by Sax Rohmer
At the age of twenty-four, however, he returned to England, and was successful, through the kindly offices of his friend, Sir John Cheek, in securing presentation at the Court of Edward VI, where he was well received, and had bestowed upon him a pension of one hundred crowns. In London he remained for several years, practising as an astrologer, when an event occurred which very nearly terminated his career: this was a charge of heresy and conspiracy against the life of Queen Mary.
He was imprisoned at Hampton Court, “even in the weeke next before the same Whitsuntide that Her Majesty” (i.e.. Elizabeth, prior to her accession) “was there prisoner also.” In one of the documents printed for the Chetham Society in 1851, Dee speaks of “false information given in by one George Ferrys and Prideaux, that I endeavoured by enchantments to destroy Queene Mary.”
Accused of being “a conjuror, a caller of devils, a great doer therein, and so (as some would say) the arche conjuror of this whole kingdom,” Dee retorted that it was “a damnable slander, utterly untrue, on the whole, and in every word and part thereof, as (before the King of Kings) will appere at the dreadful day.”
Suffice it that he was acquitted of attempting the life of the Queen by enchantments, but was committed to prison on the charge of heresy and required to clear himself of that charge to the satisfaction of Edmund Bonner, Bishop of London. Considering Dee’s reputation, the beliefs and superstitions of the times, and the fierce bigotry of his judge, I regard it as one of the most notable points in a singular career that Dee convinced the Bishop of the orthodoxy of his faith. Probably no man ever came nearer to a Smithfield stake and escaped the burning.
Follows a period of comparative placidity. With Elizabeth’s ascent to the throne Dee’s fortunes improved, a circumstance which, viewed side by side with the charges that so nearly had wrought his end, is not without significance.
Elizabeth, during her retirement at Woodstock, had apparently consulted Dee as to the time of Mary’s death, which interview seems to have led to his trial. Dudley, Earl of Leicester, was also sent by Elizabeth to inquire of Dee the day of her coronation; and the philosopher enjoyed so great a favour that a few years afterwards the Queen paid him a visit in person at his home at Mortlake. Indeed, when later he became ill, it was Elizabeth’s own physician who attended him.
But although his livelihood was earned by the practice of astrology, the dream of Dee’s life was to bridge the gulf and explore the mystic borderland. He had studied deeply the mysteries of the Cabala and Talmud, and these had impressed him with the belief that it would be possible for him to hold converse with spirits and angels, and to learn from them the secrets of the universe.
He relates how, one day, when engaged in fervent prayer, the window of his museum, which looked towards the west, suddenly glowed with a dazzling light, in the midst of which, in all his glory, stood the angel Uriel. Stricken with awe and wonder, Dee looked upon this vision, and the angel, smiling graciously, placed in his hands a crystal of convex form, telling him that if he wished to communicate with beings in another sphere, he had but to gaze intently into it, and they would appear and disclose to him all the secrets of futurity; the past and the future should be as the present.
Here, then, we find ourselves face to face with the first real problem in regard to our subject. Had continuous brooding upon mystic lore terminated in obsession? Was the story of Uriel’s appearance with the crystal a mere fabrication? Or must we seek a third solution to the enigma?
I recognize that the point is one of importance; for upon this vision, and with the convex crystal for foundation, was built up the whole amazing structure of John Dee’s after-life. Hence, here lies the clue by means of which we may determine whether he was a madman, an impostor, or that type of being to this day imperfectly classified and comprehended — a clairvoyant. That he was no impostor with regard to crystallomancy will appear later; but the final verdict in the case of John Dee cannot fairly be pronounced until the bewildering mass of documentary material bearing upon the career of this extraordinary man has been properly examined.
Dee has recorded that, although his early experiments with the crystal were partially successful, he was unable afterwards to recall anything of the revelations thus made to him. He decided, then, to confide his secret in another, one who might gaze into the crystal and converse with the spirits, whilst Dee, in another part of the room, noted down these revelations.
