Prologue to the tale of the canon's yeoman

The pilgrims were nearing Canterbury when they were overtaken by two horsemen. The horses were sweating so much, they must have been ridden at top speed for fully three miles. One rider, dressed in black, was a canon, the other was his yeoman. When they caught up with the pilgrims the canon cried:

"God save this jolly company; I have spurred fast on account ofl you." His yeoman added: "We wished to overtake you, for my lord andl master is eager to ride with such a merry group."

"Can he tell any kind of merry tale with which to gladden this company?" asked the host.

"Who, sir? My master? Why! He is such a marvel he could pave all the road with silver and gold."

"But if your master is such a clever man, why is his coat so dirty and all in rags?" the host asked.

"Oh," said the yeoman, "he is too wise, and what is overdone will never come out right. He misuses his talents. God help him."

"Well," said the host, "since you understand your master so well, tell us where you live, if it can be told."

"On the outskirts of a town," the yeoman answered, "we lurk in comers like thieves afraid to show ourselves."

"Why is your face so discoloured?" the host suddenly asked.

"Saint Peter, bad luck! I am so used to blowing the fire that it changed my colour. We continually creep around the fire. We deceive many people. We borrow gold, be it a pound or more; we melt it and boil it and mix it and hope to make at least two pounds from one. But in spite of all our efforts it always turns out wrong. That science is too far ahead of us, we cannot overtake it and it will sooner turn us to beggars."

Here the canon drew near to listen to his yeoman. A man who is guilty is always suspicious of everyone who talks about him.

"Hold your tongue," he said, "or you shall pay for it dearly. How dare you slander me here in this company. Don't speak of things you should keep secret."

"Go on," said the host, "don't you care a farthing about his threats."

"In faith, I don't care much any longer."

When the canon saw that he could not have his way, he fled in grief and shame.

"Ah," said the yeoman, "now we'll have so me fun. I wish I had the wit to tell you the details of that art. Nevertheless, I'll tell you something of it. Never will I have anything more to do with my master for penny or for pound. What I know I'll tell.

The tale of the canon's yeoman

I served mis canon seven years; but I know no more about Philosophy than I knew before.

I am in debt for gold that I have borrowed, and I know I shall | never live long enough to repay it. Mind my words. When we begin work, our terms are so strange and so scholarly that we seem wonderfully wise to ourselves. Why should I tell you of the exact proportions of the things we work with? I shall tell you about the four vapors and seven bodies as it was tough's to me, in the order my master names them: Sun is gold Mercury is quicksilver Moon is silver Saturn is lead Mars is iron Jupiter is tin Venus is copper by the soul of my father? He who practises this accursed craft of transmuting metals, loses everything he invests in it. He shall not have enough for his needs. It never turns into gold. Let any man who has money become a philosopher; whether he has book-learning or not, the end is just the same. Our losses drive us crazy; but then hoping for success, we start all over again. You can't give up the game. You can't stop until there is nothing left.

Many times it happens that the pot breaks to pieces and all is lost. These metals are so violent. Some bury themselves in the earth, ^'me break the walls of the house, some

• "I'll tell you something, if you care to learn, I In simple language, how I came to turn I My talents toward alchemy and science.

• Watch You can place an absolute reliance I On seeing me work a miracle ere' I go."

• "What" said the priest, "Can that be really “?

• Mother of God! I beg you to proceed"

This was just the very thing to rouge the priest. His eyes shone itch avarice <greed). Because of his avarice he finally fell into the canon's trap. The priest had no idea with whom he dealt. And what was coming to him never felt. Soon to be blinded and by avarice.

"Sir," said the canon, "send your man for an ounce or two of quills silver and let us have it at once. As soon as he returns, you shall steel such a miracle as you never saw before."

When the man brought the quicksilver, he was sent out to bring coals. Then the canon took a crucible from inside his robe and showed I it to the priest. 'Take this instrument which you see in my hand,'; he said. "Put an ounce of quicksilver in it yourself, and with that yoyos begin, in the name of Christ, to become a philosopher. You will now actually see that I shall change this quicksilver into real silver right before your eyes. I will make it into as good and fine silver as the money! that is in your purse, or in mine, or elsewhere. I have here a powder, which will accomplish all this. It is the root of all my skill which I shall show you. Send your man away, so that he should not spy upon us while we work in alchemy."

I have a powder here that cost the earth

And it will make all good, for it's the basis

Of all my power – I'll show you – in these cases.

Send your man off, tell him to wait outside,

And shut the door on him. I won't be spied

Upon at work, for no one else must see

The way we set to work in alchemy.

He gave his orders and the thing was done

The servant was sent packing at a run,

The chamber door was bolted with a jerk

And these philosophers 'got down to work.

The priest then set the vessel on the fire and blew the fire, working very busily, and the canon threw a powder into the crucible white wasn't worth a fly but deceived the priest. Then the canon toile me priest to place a bed of coals above the crucible with his own hands. The canon said, "In what we're going to do, I'll leave the handling of it all to you." "Oh, thank you!" said the priest, who was delighted And couched the coals just as he was invited.

While he was busy, this devilish wretch, the canon, pulled a croft from inside his robe. It was a beech coal which had been carefully prepared before; a hole had been drilled in it and it was filled with an ounce of silver filings, and stoppered with blackened wax to keep the filings in.

The canon took his coal and hiding it in his hand, said, "Friend, you're doing the work wrong, this is not as it should be; let me mend it. You are very hot, I can see you sweat. Here, take this cloth and wipe your face. While the priest was wiping his face, the canon placed his coal in the middle of the coals above the crucible and blew the fire.

When the pot breaks, everyone scoffs and considers himself cheated. Then they all shout at one another. One says, The fire was not laid the way it should. Another says “The flames were not properly blown." That's when I'm frightened because that's my job. A third says, "You are ignorant and stupid, the metal was not properly tempered."

He that seems the wisest is the most foolish when it comes to the proof. And he that seems the most honest is a thief You should know that before I leave you.