Paracelsus party

With burning incense filling the air, Tara toasted the long-dead alchemist while 12 acolytes in long brown robes chanted softly in the background. A birthday cake with "This is what we think of you - Paracelsus" written in blood-red icing was served after the solemn ceremony, and those in attendance disrobed and dove into the punch bowl. The Paracelsus Punch was a hit, a concoction of pomegranate juice, cherry brandy, vodka and mandrake root.

 

The remarkable cures which this alchemist and physician are credited with only made his enemies hate him more bitterly, because they could not duplicate the miracles of Paracelsus. He not only treated the ore common diseases of his day but is said to have actually cured leprosy, cholera and cancer. His friends claimed that he all but raised the dead. His systems for healing were so unorthodox, however, that slowly but surely his enemies overwhelmed him and again and again forced him to leave town in the middle of the night.

 

There is much controversy concerning the personality of Paracelsus. That he was a rascal with a mean disposition there was no doubt. His hatred for physicians and for women amounted to a mania; for them he had nothing but abuse. As far as can be determined, there was never a love affair in his life. His peculiar appearance and strange lifestyle were always held against him by his enemies. It is believed that his physical abnormalities may have been responsible for much of his bitterness against society which he carried with him throughout all of his intolerant and tempestuous life.

 

His intemperance brought upon him still more persecution, it was reported that even during the time of his professorship at the University of Basel he was seldom sober. Such an accusation is difficult to understand in view of the marvelous mental clarity for which he was noted at all times. The vast amount of writing which he accomplished (the Strassburg Edition of his collected works is in three large volumes, each containing several hundred pages) is a monumental contradiction of the tales of him being drunk all the time.

 

So Happy Birthday you scoundrel Paracelsus, you rude boy and medieval scholar.