Enters Edward Kelly, the man in the black skullcap. His appearance at this point in Dee’s life has about it something Mephistophelean; his personality harmonizes with such infernal origin. He became Dee’s shadow, and that shadow lies black upon the name of the doctor of Mortlake to this day. Let us consider what little is known of the early life of Edward Kelly — perhaps the most sinister figure in the annals of alchemistical philosophy.
According to Anthony à Wood, he first saw the light on August I, 1555, the third year of the reign of Queen Mary, at Worcester. Educated in his native city until the age of seventeen, he is supposed to have gone up to Oxford. The registers of that University, however, contain no record of any Edward Kelly being entered at the period, and it has been suggested that his real name was Talbot. Three persons of the latter name were entered about this time at Gloucester Hall. In any case, the evidence of Kelly’s residence at Oxford is of a very slender character; but if his study at the University be doubted, there is no reason to doubt that he had occasion to change his name, as will be seen later.
Certain authorities state that he was trained as an apothecary, and thus acquired some skill in chemistry; but this is doubtful, for he entered the legal profession and became a notary, practising in London (or, according to another account, in Lancaster). It was at any rate in the latter town that he came under official notice. —
A skilful penman, Kelly had been at great pains to acquaint himself with, and to become proficient in, archaic English, and, as a native of Worcester, he had also studied Welsh. By the aid of these accomplishments he was accused of forging title deeds (a dreadful crime in those days), but it must be granted that the evidence upon which he was indicted was of a very unsatisfactory nature. Despite this, it is almost certain that he was pilloried in Lancaster, and suffered the loss of both ears — a mutilation degrading enough in any man, but fatal to a philosopher.
Hereafter, then, we meet Edward Kelly arrayed in a black skull-cap which, fitting closely over his head and descending over his cheeks, not only conceals his loss, but lends him an appearance at once oracular and sinister. So well did he preserve his disgraceful secret that even Dee, with whom he lived for so many years, never discovered it.
II. THE IVORY CASKETS
The adventures and intrigues of Edward Kelly, his imprisonments, his abrupt transition from utter poverty to opulence, his yet more amazing leap from the state of a hunted fugitive to that of a noble of Bohemia — lastly, his disgrace, final incarceration, and dramatic death, make up a real life-story unsurpassed by anything in sensational fiction.
Following the trial which resulted in the loss of his ears, he evidently fled to Wales where, adopting a nomadic life, he successfully concealed himself from the ferocious law of the land, which he seemingly had good reason to dread. Let us follow his furtive, black-capped figure through the Welsh wilds, for his wanderings are to lead him to a wondrous discovery.
What emotions must have claimed the lonely shepherd, tending his flock upon a mountain side, when, along the harsh and stony path below, he perceived a weird, repellent stranger making his way! Wrapped in his long cloak, his head so covered by his closely fitting skull-cap that only a small part of his features remained visible, this furtive figure must have struck awe and dread into the heart of such a simple peasant, have persuaded him that he looked upon an evil thing — an envoy infernal.
Closely enwrapped, and with more substantial fears than these for company, Edward Kelly, making his way to the neighbourhood of Glastonbury Abbey, came to a lonely inn and there sought shelter for
the night. We are indebted to Louis Figuier for an account of what befell him there.
Finding himself temporarily in safety, Kelly evidently shook off the incubus of dread which rarely left him, and engaged the innkeeper in conversation. Growing confidential — and the passage of the ages has not vastly changed the temperament of mine host — the latter exhibited to his guest an old manuscript which local erudition had shown itself inadequate to decipher.
Kelly, we have seen, was no stranger to the ancient writings, and a glance sufficed to convince him that the MS. was in the old Welsh language and treated of the transmutation of metals. Upon inquiry he learnt that it had been brought to light during one of those outbursts of religious fanaticism so common in the reign of Elizabeth.
