The Damnation of Jacques Bazard

The Two-Vessel Operation - or the damnation of Jaques Bazard

The heavy wooden door creaked on its rusty hinges with a mournful squeak. "Come in, father," the guard said. "But be careful. You never know what these madmen might do." The old Dominican friar nodded and entered the cell. Immediately, he was met with a strong smell of mildew and urine, but for too many years he had brought comfort to the condemned, so the foul miasma that lingered in the tower's dungeons no longer affected him. Only his bones had never grown accustomed to the cold dampness seeping from the gray sandstone walls, and every joint ached in a way that tested his Christian endurance. The cell was shrouded in twilight, with the only shaft of light, livid and lifeless, coming from a narrow slit high up on one wall. The man, chained at the wrists and ankles, sat on the filthy floor right in the center of the light, his gaze fixed on the slit.

The friar was not surprised. Often, the condemned awaited their fate in this position, as if their spirit sought to absorb every last ray of light before plunging into the dark abyss of the unknown. However, it struck him as odd that the prisoner, unlike others, did not even turn his head to see who had entered the cell.

"My son, be strong," the friar said. "You are about to meet our Creator. Do you wish to rid yourself of your sins?"

The man did not respond. He continued staring at the slit as if he hadn't heard. The Dominican approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "My son, I understand your torment..."

But the man suddenly turned, grabbed the friar's habit, and forced him to kneel. Then he brought his face within an inch of the old man's and whispered:

"My torment! What do you know about torment?"

"My son," the Dominican stammered, terrified by the crazed light in the man's eyes, "I come to bring you hope."

The man released the habit and burst into cruel laughter. He lifted his arms to show his chains. "Can your hope break these?" he asked.

"No," the Dominican replied, somewhat reassured. "But we can untie the bonds of the spirit. Confess your sins and repent of your guilt. God is merciful: trust in Him."

The man fixed the old friar with a scornful gaze. "My guilt... Yes... Murder of my wife, they said at the trial. I killed her and then burned her corpse. If only my crime were that simple, brother, perhaps I could ask God for forgiveness. But my sin is such that the entire universe could not atone for it. What good would repentance do?"

"No matter the guilt," the friar insisted, "God's mercy is infinite. With a single word, He can free the soul from the anguish that oppresses it. Pray with me, my son."

"My soul is dead, old friar," the man replied. "It lies silent and cold beneath the devil's feet, and God has abandoned me for ages. There is nothing left in me to liberate, nothing that you, poor Dominican, can remedy."

"I don't understand..." The friar said, "You yourself asked for my visit, and now you doubt me. Your words reach me in darkness."

The man did not reply. He rose slowly and walked to the bench fixed to the wall. In the grim silence of the cell, the clinking of the chains scraping across the floor seemed to come from afar, like an unreal echo of the abyss that appeared ready to open beneath their feet at any moment. The friar made the sign of the cross. He felt a malevolent presence in the heavy air of the dungeon, a dark and threatening force watching them, freezing the blood in his veins.

"You feel it too, don't you?" the man whispered from the bench, rolling his feverish eyes around.

- He is here and he doesn't leave me for a moment. - Who? I don't see anyone," the friar replied, even more frightened. - He is the one who was supposed to be my slave and now he is my master. He doesn't show himself to you, but I see him. Look, now the beast is behind your back, bringing his grinning face close to your cheek. Listen, friar, don't you feel his sulfurous breath on your ear?

The friar stiffened and held his breath, while cold drops of sweat beaded on his forehead. He turned around slowly. No one was there.

"It's the fever that makes you have these fantasies," he said with a strained smile, then went to sit on the bench next to the man. - Why did you call me if you don't intend to confess?

The man ran a thin hand over his face, then, as if it cost him immense effort, he whispered:

"Someone has to know. Someone has to know the truth, so that others don't lose their way and reason as I have".

"Speak, my son. What is the truth that torments you so much?"

