This false chanoun—­the foule feend hym fecche!—­
      Out of his bosom took a bechen cole,
      In which ful subtilly was maad an hole,
      And therinne put was of silver lemaille
      An ounce, and stopped was withouten faille
      The hole with wex, to kepe the lemaille in.

The “false chanoun” pretended to be sorry for the priest, who was so busily blowing the fire:—­

      Ye been right hoot, I se wel how ye swete;
      Have heer a clooth, and wipe awey the we’t. 
      And whyles that the preest wiped his face,
      This chanoun took his cole with harde grace,
      And leyde it above, upon the middeward
      Of the crosselet, and blew wel afterward. 
      Til that the coles gonne faste brenne.

As the coal burned the silver fell into the “crosselet.”  Then the canon said they would both go together and fetch chalk, and a pail of water, for he would pour out the silver he had made in the form of an ingot.  They locked the door, and took the key with them.  On returning, the canon formed the chalk into a mould, and poured the contents of the crucible into it.  Then he bade the priest,

      Look what ther is, put in thin hand and grope,
      Thow fynde shalt ther silver, as I hope. 
      What, devel of helle!  Sholde it ellis be? 
      Shavyng of silver silver is, parde!
      He putte his hand in, and took up a teyne
      Of silver fyn, and glad in every veyne
      Was this preest, when he saugh that it was so.

The conclusion of the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale shows that, in the 14th century, there was a general belief in the possibility of finding the philosopher’s stone, and effecting the transmutation, although the common practitioners of the art were regarded as deceivers.  A disciple of Plato is supposed to ask his master to tell him the “name of the privee stoon.”  Plato gives him certain directions, and tells him he must use magnasia; the disciple asks—­

      ‘What is Magnasia, good sire, I yow preye?’
      ’It is a water that is maad, I seye,
      Of elementes foure,’ quod Plato. 
      ‘Telle me the roote, good sire,’ quod he tho,
      Of that water, if it be youre wille.’ 
      ‘Nay, nay,’ quod Plato, ’certein that I nylle;
      The philosophres sworn were everychoon
      That they sholden discovers it unto noon,
      Ne in no book it write in no manere,
      For unto Crist it is so lief and deere,
      That he wol nat that it discovered bee,
      But where it liketh to his deitee
      Man for tenspire, and eek for to deffende
      Whom that hym liketh; lo, this is the ende.’

The belief in the possibility of alchemy seems to have been general sometime before Chaucer wrote; but that belief was accompanied by the conviction that alchemy was an impious pursuit, because the transmutation of baser metals into gold was regarded as trenching on the prerogative of the Creator, to whom alone this power rightfully belonged.  In his Inferno (which was probably written about the year 1300), Dante places the alchemists in the eighth circle of hell, not apparently because they were fraudulent impostors, but because, as one of them says, “I aped creative nature by my subtle art.”