The sepulchre of a deceased bishop in a neighbouring church had been violated; but this sacrilege was only rewarded by the discovery of the manuscript, which the despoilers were not even able to read, and by that of two small ivory caskets, containing respectively a red and white powder, to their eyes equally valueless. The casket containing the red powder they broke, and some of its contents was lost; but the powder which remained, the second casket, and the manuscript they disposed of to the innkeeper for a flagon of wine.
How the eyes of the saturnine visitor must have gleamed when the whole of this treasure-trove was laid before him! Few people of education, at that day, were ignorant of the red and white tinctures which were essential instruments for the performance of the magnum opus. Alchemy, indeed, claimed the attention of the learned throughout the civilized world, and Kelly promptly offered one guinea for the entire collection, an offer which the innkeeper as promptly accepted.
In this manner, then, Kelly became the possessor of the book of St. Dunstan and the alchemical powders of which it treated. I hope, in a later chapter, to quote some fragments of St. Dunstan; for the present my purpose will be served if I explain that St. Dunstan, who died Archbishop of Canterbury, is by some supposed to have been an alchemist, and has been regarded as the patron saint of goldsmiths; but an anonymous authority says that this prelate “had no other elixir or philosopher’s stone than the gold and silver, which, by the benefit of fishing, was obtained, whereby the King’s plate and bullion was procured. For the advancement of the fishing trade, he did advise that three fish days be kept in every week, which caused also more abstinence, and hence the proverb that St. Dunstan took the devil by the nose with his pincers.”
With his hermetic treasures, Edward Kelly, in whom ambition must have silenced fear, next appears in London, where we definitely hear of him in partnership with Dr. Dee. In what way and at what time these two became acquainted is a debatable point; but we soon find Kelly assisting Dee in his experiments with the crystal.
Shortly after commencing their mystical operations, certain spirits appeared to Kelly, and held extraordinary discourses with him, all of which were duly taken down by Dee.
The latter, convinced that his colleague was an excellent and devout medium, with the growing success of their joint experiments took Kelly more and more into his confidence. Their conversation was constantly upon the subject of the hermetic mysteries, each giving the other accounts of his inquiries into the various sciences, and discussing the possibilities offered of a great reputation and future by the successful transmutation of base metal into pure gold. Kelly claimed that he could do this, and, as dramatic evidence, put before the amazed doctor the Glastonbury manuscript and the caskets containing the red and white powders.
We have seen that Dee practised astrology, which brought him great profits. According to one authority, his fame as an astrologer had spread over the country, and even to the Continent. From all points of the compass came people anxious to have their nativities cast by the doctor of Mortlake, and to behold the man who, claiming, as one authority says, to possess the elixir of life, asserted that he would never die. The same writer also states that Dee carried on a most profitable trade, but spent so much in drugs and metals, to work out some peculiar process of transmutation, that he never became rich. On the other hand, we read from a different source that:
“Dr. Dee has been popularly regarded as an alchemist with about as much reason as he has been regarded a magician. No doubt he knew something of alchemy before he became acquainted with Kelly, and... he conducted a phenomenal series of experiments in artificial lucidity through the medium of his celebrated crystal; but he was not an alchemist on the one hand, nor a necromancer and a dealer with devils on the other. He was actually a learned mathematical philosopher, who was to some extent absorbed by the physics and metaphysics of the hermetic traditions.”
Dee, then, was drawn headlong into the consuming science by the glamour of the ivory caskets of St. Dunstan; for he readily and eagerly financed the schemes of his ambitious and sordid-minded partner.
They lost no time in getting to work, and soon were surrounded by their crucibles, retorts, and furnaces. Much labour was spent in experiments; much gold, not the manufactured metal, but Dee’s own coin of the realm, was expended in efforts to produce it by artificial means. Eventually, we are told, they “successfully accomplished a transmutation of metals which proved the richness of Kelly’s tincture to be I upon 272,230; but they lost much gold in experiments before they knew the extent of its power.”
I shall ask you, here, to glance at one or two entries in Dr. Dee’s “private diary,” for they serve to show that he was convinced of Kelly’s success in transmutation, and that he regarded his companion as an adept alchemist.