"Have you ever heard of the Two-Vessel Operation? No, you certainly know nothing about the most occult secret that has ever existed. Well, friar, strengthen your spirit, because now cursed words will come out of my mouth, born in the very bowels of hell". This is what the man narrates:

"My name is Jacques Emile Bazard, and I was born in the year of our Lord 1584 into a wealthy family from Lyon. Since childhood, I was drawn to the dark and mysterious side of what was happening around me, and I asked questions that no one could answer. With an introverted and solitary temperament, I had no friends and did not enjoy spending time in childish pastimes that so entertained my peers. I preferred to go alone into the family park and observe every phenomenon of nature, trying to uncover the secrets hidden in the silent forms of life. I would spend hours contemplating ants, wondering what ineffable universes they could perceive with their delicate antennae. I looked at the wonder of mushrooms, which a strange spell transforms them now into delicious food, now into bitter and poisonous flesh. I admired the majestic trees, which, by virtue of an arcane force, rise to heaven from tiny seeds. And the rain that falls from the clouds, and the snow with its gentle flakes, and thunder and lightning, and the moon and stars...

In the innocent unconsciousness of childhood, the infamous seed of adult folly, I yearned for knowledge and, together, the power that always accompanies it. I dreamed that one day my thought could penetrate the dense matter, and that it could shape it to my desire and whim. I saw myself seated on the throne of the Elementals, and at my feet Earth and Air, Water and Fire waiting submissively for the gesture of my command.

At the age of twelve, I was entrusted to the care of a pedagogue, who, with the rod and mortification, taught me Greek and Latin, mathematics, and philosophy. Ah, how I understood then that he, with all his knowledge, was dedicated to dead matter rather than the life-giving forces. It soon bored me. Then I began to be interested in forbidden books, poor copies that circulated secretly among students and that the academic authorities tried in vain to ban. Thus, my dear friar, I came to know the great works of your brethren, whose names still fill you with dread."

The man paused briefly and, looking at the friar, said:

"From the expression on your face, I see that you have understood: I am speaking of Messer Bruno and Tommaso Campanella".

The old man jumped on the bench and made the sign of the cross three times.

"Silence! They were Dominican demons possessed! Do not utter their cursed names, architects of all misfortune!"

The man twisted his mouth into an ironic grin and continued his story.

"I read and studied every word of *The Expulsion of the Triumphant Beast*, my intelligence fed on *On the Shadows of Ideas* and *Heroic Frenzies*. My teacher was the remarkable work *On the Sense of Things and Magic*, which I learned entirely by heart. But the more I read, the more my spirit avidly desired more knowledge. I began to search among forgotten books in libraries for ancient texts..." I became acquainted with the writings of Cornelius Agrippa and Paracelsus, Messer Della Riviera and Eck of Sulzbach. For three years, I read everything that could be found in Paris on the subjects of magic and esotericism. Then, one day, I received sudden news of my parents' death, both of them taken by a prolific and contagious disease within a short time of each other. Upon returning to Lyon, I had to dedicate myself entirely to administering the estate I had inherited, and completely absorbed by these new responsibilities, I abandoned my study of magic.

I continued my father's business, the trade of gold which arrived in abundance from Spain, and after flowing through a thousand channels, ended up in the pockets of Italian and German bankers. This occupied me for several years, during which time I travelled throughout Europe, visiting its most important cities and meeting its wealthiest and most influential people.

It was during one of these journeys that my old passion was reignited. I found myself in Florence, invited to a reception at the home of a banker whose name I can no longer recall, but it has no bearing on my story. Receptions have always bored me, and this time was no different; I impatiently waited for the hour when I could leave without being impolite.

Meanwhile, I sat with a group of businessmen discussing profits and losses, risk and prudence. I pretended to follow their conversations with great interest, but in reality, my thoughts wandered freely like a ship without a helmsman. Around midpoint in the evening, I was introduced to one Ludovico Sileno, a man nearing sixty who immediately struck me with his pallid complexion and intense gaze. After the initial pleasantries, he fixed me with an odd look and suddenly exclaimed:

"

Transmutemini de lapidibus mortuis in vivos lapidis philosophicos!

" (From dead stones, transmutate into living philosophical stones!)

So unexpected was this that I had to grab the edge of the table to keep from falling. It was an ancient alchemical saying that I had long forgotten, and it suddenly plunged me back into old memories, which whirled tempestuously in my heart with such violence as to make me nauseous and giddy. That phrase, in a single instant, had revealed the state I found myself in, and which, now I understood, I had been trying to hide from myself all this time.

