A former apprentice of mine, who wishes to remain anonymous, recently authored a remarkable work titled The Cloud of Unknowing, that contains this passage which piqued my interest:
I have learned from some of the students of necromancy (a cult which advocates communication with the wicked spirits), and from others to whom the fiend has appeared in human guise, just what sort of body he is apt to assume. They have told me that when he appears he will usually have only one great nostril, large and wide, and that he will readily toss his head back so that a man can see straight up to his brain, which appears like the fire of hell. A fiend can have no other brain and he is well satisfied if he can induce a man to look at it, for the sight will drive a human being out of his mind forever. (The skilled apprentice of the black art is well aware of this, however, and takes proper precautions so that he does not endanger himself.)
Why did it capture my interest?: Because it reminded me of something I had read years earlier. Now I, of course, as an alchemist of the most pure and humble sort, indulge in none of those arts which have been to known to pleasant society for centuries to be dark, but, I confess, I have, over my many years, found myself in the acquaintance of one or two practitioners of such arts, and as a result I have indulged my curiosity in the elucidation of some of the practices of these arts from time to time—purely out of curiosity, mind you, God forbid you should mistake my intentions—and it is through this perfectly humble and pure pursuit that I managed to become privy to this passage from a compendium of techniques authored by one such acquaintance, of which I was reminded after reading the above passage, and which I believe is of such a high degree of curiosity as to warrant its sharing, dark though it may be:
THREE TECHNIQUES FOR THE SAFEGUARDING OF ONE’S MIND AGAINST THE SIGHT OF THE FIRES OF HELL, WHICH IS A FREQUENT HAZARD INHERENT TO THE ENGAGEMENT IN PRACTICES OF THE SORT DETAILED IN THIS VOLUME:
ONE. A practitioner may ensure himself permanent and reliable protection by inducing blindness by way of staring at the sun, without blinking, for a duration of no less than thirty minutes. The author notes that this is the technique he has deployed for his own protection, to satisfactory effect.
TWO. It is purported that one may achieve the protection of the first technique without the regrettable side effects by instead fixing one’s gaze on the moon. Advocates of this technique proclaim that it is necessary to stare at the full moon on a cloudless night without blinking for a duration of no less than two full hours. The author notes that although he has read the reports of more than one individual who claims to have employed this technique to satisfactory effect, he finds it more likely that these individuals only believe that the technique has worked precisely because they have gone insane, and the author also notes that he makes a habit of putting little stock in the advice of madmen.
THREE. …
(The author goes on to describe an elaborate technique involving the consumption of particular species of amphibian prepared over flames fueled by sulfur and various salts.)
The author of The Cloud of Unknowing continues with a commentary quite characteristic of his personality (with which I am quite familiar as a result of not a few long nights in the laboratory before the author regrettably abandoned my art):
So then, whenever the devil assumes a body, you may be sure that it will in some way reflect his intention. In the case of false zeal which we have been considering, he so inflames the imagination of his contemplatives with the fire of hell that suddenly and imprudently they will lash out with unbelievable conceit. They arrogate to themselves the right to admonish others, often crudely and prematurely. And all this because they have but one spiritual nostril. The division of a man’s nose into two parts suggests that he ought to possess a spiritual discernment enabling him to decide the good from the bad, the bad from the worse, and the good from the better before pronouncing judgment.
The reader can be sure that I, as an alchemist of the most pure and humble sort, do indeed have two well-functioning nostrils. But in a moment of weakness I find it difficult not to be so proud as to contradict my pupil. I do not find it as easy as he suggests it should be to distinguish between the good and the bad—my two nostrils seem to be constantly reporting an intoxicating mix of good and bad in everything that I am so lucky as to smell.
Anyone who has taken a step beyond the threshold of an alchemist’s laboratory, and experienced the olfactory shock presented therein, as the various essences being refined and transmuted fill the room with a thick heady bouquet, knows how true my words are. In the laboratory, one finds it quite difficult to distinguish the good smells from the bad; a successful formulation might have an overwhelming rotten stench, and a hazardous malformulation might have the alluring scent of flowers. A salamander cooked over sulfuric flames has a flavor profile that is at the same time pungent and delightful. I have come to learn that there is no formula of any potency which does not effuse an aroma which can only be described as a curious fusion of good and bad in varying amounts, and this truth is something the aspiring alchemist has to confront and internalize; as such, it is not an art for those with an underdeveloped nose or a squeamish character.
I could raise this question: what is the author of such a pure and transcendent work as The Cloud of Unknowing doing colluding with necromancers? And I could also point out that the other author, the one who produced the curious dark passage quoted above, though as insane as they come, is also one of my oldest and closest friends.