CHAPTER XIV.
Paracelsus and his chymistical followers are so many Promethei,will fetch fire from heaven.--Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.
Now might I expend five pages of post octavo, with great satisfactionto my readers and myself, in describing minutely the old ramblingpalace inhabited by Henry VIII. at Greenwich, particularising itsseveral angles and abutments, its small lattice windows, its bays andoctagons, together with the various cartouches and mascarons whichfilled up the spaces and covered the corbels between; but unhappily Iam in an egregious hurry, having already expended one whole tomewithout getting through a fifth part of the portentous bulk ofProfessor Vonderbrugius. I might, indeed, comfortably extend my taleto four volumes instead of three. But no, gentle reader! out ofconsideration for thine exemplary patience, I spare thee theinfliction, and shall curtail my descriptions, compress my dialogues,circumscribe my digressions, and concentrate my explanations, so as torestrain my history within the bounds I had originally proposed forits extent.
Suffice it, then, to say that Lady Katrine, having recalled to theknight's remembrance that his course lay towards Greenwich, and not toLondon, as he seemed inclined to direct it, they turned their horsesto the right at the bottom of the hill, and soon reached theriver-side, where, spreading along a little to the eastward of thespot on which the hospital at present stands, lay a large mass ofheavy architecture, which, if judged by modern notions, would beregarded as not very fit for the dwelling of a king.
The dull appearance of the building, however, was relieved by thegaiety of the objects round about; for though the sun was now halfbelow the horizon, yet loitering round the various gates of thepalace, or running to and fro on their separate errands, was seen ahost of servants and attendants in rich and splendid suits, whilemultitudes of guards and henchmen, decked out to pamper the costlywhims of their luxurious lord, showed forth their finery to theevening air. More than one group of lords, and ladies too, enjoyingthe fine sunset before the palace, made the parade a sort of livingpageant; while the river beyond, as if emulous of the gay scene,fluttered and shone with the streamers and gilding of the variousbarges with which it was covered.
To every one they met Lady Katrine seemed known, and all, according totheir rank, greeted her as she passed, some with light welcome, somewith respectful salutations, all stopping the moment after to turn andfix their eyes upon Sir Osborne, with that sort of cold, inquiringglance which owns no affinity with its object but mere curiosity. "Whois he?" demanded one. "What splendid armour!" cried another. "He mustbe from Rochester," said a third. But no word of gratulation met hisear, no kind, familiar voice bade him welcome; and he rode on withthat chill, solitary sensation of friendlessness which we never sostrongly feel as in the presence of a crowd, who, possessing somecommunion of thought and feeling amongst themselves, have noestablished link of sympathy with us.
At one of the smaller doors in the western wing of the palace, LadyKatrine reined in her horse, and Sir Osborne, springing to the ground,assisted her to dismount, while one of the royal servants, who camefrom within, held the bridle with all respect. In answer to herquestion the attendant replied, that "her highness Queen Katherine wasat that moment dressing for the banquet which she was about to give tothe king and the foreign ambassadors, and that she had commanded notto be interrupted."
"That is unfortunate, Sir Osborne Maurice," said the young lady,resuming somewhat of that courtly coldness which had given way to theoriginal wildness of her nature while she had been absent: "I am surethat her highness, who is bounty itself, would have much wished tothank you for the protection and assistance which you have given to meher poor servant. But----" and remembering the charge which the knighthad taken of her letter to Lord Darby, she hesitated for a moment, notknowing how to establish some means of communication between them."Oh! they will break all those things!" she cried, suddenly stoppingand turning to the servant. "Good Master Alderson, do look to them fora moment; that groom is so awkward: give him the horse. Now, knight!quick! quick!" she continued, lowering her voice as the servant leftthem, "Where do you lodge in London? I must have some way of hearingof your proceeding: where do you lodge? Bless us, man in armour! whereare your wits?"
"Oh! I had forgot," replied the knight; "it is called the Rose, in theLaurence Poultney."
"At the Duke of Buckingham's! Good, good!" she replied; and thenmaking him a low curtsy as the servant again approached, she addedwith a mock gravity that nearly made the knight laugh, in spite of hismore sombre feelings, "And now, good sir knight, I take my leave ofyour worship, thanking you a thousand times for your kindness andprotection; and depend upon it, that when her highness the queen shallhave a moment to receive you, I will take care to let you know."
Thus saying, with another low curtsy, she retired into the palace; andSir Osborne, mounting his horse, bade adieu to the precincts of thecourt, bearing away with him none of those feelings of hope with whichhe had first approached it. There seemed a sort of coldness in itsatmosphere which chilled his expectations; and disappointed, too, ofhis introduction to the queen, he felt dissatisfied and repelled, andhad the fit held, might well have taken ship once more, and returnedinto Flanders.
After having thus ridden on for some way, giving full rein tomelancholy fancies, he found himself in the midst of a small town,with narrow streets, running along by the river, shutting out almostall the daylight that was left; and not knowing if he was going in theright direction, he called Longpole to his side, asking whether he hadever been in London.
"Oh! yes, sir," replied the custrel, "and have staid in it many amonth. 'Tis a wonderful place for the three sorts of men: the knaves,the fools, and the wise men; and as far as I can see, the one sortgets on as high as the other. The fool gets promoted at court, theknave gets promoted at the gallows, and the wise man gets promoted tobe lord mayor, and has the best of the bargain."
"But tell me, Longpole," said Sir Osborne, "where are we now? fornight is falling, and in sooth I know not my way."
"This is the good town of Deptford," said Longpole; "but if yourlordship ride on, we shall soon enter into Southwark, where there isan excellent good hostel, called the Tabard, the landlady of which maybe well esteemed a princess for her fat, and a woman for her tongue.God's blessing is upon her bones, and has well covered them. If yourworship lodge there you shall be treated like a prince."
"It may be better," said Sir Osborne, "for to-night; but you must leadthe way, good Longpole, for this is my first sight of the great city."
Longpole readily undertook the pilotage of the knight and his company,and in about half-an-hour lodged them safely in the smart parlour ofthe Tabard: perhaps the very same where, more than a century before,Chaucer, the father of our craft, sat himself at his ease; for theTabard was an old house that had maintained its good fame for morethan one generation, and the landlady piqued herself much on theantiquity of her dwelling, telling how her great-grandfather had keptthat very house, ay, and had worn a gold chain to boot; and how boththe inn and the innkeepers had held the same name, till she, being awoman, alack! had brought it as her dower to her poor dear deceasedhusband, who died twenty years ago come Martinmas.
All this was detailed at length to Sir Osborne while his supper was inpreparation, together with various other long orations, till the gooddame found that the knight was not willing to furnish her with eventhe _ahs! ohs!_ and _yes-es_, which offer a sort of baiting-places fora voluble tongue; but that, on the contrary, he leaned his backagainst the chimney, not attending to one word she said after thefirst ten sentences. Upon this discovery, she e'en betook herself toLongpole, declaring that his master was a proper man, a fine man, anda pensive.
Longpole was, we all know, much better inclined to gossiping than hismaster; and accordingly, as he found that his jolly hostess would fainhear the whole of his lord's history, as a profound secret which shewas to divulge to all her neighbours the next morning, he speedilyfurnished her with a most excellent allegory upon the subj
ect, whichfound its way (with various additions and improvements, to suit thetaste of the reciters) through at least five hundred differentchannels before the ensuing night.
In the mean while the knight supped well, and found himself happier;slept well, and rose with renewed hope. So he was but of flesh andblood, after all.
As soon as he was up, and before he was dressed, the door of hischamber flew open, and in rushed a thing called a barber, insistingupon his being shaved. Volumes have been written upon barbers, andvolumes still remain to be written, but it shall not be I who willwrite them.
