine-leaves can be perceived.

At least I have not been able to force any other into my imagination. In rectification, however, such a substance smells urinous, and after the seventh rectification, it takes on such a form and power that, when one tastes it on the tongue, one must recoil as from the strongest volatile salt-urinosum; a single drop pierces the tongue like an arrow, but leaves nothing lingering or burning behind, unlike common and corrosive spirit of nitre and its kind. This is the spirit which I, with right and without disguise, call urina puerorum, spiritus Mercurii, and Aqua Regis, together with together with other innumerable names.

In this water dissolves the most highly purified and prepared golden calx, as ice in warm water melts — yet it does not vanish, but is thereby brought into effect by the outward fire.

O! how blessed are all those who know how to accomplish such a thing!

For the dragon, however strong he may consider himself, will not dare approach it, but hides himself within an old oak tree for his safety.

Whether the Sun assists this one, as an enraged lion aids the valiant knight, who, by means of those arrows, is encouraged and strengthened, and without loss seeks out the monster and forces it to fight — to say more about this secret fire would not be fitting; for since you have buried your mysteries so carefully, it would not be proper for me to reveal them myself to the world, to present before the eyes of the world; yet you surely doubt not, that I have of these things, as also of their connections, a painstaking knowledge.

Therefore I pass over all the lesser, though still necessary circumstances, together with those inner workings of Nature, which you have often described as so many labors of the hands, so that I may not, without necessity, write too openly and tediously.

Now speak, O enlightened men, whether after so faithful an account my hope of being graciously received by you rests not upon firm ground, and whether you can with justice refuse my earnest entreaty to be admitted to your fellowship.

For you know well that such knowledge does not arise from our own powers, but from the special grace of God, which follows after long and fervent prayer and sighing.

It therefore lies upon you not to resist such a most high will, but rather to help fulfill it as soon as may be.

Were I permitted to reveal how wonderfully the Almighty, in His wisdom, has vouchsafed me so many graces, you would, without any further explanation, truly and without doubt show yourselves well-disposed toward me. Yet this is, for reasons of conscience, forbidden to me; therefore I withhold this part of my account until you yourselves, through your own astonishment, may bear witness to it as blessed evidence.

If you should lack the means thereto, you may be assured that I intend nothing otherwise than for your benefit.

Here it comes to my mind that the desire of one or more persons to know from me which lovers of chemistry I might have, has perhaps prompted them — both publicly and secretly — to answer me in their writings and letters, but only to revile or to reproach me, rather than to pass themselves off as possessors of the Art — to the former I give beforehand this assurance, that the quarrel will not draw a single word from me in justification, but that I shall meet their defamatory writings with the same composure and silence.

But the others I admonish to spare themselves the trouble, since it will never succeed with them, neither in writing nor by word of mouth, to persuade me. To retain and to repeat by heart the best maxims gathered from the Philosophical Books deceives no one of my kind.

Yet if some God-fearing and art-loving man should gain light from this writing, I gladly grant him this; only let him not forget to thank the Giver of all Good with his whole heart for it, and commend me also in his prayers to the gracious mercy of God, who wills to make use of me as an instrument to glorify Him, whose most holy name be praised, honored, and exalted forever. Amen.

With this I come to the conclusion of my account, and declare that I have made the Spirit of Mercury, as I have recently described it, three times with my own hands, yet have always been painfully hindered from further elaboration of the Work.

The first hindrance was the fear that arose during the construction of my furnace, whereby I was delayed for almost more than a month. When at last I was able to return to it, I indeed sealed the Spirit, united with its bodily form, into the usual Vessel of the Philosophers, set it upon the proper Tripod, more from curiosity than from hope of achieving something good thereby, since at that very time I could not reach the proper degree of fire, I had to remove the sealed matter again, for I have, due to certain circumstances, caused suspicion against my will, and consequently had to fear temporal persecution; therefore I could not proceed further.

I took other lodgings and prepared the Mercury anew, but could not advance further, for the place which I had chosen for an undisturbed solitude suddenly became inhabited and so noisy that this sad hindrance again pressed bitter sighs from me. For the third time I began again from the start, but, alas, it was no more fortunate than before.

So many obstacles, though extraordinary, are quite natural in view of my circumstances; as, according to your own confession, the work itself alone is arduous and laborious difficult or even quite impossible to complete — even if only to keep it secret from the world.

Now Count Bernhardus writes that he was once supposed to be led astray from the right path by a certain possessor of the Art, though he, just like myself, confessed that he had not completed the Work. Yet, as I have already said, through what means God has permitted and promoted my knowledge, you yourselves — although it may seem strange — would never entertain such thoughts; rather, you would be astonished that I have been able to remain silent about it for so long.

There are also fifteen of your then-brethren who did not come to the aforementioned Count until after he had completed his Work — a decision which I, however, cannot bring myself to make.

I therefore humbly beseech you, I beg you, then, since such a true friend is necessary for me, that I may bring my work to its desired end and be delivered from daily torment.

For in the state in which I now find myself, my labor is almost as much as the entire discovery of the secret itself, which I shall nevertheless never again undertake, unless I should see myself wholly abandoned by you, my most honored brothers. Then indeed I would truly be compelled to seek such means and such help as a son of the Art, according to God, should obtain from you alone (however dangerous it may always be) — to seek them from foreign sources.

Yet if one could look into the heart and see how much envy and bitterness would arise in this corrupted age — Great God! what discord and harm would not be stirred up thereby, even among the most honest minds!

Forgive me, most beloved brothers,
if I could even for a moment doubt your unanimous and most necessary help. You promise such assistance to the disciples of wisdom, and your promises are faithful and true. Therefore, I am once again strengthened in my hope and see myself soon blessed and in a position to at last begin that long-desired solitary life, wherein I may, without hindrance, serve God and my needy neighbor.

So let my reasonable yet humble and earnest plea move you, and grant that I may know one of your means, and through the same obtain the most necessary help, which, due to pressing causes, cannot be delayed.

Besides, now is the best time, when one may converse and speak without suspicion and without fear to give, to prepare everything willingly and step by step, so that later, at an opportune time, one may lay one’s hand upon the blessed Work with united zeal, and complete it under divine blessing.

Therefore, I confidently expect that the dear God will so guide your hearts, that I, through both divine and human help, may be blessed, and enjoy the dew of Heaven and the fatness of the Earth, as well as the blessings of the patriarchs in my own house. Before all this, I will praise, worship, and bless the almighty and merciful God forever.

But you, O my dearly revered and most beloved Brothers, I shall with unchanging gratitude and loyalty remain devoted to you until my life’s end.

The End.