These alchemists smell of sulphur and of brimstone. Wherever they go, they stink like goats. Their odour is so hot and rancid that you can spot them from a mile away. So you can always recognize them from their smell and from their threadbare clothes. If anyone asks them privately why they look so shabby, they have a simple reply. If anyone knew our identities, they say, we would be killed for our secrets. Hush hush. So they deceive the innocent.
Well, enough of this. I will get on with my story. Before we place the pot upon the fire, my master tempers the various metals. Only he can do this – now that he has gone, I can speak freely – and only he knows all the virtues of the lead and silver. He has a fine reputation among the cognoscenti, believe me, although there have been many times when he has come to grief. How does that happen? There are occasions, for example, when the pot explodes or falls to pieces. These metals are so volatile and violent that they can pierce the walls. We have to strengthen the stones with lime and mortar. They sink through the floorboards, or they fly up to the ceiling. Sometimes they just lie scattered on the floor. The expense is terrible. I have never seen the devil, but I am sure that he is somewhere in that room with us. There could not be more violence, or anger, or strife, or sorrow, in hell itself.
When the pot exploded everyone blamed everyone else. Everyone started to fight. Some said that the pot was left on the fire for too long. Some said that the bellows were not strong enough. Then everyone looked at me, because that is my department. ‘Not true,’ said a third. ‘The metals were not mixed correctly.’ ‘Bollocks,’ said a fourth. ‘Stop squabbling and listen to me. The fire should have been kindled from logs of beech, not logs of oak. That is the reason.’ I could never tell who was right or wrong. I only know that the argument went on and on.
‘Enough,’ said our master. ‘What is past cure is past care. I will be more vigilant next time. I am sure that the pot was cracked. That was the cause of the trouble. Well, let it go. Don’t get depressed about it. Cheer up. It’s not the end of the world, is it?’
Then all the debris was swept up in a heap. We put some canvas sheeting on the floor, and piled the debris on to it. Then we picked through the pieces of metal and chemicals, looking for anything we might retrieve. ‘Look,’ one of our number said, ‘there is some of the metal. It is not intact, but we can still use it again. Things may have turned out badly this time, but we will succeed in the end. We have to trust our luck. No merchant is prosperous all the time. There will be occasions when he loses his cargo at sea, and there will be occasions when he sees it safely landed.’
‘All right,’ our master said, ‘you have made your point. I will make sure that everything is done properly next time. If I am wrong, then lay the blame on me. There was something the matter, I know that much.’
Then the argument began again. One man said that the fire was too hot, for example. Hot or cold, it never worked. We never got the desired result, however hard we tried. Still we carried on with the madness. We were lunatic with greed and desire. When we were all together, we looked on one another as Solomon the Wise. Have you heard this proverb – ‘All that glisters is not gold’? Not every apple is good for eating, however sweet it looks. So it was with us. The greatest fool among us was deemed to be the wisest. The most honest and honoured was in fact the biggest thief. You will learn the truth of this before I leave your company. Just listen to my tale.
PART TWO
There is a canon – do you know the man I mean? – who would infect with his presence a town the size of Nineveh or Rome. No one would be able to describe his infinite tricks and subtleties. You could live a thousand years and not be able to fathom all of his craft. No one is his equal in falsehood. He is so sly in his use of words, so slippery in his language, that he can make a fool of anyone he talks to. He could beguile the devil, even though he is one himself. He has duped many people, and will carry on deceiving them as long as he lives. Yet this is the curious thing. Men travel for miles to consult and converse with him; little do they realize that he is a swindler in disguise. If you like, I can explain it to you.
My story is of a canon, as I said, but I beg other canons not to believe that I am slandering their brotherhood. There is a rotten apple in every barrel. God forbid that a whole order should be tarnished by one man’s sins. It is not my intention to defame you, good sirs, only to chastise one of your number. I address my story to everyone, not just to you. You remember well enough that among the twelve apostles there was only one traitor, Judas by name. Why should the other holy men have shared his guilt? Only he was culpable. But I will say this. If there is a Judas in your house, get rid of him at once. It will save you shame and embarrassment later. So do not be angry with me for telling my story. Just listen.
There had lived in London for many years a chantry priest, who earned his living by saying masses for the dead. He was so sweet and – how can I put it? – serviceable to his landlady that she would not hear of him paying anything for his board and lodging. She even bought his fine clothes for him. So he had plenty of ready money to spend. There was gold in his purse. Let me now explain to you how that gold fell into the hands of the malicious canon.
The canon came one day to the priest’s lodging, and asked to borrow some money. ‘Can you lend me a gold mark?’ he asked him. ‘I only need it for three days. Then I will repay you. If I let you down, I give you leave to hang me from the nearest tree!’
The priest took the coin from his purse straight away, and gave it to him; the canon pocketed it, thanked him, and went on his way. Three days later he promptly returned the money, much to the surprise and delight of the priest. ‘Well, really,’ the priest said to him, ‘I don’t mind lending you money, good sir, if you repay it so readily. You are true to your word. That is clear enough. How can I refuse you anything in the future?’
‘What? You never thought I would trick you, did you? Please. Honesty is my middle name. I will always keep my word, to the day I die. God forbid that I should ever lie to you or deceive you. It just won’t happen. Believe me when I say that I have always paid my debts. I have never let anyone down. There is not a false bone in my body.’ He lowered his voice a little. ‘Since you have been so good to me, I will let you in on a little secret. You have been kind to me, and I will be kind in return. I am willing to teach you, if you are willing to learn, the secrets of my work as an alchemist. If you watch carefully, I can assure you that you will see a wonder.’
‘Is that right?’ the priest replied. ‘Go ahead, for God’s sake.’
‘I will do it if you wish. For no other cause but to please you.’
‘Of course.’
Do you see how this villain lured his prey? He granted the priest a favour the priest had not asked for. That kind of favour bodes no good. I will prove that to you in a moment. And so this false canon, this root of iniquity, took great pleasure in betraying good Christian people. The devil planted wickedness in his heart. God give us the grace to withstand his wiles!
The poor priest had no idea, of course. He never saw the trap being laid for him. Oh silly innocent man! You will soon be blinded by avarice. Unfortunate priest, you have lost your way. All unawares, you are falling into the clutches of a fox who will trick you and deceive you. Let me hurry on now to the conclusion – and to your confusion. I will display your folly and stupidity. And I will reveal, as far as I am able, the wickedness of the man who led you forward.