Thus:
“May 10, 1588. E. K. did open the great secret to me. God be thanked.”
And:
“Dec. 14th. Mr. Edward Kelly gave me the water, earth, and all.”
It should be mentioned, as no other opportunity may present itself, that according to John Weever, the Lancashire author, an accusation of necromancy was levelled against Kelly; so that he may, as a wellknown modern authority points out, in occult matters have acted in good faith, and believed that there was efficacy in those magical processes of which crystallomancy formed a part.
The charge was to this effect: “That he caused a poor man who had been buried in the yard belonging to Law Church, near to Wotton-in-the-Dale, to be taken out of his grave (that is, evoked the spirit of the departed) and to answer to such questions that he then propounded to him.” (A Bodleian MS. states that Weever’s authority was an accomplice of Kelly and actually present at the unholy transaction.)
But despite his enthusiasm at this time regarding the magnum opus, Dr. Dee’s profound interest in crystal-gazing remained, and grew greater with the passage of each year. His alchemical notes are scanty, whilst those dealing with planetary spirits and other invisible intelligences, summoned through the mediation of Kelly and the crystal, are exhaustive. Selections alone from them fill a large folio volume, and they are admitted to constitute the most extraordinary account extant in the language of intercourse with the borderland. Respecting these communications of Kelly, a well-known English authority says:
“In the present state of psychological knowledge, imperfect as it still is, it is, on the one hand, too late to deny that a state of lucidity can be frequently induced by the mediation of crystals and similar transparent substances; whilst it is evident, on the other hand, from the history of the subject, that beyond the bare fact and such possibilities as may be reasonably attached to it, nothing of real moment has resulted from any such experiments. Edward Kelly may have lost his ears for forgery, or he may have deserved to be deprived of them, and he may still have been a genuine clairvoyant, for the faculty does not suppose an advanced or even tolerable morality in its possessor. He may equally have been guiltless of any otherwise illegal practices, and yet may have shamefully imposed upon his friend. There is only one fact of importance — that Edward Kelly, apparently by no desert of his own, came into possession of the two tinctures of hermetic philosophy. Convict or martyr, seer or cheating conjurer, knave or saint, matters nothing in co
mparison. He may further have accounted for his possession of the tinctures by a romantic fiction, but this itself is trivial. At the same time, with regard to his visions, it must be admitted that either he was a clairvoyant of advanced grade, or he was a man of most ingenious invention.”
III. COUNT LASKI, AND THE JOURNEY TO POLAND
At about the time that Dee and Kelly were commencing their experiments with the two hermetic tinctures, the doctor made the acquaintaince of a wealthy Polish noble, Albert Laski, Count Palatine of Siradz. This was in May 1583. The distinguished foreigner, whilst making a tour of the learned centres of the kingdom, informed the Earl of Leicester that he should not have visited Oxford, had he not anticipated meeting Dr. Dee there.
The earl promised that he would introduce the count to the renowned doctor of Mortlake on their return to London; and in accordance with this promise he brought the two together a few days later. The meeting took place in the ante-chamber of Queen Elizabeth, whilst both were awaiting audience of Her Majesty.
We are told by Krasinski that Count Albert Laski was received in England by Queen Elizabeth with great distinction; and the honours which were accorded him during his visit to Oxford, by special command of the Queen, were such as are usually reserved for reigning princes. This Polish nobleman was one of the delegates sent to France, in order to announce to Henri de Valois, later Henri III of France, his election to the throne of Poland. The extraordinary prodigality of Count Laski rendered even his own enormous wealth insufficient to defray his expenses, and he therefore threw himself into the study of alchemy.
Laski found the society of Dr. Dee extremely congenial, and he became a frequent visitor to the house at Mortlake. Fitting entertainment of the Pole and his retinue was a costly matter, and we find Dr. Dee, in the Autobiographical Tracts, writing the following:
