The Canterbury Tales: A Retelling by Peter Ackroyd (41 page)

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.

Do you think I am talking about my master? Not at all. I am talking about another canon, a hundred times more skilful than the man I serve. He has betrayed more people than you can imagine. It is impossible to describe all of his falsehoods. Whenever I talk about him, my cheeks grow red with shame. Well, they would grow red if they could. I know well enough that I have no colour left in my face. The glow left my cheeks when I first began working among the stinks and fumes. Anyway, listen to the false canon.

‘Sir,’ he said to the priest, ‘get your servant to buy some quicksilver. Tell him to hurry. Two or three ounces of the stuff will suffice. When he comes back with it, I will show you a miracle. Something you have never seen before.’

‘Of course,’ replied the priest. ‘Right away.’ So he ordered his servant to go to the apothecary, and purchase three ounces of quicksilver. The boy rushed off, and returned very quickly with the material. He gave it to the canon, who laid it down carefully. The canon then asked the servant to bring some coals, and to start a fire. This was promptly done.

Once the coals had started burning the canon took a crucible from the folds of his cloak. He showed it to the priest. ‘Take hold of it,’ he said. ‘I want you to do this for yourself. Pour into this crucible an ounce of the quicksilver. In the name of Christ, we will make an alchemist of you yet. There are very few people to whom I would confide my secrets. I will show you how to harden this quicksilver. In front of your eyes I will make it as fine and as durable as the silver in your purse. You can test it with your teeth, if you like. If you prove me wrong, then you can reveal me as a liar and a fraud to the whole world. I have a powder here, in my pocket, that will do all. It cost me a lot of money, but it is worth it. It is the agent of all my work, as you shall soon see. Tell your boy to leave the room, by the way, and shut the door behind him. No one else must learn our secrets.’

So the silly priest obeyed him, got rid of the servant, and closed the door. Then they set to work. At the bidding of the false canon he put the crucible on the burning coals, and blew upon the fire with all his might. Then the canon sprinkled some white powder into the crucible. I don’t know what it was – chalk, powdered glass, something like that. Whatever it was, it was worthless. It was only there to fool the priest. The canon told him to pile up the coals. ‘In token of the great love I bear you,’ he said, ‘I will show you how your own two hands can work the miracle.’

‘God save you! A thousand thanks!’ replied the priest, who was now busily stoking up the fire.

While he was occupied, the false canon – this foul wretch, this servant of the devil – took out from his sleeve a piece of charcoal made of beechwood. A little hole had been drilled in the side of this coal, which the canon had filled up with metal filings; he had then sealed the hole with wax, so that none of the silver could escape. He had made this device a few hours before, and had brought it with him. I will tell you later what other tools he carried with him to deceive his victim. He wanted to rob the priest of everything before he left him. It angers me when I talk about him. I want to catch him. I want to trap him. But he is here and there and everywhere. He is so various. He is as fluid as quicksilver itself.

Now listen carefully to what followed. He hid the hollow coal in his hand while the priest was bent over the fire. ‘Dear friend,’ he said, ‘you are doing this wrong. Let me have a go. I do feel sorry for you, too, sweating like a pig. Here. Take my handkerchief. Dry your face.’ While the priest was wiping his eyes, the canon quickly slipped the coal into the middle of the crucible. It was soon burning away merrily, just like all the others.

‘Let us stop for a drink,’ the canon said. ‘We deserve it. All will be well now, I know it. Sit down for a moment and rest.’ When the hollow coal was ablaze, of course, the silver filings blended together and flowed into the bottom of the crucible. The priest knew nothing of the trick, and assumed that all the coals were alike. He could not see the deception the canon had practised on him. Now the alchemist saw his opportunity. ‘Come over here, sir,’ he said, ‘and stand by me. I know very well that you do not have a mould for the metal. Can you go outside, and find or purchase a block of chalk. I will carve it into the proper shape. At the same time can you bring with you a bowl or pan of cold water? Then you will witness the wonderful workings of the art. I know you trust me but, to be doubly sure, I will not leave your sight. I will accompany you everywhere you go.’

So they left the chamber, carefully locking it behind them. They found the materials and, to make a long story short, the canon carved the chalk into the shape of an oblong mould. How did he know how to mould it? When the priest was not looking he took a bar of silver from the sleeve of his gown and fashioned the mould around it; then he concealed the silver in his sleeve once more. It weighed no more than an ounce. You will hear more about this bar later on.

For his next trick the canon poured the material from the fire into the mould, and then plunged it into cold water. He turned to the priest, and asked him to feel the interior of the mould. ‘You will find silver there, I believe.’ Of course he did. These were the silver filings hidden in the coal of beech, now fired into one ingot. What else could they be? So the priest did as he was requested. Lo and behold, he brings out a rod of fine silver.

‘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.