And so it is with attraction by suction, such as that of water or wine through a syphon, or the attraction of the magnet on iron, or attraction by filtration, as when you put a strip of cotton in a vessel filled with water, allowing a good length of the strip to hang outside the vessel, and you see the water rise beyond the rim and drip on the ground. And the last attraction is that which takes place through fire, which attracts the surrounding air with all the corpuscles whirling in it, as the water of a river carries along the soil of its bed. And since air is wet and fire is dry, they become attached one to the other. So then, to occupy the space of what is carried away by the fire, more air must come from the vicinity, otherwise a void would be created.”
“Then you deny the Void?”
“Not at all. I say that as soon as it is encountered, nature tries to fill it with atomies, in a battle to conquer its every region. If this were not the case, my Powder of Sympathy could not act, whereas, on the contrary, experience has shown you that it does. Fire with its action provokes a constant affluxion of air, and the divine Hippocrates cleansed an entire province of the plague by having great bonfires set everywhere. Always in time of plague, cats and pigeons are killed and other hot animals, which constantly transpire spirits, so that air will fill the place of the spirits liberated in the course of that evaporation, causing the plague atomies to attach themselves to the feathers and fur of those animals, as the bread taken from an oven attracts to itself the foam of barrels and as wine spoils if you put bread on the top of the barrel.
As, for that matter, when you expose to the air a pound of salt with calcinated and duly fired tartar, which will produce ten pounds of good oil of tartar. The physician of Pope Urban VIII told me the story of a Roman nun who, after too many fasts and prayers, had so heated her body that her bones all dried up. That internal heat, indeed, attracted air that was incorporated in the bones as it does in the salt of tartar, and the air emerged at the point that controls the discharge of the serosity, hence through the bladder, so the poor saint released more than two hundred pounds of urine in twenty-four hours, a miracle that all accepted as proof of her sanctity.”
“But if everything attracts everything, then for what reason do elements and bodies remain separate without the collision of any force with another?”
“Good question. Bodies that have equal weight are more easily joined, and thus oil joins more easily with oil than with water, so we must conclude that what keeps atomies of the same nature firmly together is their rarity or density, as the philosophers you frequent could also easily tell you.”
“And so they have told me, proving it with various kinds of salt, which, however you grind or coagulate them, always resume their natural form, and common salt is always found in cubes with squared facets, and soda niter in columns with six facets, and ammoniacal salt in hexagons, sixpointed, like snow.”
“And the salt of urine forms pentagons, and thus Mr. Davidson explains the form of each of the eighty stones found in the bladder of Monsieur Pelletier. But if bodies of analogous form mingle with more affinity, it is logical that they should attract one another with greater strength. Hence if you burn your hand, you will obtain relief of your suffering by holding it for a bit in front of the fire.”
“My tutor once, when a peasant was bitten by a viper, held the head of the viper to the wound…”
“Of course. The venom, which was seeping towards the heart, returned to its chief source, where there was a greater quantity of it. If in time of plague you carry a jar of toad powder, or perhaps a live toad or spider, or even some arsenic, that poisonous substance will attract the infection of the air. And dried onions ferment in the larder when those of the garden begin to grow.”
“And this explains also birthmarks, when the mother craves something and…”
“Here I would proceed with greater caution. Sometimes analogous phenomena may have different causes, and a man of science must not lend credence to old superstitions. But to return to my powder. What happened when, for a few days, I subjected the cloth stained with our friend’s blood to the action of the Powder? First of all, the sun and the moon, from a great distance, attracted the spirits of the blood found on the bandage, thanks to the heat of the room, and the spirits of vitriol with the blood could not avoid following the same path. On the other hand, the wound continued to expel a great abundance of hot and igneous spirits, thus attracting the circumambient air. This air attracted more air and this attracted still more, until the spirits of the blood and the vitriol, dispersed at a great distance, were finally conjoined with that air, which carried with it other atomies of the same blood. Thus the atomies of the blood coming from the cloth met those coming from the wound, expelling the air as a useless encumbrance, and they were attracted to their prime seat, the wound, and, united to them, the spirits of the vitriol penetrated the flesh.”
“But could you not have applied the vitriol directly to the wound?”
“I could have, as I had the wounded man before me. But what if he had been at some distance? Consider further: if I had applied the vitriol directly to the wound, its corrosive strength would have increased the irritation, whereas transported by the air, it releases only its gentle and balmy component, capable of arresting the blood. It is used also in collyria for the eyes.”
Roberto listened intently, as in the future he would make good use of that advice, which certainly explains the worsening of his condition.
“On the other hand,” d’Igby added, “you must surely not use normal vitriol, as was formerly the practice, doing more harm than good. For myself I procure a vitriol from Cyprus, and first calcine it in the sun: calcination removes the superfluous moisture, as if reducing it to a concentrated broth; and further, the calcination makes the spirits of this substance suitable for transportation by the air. Finally I add some gum tragacanth, which closes the wound more rapidly.”
I have dwelt on what Roberto learned from d’Igby because this discovery was to mark his fate.
It must also be said, to the shame of our friend, that he was fascinated by this revelation not because of any interest in natural science, but only— again and always—through love. In other words, that description of a universe crowded with spirits that unite according to their affinity seemed to him an allegory of falling in love, and he took to frequenting private libraries to seek everything he could find on the weapon salve, which at that time was a great deal, and it would be even more in the years that followed. Advised by Monsieur Gaffarel (in whispers, so the other habitués of the Dupuys, who gave scant credence to these things, could not overhear), he read the Ars Magnesia of Kircher, the Tractatus de magnetica vulnerum curatione of Goclenius, the work of Fracastoro, the Discursus de unguento armario of Fludd, and the Hopolochrisma spongus of Foster. He became learned in order to translate his learning into poetry and to be able one day to shine, eloquent messenger of the universal sympathy, in the same forum where the eloquence of others humiliated him.
For many months (the duration of his stubborn research, in which time he did not advance a single step along the path of conquest), Roberto practiced a sort of principle of double—indeed, multiple—truth, an idea that in Paris many considered at once foolhardy and prudent. During the day he discussed the possible eternity of matter, and at night he wore out his eyes on the little treatises that promised him—albeit in terms of natural philosophy—occult miracles.
In great enterprises we must seek not so much to create opportunities as to take advantage of those that are offered us. One evening at Arthénice’s, after a heated debate on Astrée, the Hostess urged her guests to consider what love and friendship have in common. Roberto then took the floor, observing that the principle of love, whether between friends or between lovers, was not unlike the action of the Powder of Sympathy. At the first sign of interest, he repeated the stories of d’Igby, excluding only that of the urinating sainted nun, then he began discoursing on the theme, ignoring friendship and speaking only of love.
“Love obeys the same laws as the wind, and the winds are always influenced by the places from which they come. If they come from gardens of flowers or simples, they may have the scent of jasmine or of mint or of rosemary, and so they make sailors yearn to reach the land that sends so many promises. Not dissimilar are the amorous spirits that intoxicate the nostrils of the enamoured heart” (and we must forgive Roberto this unfortunate trope).
“The loved heart is a lute, which
