by taking an empty crucible
and placing it on the fire. The flames were fed and the bellows worked until the crucible glowed incandescent. One witness
took a handful of fifteen silver coins, which he was instructed to drop into the pot, allowing them to melt in the by now
searing vessel. Meanwhile a wrapped paper containing a mystery powder was handed by Böttger to the other witness, who was
told to add it to the molten metal. Then the crucible was covered and the substances were allowed to mingle, fuse and, if
Böttger were to be believed, transmute. As the tension in the dingy room mounted and smoke billowed from the crucible, Böttger
removed it from the heat and poured the still white-hot contents into a mold for the audience to examine.
Before their very eyes, the river of silvery white liquid that had flowed out of the blackened pot cooled to a brilliant gold.
The next day, when the molten metal had hardened to an ingot, it was subjected to rigorous examination and testing. Against
everyone's expectations—except Böttger's—the resulting metal turned out to be gold of the very purest quality.
In order to accomplish such an illusion Böttger must at some stage have substituted gold for the silver coins or the hardened
metal that was tested. But exactly how the trick was done, and where he had acquired the necessary gold to do it, remains
a mystery. What is quite clear, however, is that all the witnesses, including the skeptical Zorn, were completely taken in.
Incorrigible show-off though he was, Böttger was not an out-and-out charlatan, and he genuinely believed that transmutation
was possible. He also knew how dangerous games such as this could be. As soon as he had staged his demonstration the foolhardiness
of such an escapade must have dawned on him and he begged Zorn and his friends never to speak of what they had seen. But,
like his earlier witnesses, they were so bewitched by Böttger's manifest skill that they could not prevent themselves from
mentioning it to one or two select colleagues and acquaintances, and thus, inevitably, the news spread.
Zorn was so impressed that he wrote to a colleague in Leipzig to tell him what he had witnessed. “This is to inform [you]
that my former apprentice made the finest gold weighing 3 loth in my presence.…The gold stood up to all tests.” Interestingly,
this letter ended up in the secret files of Augustus the Strong. The story of the experiment also reached the ears of the
famously respected philosopher and mathematician Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. A little more than a month after it took place
he wrote to the wife of the Prince Elector of Hanover: “They say that the philosopher's stone has suddenly appeared here.…I
am reluctant to believe just anything but I dare not refute so many witnesses.” Before long even foreign newspapers were referring
to the incredible transmutation that had happened in Berlin.
Meanwhile the news had also traveled the few streets from the apothecary's shop to the Prussian court. Newly accorded the
title of King of Prussia, Frederick I was every bit as avaricious and ambitious as his Saxon counterpart Augustus II and,
like him, desperate for gold to finance an extravagant lifestyle. A man who could make gold would neatly solve his financial
problems and make him the envy of all Germany. As soon as he heard of these developments he summoned the apothecary Zorn,
ordering him to bring with him the gold Böttger had manufactured. Frederick questioned Zorn closely about the experiment he
had witnessed and, evidently impressed by this firsthand account, instructed him to return the next day with his pupil. In
the meantime he would take charge of the gold.
When Böttger learned that the king wanted to see him he realized that luck and time had run out. Frederick was renowned for
his ruthlessness if crossed, and since Böttger knew that his experiment would be impossible to repeat in