most men and women are of the same way of thinking as Charmian, the attendant on Cleopatra, and "love long life better than figs." And the force of this general feeling is appealed to in the only one of the Mosaic commandments to which a promise is attached, the inducement for honoring father and mother being "that thy days may be long in the land that the Lord thy God giveth thee."
No wonder then that the old alchemists dreamed of a universal medicine that would not only prevent or cure sickness but that would renew the youth of the aged and the feeble, for in this, as in most other attempts at discovery, the wish was father to the thought. That the renewal of youth in the aged was supposed to be within the ability of the magicians and gods of old, we gather from the stories of Medea and Aeson and the ivory shoulder of Pelops, as referred to in Shakespeare, and explained in the "Shakespeare Cyclopedia."
Of the form of this supposed elixir we know very little for the language of the alchemists was so vague and mystical that it is often very difficult to ascertain their meaning with any approach to certainty. The following, which is a fair sample of their metaphorical modes of expressing themselves, is found in the works of Geber. In one of his writings, he exclaims: "Bring me the six lepers that I may cleanse them." Modern commentators explain this as being his mode of telling his readers that he would convert into gold the six inferior or, as they were called by the alchemists, the six imperfect metals. No wonder that Dr. Johnson adopted the idea that the word gibberish (anciently written geberish) owed its origin to an epithet applied to the language of Geber and his tribe.
Some have claimed that the elixir and the philosopher's stone were one and the same thing, and some of the writings of the old alchemists would seem to confirm this view. Thus, at the close of a formula for preparing the philosopher's stone, Carolus Musitanus gives the following admonition:
"Thus friend, you have a description of the universal medicine, not only for curing diseases and prolonging life, but also for transmuting all metals into gold. Give therefore thanks to Almighty God, who, taking pity on human calamities, has at last revealed this inestimable treasure, and made it known for the benefit of all."
And Brande tells us that "nearly all the alchemists attributed the power of prolonging life either to the philosopher's stone or to certain preparations of gold, imagining possibly that the permanence of that metal might be transferred to the human system. The celebrated Descartes is said to have supported such opinions; he told Sir Kenelm Digby that although he would not venture to promise immortality, he was certain that life might be lengthened to the period of that of the Patriarchs. His plan, however, seems to have been the very rational one of limiting all excess of diet and enjoining punctual and frugal meals."
It is an old saying that history repeats itself. About forty years ago certain medical practitioners strongly urged the use of salts of gold in the treatment of disease, and great hopes were entertained in regard to their efficacy. And the Keeley gold cure for drunkards is strongly in evidence, even at the present day.
On the other hand, some have held that the elixir was quite distinct from the stone by which metals might be transmuted into gold. In the second part of "King Henry IV," Falstaff (Act III, Scene 2, line 355), says of Shallow: "it shall go hard but I will make him a philosopher's two stones to me," and this saying of his has given considerable trouble to the commentators.
Warburton's explanation of this expression is, that "there was two stones, one of which was a universal medicine and the other a transmuter of base metals into gold." And in Churchyard's "Discourse and Commendation of those that can make Gold," we read of Remundus, who
Wrate sundry workes, as well doth yet appeare
Of stone for gold, and shewed plaine and cleare
A stone for health.