Despite the apparent frenzy of activity, always chasing after good deals, I was a dead stone, one without spirit or power. And here, a stranger laid bare the reality of my life and, in a single sentence, courted power, with the determined force of heart and the calm patience of waiting. But time passed, and my restlessness grew.

It had been nearly eight years since I had followed my master, and I had yet to achieve any results. One day, I complained about this, and for the first time, I saw Sileno lose his temper:

"Do you believe that you can violate the Wet Womb with impunity? Would you have me subject you to the practices of Philosophical Vinegar or the torpid rites of the Two-Vessel Operation? If you wish to attain power through these means, it would be better for you to look elsewhere, for I will never be the architect of your misfortunes!"

He then calmed down a bit and added:

"Remember that the magician's power is founded on the stable equilibrium of Water and Fire. The fire of the spirit penetrates the water of the soul, vitalizes it, and purifies it, so that will and sentiment become one and the same." But the Fire of the Great Work is not a blazing flame, but rather a fixed ember, a tempered and continuous ardor that slowly dries out the superfluous and impure moistures of Water. This is the only path, long and arduous, that will allow you to master the powers instead of becoming their slave. These were the words I had already heard many times, and as often happens when a truth is repeated too often, I began to doubt them. However, in Sileno's words there was a reference that immediately caught my attention: it was the Operation of the Two Vessels. While I had sufficient information about the Philosophical Vinegar, a practice that involved strict asceticism and the use of drugs, this was the first time I had heard about the Operation of the Two Vessels. Naturally, I refrained from questioning Sileno, but I promised myself to secretly spy on the master, certain that sooner or later I would discover the true source of his knowledge. And so it happened, although I had to wait a long time before I achieved my goal.

At that time, I and the master lived in an old house a few leagues from Florence. Since our practices had to remain secret, we set up our magic laboratory in the basement. There was a large room furnished with everything needed for the rituals, and two identical small rooms, one for me and one for Sileno, where each of us retired to study and meditate. They were small spaces, containing only a bookshelf, a desk with a candlestick, and a padded chair.

Several times, taking advantage of my master's absence, I had inspected Sileno's room and searched among his books and papers for something that mentioned the Operation of the Two Vessels, but I never found anything. Three years had passed since the day the master had first mentioned it, and he had never spoken of it again. However, I had not forgotten.

One day, Sileno had to go to Florence to buy certain essences useful for our purposes, and although I had no hope, I returned to his study to examine, perhaps for the hundredth time, his notes. I lit the three candles on the candlestick and started checking the numerous scrolls rolled up in disorder on the desk. It didn't take me long to see that most of them were celestial maps, formulas, and pentacle tracings—all things I already knew. But suddenly, I spotted a small scroll that I was certain I had never seen before.

I brought the candlestick closer to the walls and corners of the room, but I couldn't find any cracks. Yet there had to be a secret door; I was sure of it. I started reflecting: the only place where it could be hidden was behind the bookshelf, but it was a solid walnut piece of furniture, as tall as the ceiling. Certainly, an old man who had already passed his seventies would never have been able to move it. But there was still one last possibility.

I began frantically removing the books that were lined up on the shelf, not even bothering to note their order for when I would put them back, and finally my efforts were rewarded. The back of the bookshelf was not solid but made up of a series of panels, and it wasn't difficult for me to identify the removable one. I moved the panel with my heart pounding furiously in my chest, and when I saw a deep compartment filled with dozens of scrolls, papyrus rolls, and ancient books, my breath caught in my throat, and I started sweating profusely.

In excitement, I began examining all this material with eyes that seemed ready to pop out of their sockets. Magic texts believed to be lost forever were right in front of me. There was William of Auvergne's *De Pharmaco Astrale*, Al-Khwarizmi's *Liber Ysagogarum Alchorismi*, Firmicus Maternus' *Matheseos*, and many others, written in Latin, Greek, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Persian. Unique works whose value was inestimable. I began to immerse myself in reading, forgetting everything, lost in the ethereal word of philosophy. And I didn't even notice that the candles had almost burned down completely and the room had filled with wax vapors.

