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‘God’s love be yours,’ he told the canon. ‘Mary, Mother of God, and all the saints bless you! Let their curse strike me if I do not become your servant and assistant. Teach me the subtleties of this noble craft. I will be your man for ever.’
‘Hold on, sir priest. Let us try this a second time. Once you have learned the details, you will be able to repeat the experiment on your own. Why don’t you take another ounce of quicksilver and cast it in the pan with the silver bar? Do what you did before. Quickly.’
So the priest poured in the quicksilver, scattered the powder over it, and set the pan over the fire. Then he blew into the flames, on the instruction of the canon, and waited for the outcome he desired.
In the meantime the canon was getting ready to fool the priest again. He took out from his pocket a hollow stick, in the end of which he had secreted an ounce of silver filings. He had secured the end with some sealing wax, just as he had done with the piece of coal. While the priest was busy with the fire, the canon once again sprinkled some more powder into the crucible and stood waiting expectantly. You have seen the measure of his falsehood, have you not? May the devil flay his skin! May God desert him in his last hours! Then he took the stick and began stirring the coals. Of course all fell out as before. By which I mean, the filings of the silver fell out. As soon as the wax melted they ran out of the crucible and soon became liquid metal.
What do you think happened, gentlemen? The priest was fooled by the same trick twice. The idiot was so pleased by the sight of the silver that I scarcely have the words to describe his delight. He was delirious. He gave himself up, body and soul, to the deceiver. ‘Yes,’ the canon said, ‘I may be poor, but I have a certain wisdom. And I prophesy this. There is more silver to come. Do you have any copper in the house?’
‘Of course. I know where to find some.’
‘Well, sir, hurry up and get it.’
So the priest went off, found the copper, and brought it back to the canon. As soon as he had it in his hands, the canon carefully weighed out an ounce. No pen can describe, no tongue can tell of, his wickedness and false seeming. He was the minister of lies and deception. He seemed friendly enough to those who did not know him, but in thought and deed he was a fiend. It wearies me to list his crimes, but I do it only to put you on your guard against him and others like him.
This is what he did. He put the ounce of copper into the crucible, and placed it upon the burning coals. Once more he cast in his white powder. Once more he asked the silly priest to blow upon the fire. It was all a trick, of course, a piece of showmanship to fool the gullible. Then he poured the molten copper into a mould, and plunged it into cold water. There was a hiss. Steam arose. At that moment the canon quickly took out from his sleeve the silver ingot he had made before and put it in the water, whereupon it sank to the bottom of the pan. As the water trembled to and fro, he was able to remove the copper and conceal it. The priest, intent upon the fire, had seen nothing. The canon now took him by the arm. ‘Well, sir,’ he said. ‘If this hasn’t worked, then I blame you. I need your help here. Put your hand in the water, and see if you can find anything. Go on.’
So the priest plunged his hand into the pan and, of course, retrieved the ingot of silver. Hey presto! The canon smiled at him and said, ‘Well, brother, let us take these silver ingots to the nearest goldsmith and get them assayed. I am sure they are the genuine article, but I want to have them tested all the same.’ So they visited the local goldsmith and laid their silver on his counter; he tested the three ingots with fire and hammer. They were silver all right. Of course they were.
Who could have been happier than the foolish priest? No nightingale in May, no bird upon the wing, could be so blithe. No young girl could have been more ready to dance and sing. No knight could have been more lusty or fearless. The priest was now desperate to learn the secret of transmutation. ‘How much will it cost me,’ he asked the canon, ‘to learn the formula? I must have it. For God’s sake, tell me.’
‘I must warn you,’ the canon replied, ‘it is not cheap. There are only two people in England who know the secret. One of them is a friar in Oxford. The other one is me. No one else.’
‘I don’t care how much it costs. Just tell me.’
‘It is expensive, as I said. I can let you have the formula for forty pounds. At that price, it is a bargain. If you were not such a dear friend of mine, I would be charging you much more.’
So the priest went back to his chamber, and took out his strongbox. He counted out forty pounds, and brought the money back to the canon in exchange for the secret recipe. It was a great deal to pay for a fraud and a delusion.
‘Sir priest,’ the canon said, ‘I don’t want any great fame. In fact I prefer to remain unknown. So I beg you. Let this be a secret between us. If other people knew of my gift, why, I would be the object of hatred and of envy. I would be a dead man.’
‘God forbid! You don’t need to tell me that. I would rather lose all the money in my possession – I would rather go mad – than betray you.’
‘Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Now I must bid you farewell, sir. Goodbye! Good luck!’ The canon gave the priest the kiss of peace, and left him. The priest never saw him again. He soon discovered that the so-called formula was useless; every experiment failed, and every session ended in tears. He had been completely fooled. The canon was a master of the black art of treachery.
Consider, gentlemen, how people in every walk of life strive for gold. There is so great a desire for it that it has become scarce. I could not count the numbers involved in alchemy, for example. They are led astray by philosophers who speak in misty terms. They never understand a word of their jargon. Their minds are addled. They chatter nonsense like magpies. They never achieve anything. If a man has enough money, he will easily learn how to turn his wealth to nothing.
This is the only transmutation that takes place. Mirth is replaced by sorrow. Full purses are changed into empty purses. The hopes and happiness of those who have lent money are turned into curses and bitterness. They ought to be ashamed. Those who have been burned should flee the fire. I have one message for those of you who dabble in the false art. Abandon it. Leave it before you are ruined. Better late than never. If you lose everything, I am afraid that it will be too late. Seek, but you will not find. You will be like blind Bayard, blundering everywhere, not seeing the snares and traps in front of him. Can he stay on the high road? Of course not. He crashes into rocks and hedges. That is the way of alchemy, too. If you ca
You have heard of Arnaldus of Villanova? In his treatise on alchemy, the Rosarium Philosophorum, or rose-garden of the philosophers, he makes this statement. ‘No man,’ he writes, ‘can mortify mercury without the help of its brother, sulphur.’ The father of alchemy, Hermes Trismegistus, put the same point. He taught that the dragon could be slain only by the death of its brother. By the dragon, he meant mercury. The dragon’s brother is also known as sulphur. Both of them issue from the influence of the sun and the moon, from gold and from silver. ‘And therefore,’ he wrote in warning, ‘let no unlearned man attempt to practise this art. If he has not understood the words of the philosophers, he is not fit to experiment. He is a fool and a charlatan. The work of the alchemist is the great secret of the world, the mystery of mysteries.’