TALE OF THE CANON’S YEOMAN

I served this 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 word.

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 proportion of the things we work with? I shall tell you about the four vapours and seven bodies as it was taught 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 happened that the pot breaks to piece and all is lost. These metals are so violent. Some bury themselves in the earth, some break the walls of the house, some shoot up to the roof. Though the devil never shows himself in our sight, I am sure he is with us all the time, the old scoundrel!

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 is 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.