Suffice it, that for the sake of those who know not what I mean, Idefine a barber. It is a thing that talks and shaves, and shaves andtalks, and talks and shaves again; the true immutable that nevervaries, but comes down from age to age like a magpie, the same busychattering thing that its fathers were before it.
Sir Osborne acquiesced in the operation, of which, indeed, he stood insome want; and the barber pounced upon his visage in a moment. "Thesimple moustache, I see: the simple moustache!" he cried; "well, 'tisindeed the most seemly manner, though the _pique-devant_ is gainingground a leetle, a leetle: not that I mean to say, fair sir, that thebeard is not worn any way, so it be well trimmed, and the moustache isof a sweet comely nature: the simple moustache! You have doubtlessheard, fair sir, of the royal pageant, which cheered the heart of thequeen and her ladies last night. We use, indeed, to cut beards allways, to suit the nature of the physiognomy; supplying, as it were,remedies for the evil tricks of nature. Now, my good Lord Darby givesin to the _pique-devant_, for it is a turn that ladies love; anddoubtless you have heard his marriage spoken of--to a lady--oh! such abeautiful lady! though I cannot remember her name; but a mostexcellent lady. Your worship would not wish me to leave the_pique-devant_; I will undertake to raise and nourish it, by a certainointment, communicated to me by an alchymist, in ten days. Make butthe essay, fair sir; try how it comports with the figure of yourface."
"No, no!" cried Sir Osborne, much in the same manner as the young manof Bagdad. "Cease your babbling, and make haste and shave me."
The operation, however, was sooner brought to a termination than inthe Arabian Nights; and being free from his chattering companion, theknight took one or two turns in his apartment in deep thought. "So,"said he, "this light-of-love, Lord Darby does play the poor girlfalse; and, as she said, the arrow will rankle in her heart, and robher of every better hope. But still it is not sure. I will not believeit. If _I_ had the love of such a creature as that, could I betrayit?" and the thought of Lady Constance de Grey darted across his mind."I will not believe it; there must be better assurance than a babblingfool like this. Oh, Longpole!" he continued, as the man entered theroom, "I have waited for you. Quick! As you know London, speed to thehouse of an honest Flemish merchant, William Hans; ask him if he havereceived the packages from Anvers for me. Give him my true name, butbid him be secret. Bring with you the leathern case containingclothes, and see if he have any letters from Wales. Greet the old manwell for me, and tell him I will see him soon. Stay; I forgot to tellyou where he lives; it's near the Conduit in Gracious Street, any onenear will tell you where. William Hans is his name."
Longpole was soon gone; but, to the mind of Sir Osborne, long beforehe returned. When, however, he did once more make his appearance, henot only brought the news that all the packages which Sir Osborneexpected had arrived, but he also brought the large leathern casecontaining the apparel in which the knight was wont to appear at thecourt of the Duchess Regent of Burgundy, and a letter which SirOsborne soon perceived was from his father, Lord Fitzbernard.
Being privileged to peep over men's shoulders, we shall make noapology for knowing somewhat of the contents of the old earl'sepistle. It conveyed in many shapes the gratifying knowledge to theson that the father was proud of the child, together with manyexhortations, founded in parental anxiety, still carefully to concealhis name and rank. But the most important part of the letter was ashort paragraph, wherein the earl laid his injunctions upon his sonnot to think of coming to see him till he had made every effort at thecourt, and their fate was fully decided. "And then, my son," continuedLord Fitzbernard, "come hither unto me, whether the news thou bringestbe of good or bad comfort; for, of a certain, thy presence shall be ofthe best comfort; and if still our enemies prevail, I will pass withthee over sea into another land, and make my nobility in thy honour,and find my fortune in thy high deeds."