A particularly ancient and damaged scroll at several points caught my attention. It must have been at least three hundred years old, and the ribbon that held it rolled up was almost entirely consumed. I unrolled it with extreme caution, and when I saw the heading, I felt faint. Painted in golden letters, it read: "Opus Magicum Binis Vasis." The Magical Two-Vessel Operation! Here it is! I had found it! At that moment, a skinny figure appeared at the study door, and when he saw what I was doing, he screamed and rushed towards me. It was Sileno.

"I've thought about that moment many times," the man said, passing a hand over his face. "Yet even today, I don't know exactly what force drove my will. Many feelings stirred in my heart. There was the excitement of discovery and the fear of losing it, resentment towards the master who had kept it hidden from me, and anger at being caught rummaging through his study, and shame and pride... Then I saw Sileno's contorted face and his skeletal index finger pointing at me in accusation. That finger made me lose all reason. I lifted the heavy candlestick and brought it down with force on the old man's head. A crunch of broken bones, and blood immediately stained his white hair. That's how Ludovico Sileno, the last disciple of Cardano, died."

"Omnipotent Lord!" the Dominican friar exclaimed. "What an atrocity! And what did you do next?" The man fixed his gaze on the bright crack at the top of the wall and sighed deeply. "That was the beginning," he said. "What happened after was just a consequence. Follow me patiently, and everything will be clear."

"My first thought wasn't about the horror of the murder I had just committed. At that moment, I couldn't think of anything else but the fact that the secret of the Operation of Two Vases was finally in my possession. I grabbed the parchment and rushed out of the study. I had to leave immediately, leave Italy forever, and take refuge in some distant village in France. I was sure it would be weeks, if not months, before Sileno's body was discovered. So I left, taking with me very few things, besides, of course, the precious parchment. About ten days later, I reached a small town in Provence and settled in a country house. No one could connect me to Sileno, but I still didn't trust going to Lyon. I wanted to be certain that the old magician's murder was completely forgotten before showing myself in society again. During my forced retreat, I set to work deciphering the parchment. Indeed, it was damaged in several places, and many words were illegible. After a month, however, I had managed to reconstruct it almost entirely; only a couple of final sentences were missing, but they had to be the usual valedictions of the author and were irrelevant to my purposes. The magical procedure was described in full and with great detail, so there was nothing left but to prepare for its execution. In truth, the Waters can be overcome in two ways: by resistance, which was the path Sileno wanted me to follow, or by force, which was the path indicated by the Operation of Two Vases. In any case, the reward for whoever succeeds is dominion over demonic entities and power over all physical nature."

The old Dominican agitated on the bench where he sat. "But this is despicable heresy!" he exclaimed. "Power belongs only to God!" Jacques shook his head and replied, "No one disputes God's supreme power, but just as He created angels and archangels to govern the world of men, so too did He create men to govern the world of demons."

"What folly! The Devil is the Enemy, the evil tempter who wants to drag souls into the horrid inn of his hell! Man must flee from him at every moment of his life, seeking refuge in God's loving arms. That alone is the path to salvation!"

"My good Dominican," the other replied, "you point to the way of weakness, which certainly does not befit the righteous pride of man, created in the image and likeness of God. Listen. Man today is like a fallen king, and for that reason, he is forced to flee before demons. Thus, those who should be his subjects have instead become his worst enemies." Now you see this king hide and seek help from the Divine Artificer, yet I tell you that when he has won his battle and again sits on his throne, then all those who now conspire for his ruin will throw themselves at his feet, begging for mercy. The magician is none other than this victorious king, and it was my desire to become such. But I don't have much time left, let me tell you what happened next.

"No differently from other practices, the Operation of the Two Vessels aimed at the victory of the Spirit over the Waters of Becoming, the Waters of Life. It is a method that acts directly on the most perfect and powerful earthly symbol of Becoming: Woman, because Woman is corrosive Water that dissolves male 'Gold. In the conception of the womb, the son is nothing other than incarnate Becoming, his living material substance. But in the embrace with the woman, man loses himself like a drop in the waves of the ocean, and he empties himself of his seed and loses part of his life. Sex is the first cause of man's weakness, and for this reason your religion, old friar, imposes asceticism of chastity on its ministers. But abstinence is not an affirmation of strength, it is only another aspect of eternal fleeing.