Sir Osborne's wishes would have led him into Wales, for after fivelong years of absence, he felt as it were a thirst to embrace oncemore the author of his birth; but still he saw that the course whichhis father pointed out was the one that prudence and wisdom dictated,and therefore at once acquiesced. For a while he paused, meditatingover all the feelings that this letter had called up; but well knowingthat every moment of a man's life may be well employed, if he will butseek to employ them, he cast his reveries behind him, and dressinghimself in a costume more proper to appear at the house of the Duke ofBuckingham, he commanded his armour to be carefully looked to, andpaying his score at the Tabard, departed to fulfil his noble friend'shospitable desire, by taking up his lodging at the manor-house of theRose, in Saint Laurence Poultney.
Passing through Southwark, he soon arrived at London Bridge, which, asevery one knows, was then but one long street across the water, withrich shops and houses on each side, and little intervals between,through which the passenger's eye might catch the flowing of theThames, and thence only could he learn that he was passing over alarge and navigable river. The shops, it is true, were unglazed andopen, and perhaps to a modern eye might look like booths; but in thatday the whole of Europe could hardly furnish more wealth than was thendisplayed on London Bridge. The long and circumstantial history givenby Stowe will save the trouble of transcribing the eleven pages whichVonderbrugius bestows upon this subject; for though I cannot be surethat every one has read the old chronicler's "Survey of London," yetcertainly every one may read it if they like. Passing, then, overLondon Bridge, the knight and his followers took their way up GraciousStreet (now corruptly Gracechurch Street), and riding through theheart of the city, soon arrived at the gates of the Duke ofBuckingham's magnificent mansion of the Rose. As they approached thegarden entrance, they observed a man covered with dust, as from a longjourney, dismount from his horse at the door, bearing embroidered onhis sleeve the cognizance of a swan; from which, with the rest of hisappearance, Sir Osborne concluded that he was a courier from theduke. This supposition proved to be correct: the considerate andliberal-minded nobleman having sent him forward to prepare thehousehold to receive his young _proteg?_, and also for the purpose ofconveying various other orders and letters, which might tend to theadvancement of his views. But it so unfortunately had happened, theman informed the knight, that he had been attacked on the road by fourarmed men, who had taken from him his bag with the letters, and thattherefore the only thing which remained for him to do was to deliverthe verbal orders which he had received to his grace's steward, andthen to return to his lord and inform him of the circumstances as theyhad occurred.
The profound respect with which he was treated very soon evinced toSir Osborne what those verbal orders were.
He found the retinue of a prince ready to obey his commands, and adwelling that in decoration, if not in size, certainly surpassed thatof the king. It was not, however, the object of the young knight todraw upon himself those inquiries which would certainly follow anyunnecessary ostentation; nor would he have been willing, even had itcoincided with his views, to have made his appearance at the courtwith so much borrowed splendour. He signified, therefore, to thechamberlain his intention of requiring merely the attendance of thethree yeomen, who, with his own custrel, had accompanied him fromKent; and added that, though he might occupy the apartments which hadbeen allotted to him when he was in London, and dine at the separatetable which, by the duke's command, was to be prepared for himself, heshould most probably spend the greater part of his time at Greenwich.
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Having made these arrangements, he determined to lose no time inproceeding to seek for Dr. Butts, the king's physician, at whose househe had good hopes of hearing of his old tutor, Dr. Wilbraham, and ofdiscovering what credit was to be given to the reported marriage ofthe young Earl of Darby.
Sir Osborne knew that the physician was one of those men who had madeand maintained a high reputation at the court by an honest frankness,which, without deviating into rudeness, spared not to speak the truthto king or peasant. He was a great well-wisher to human nature; andfeeling that if all men would be as sincere as himself, the crop ofhuman misery would be much less to reap, he often lost patience withthe worldlings, and flouted them with their insincerity. His charactercontained many of those strange oppositions to which humanity issubject; he was ever tender-hearted, yet often rough, and combinedin manner much bluntness with some courtesy. He was learned,strong-minded, and keen-sighted, yet often simple as a child, and muchled away by the mad visions of the alchymists of the time.
However, as we have said, he was greatly loved and respected at thecourt; and, from his character and office, was more intimatelyacquainted with all the little private secrets and lies of the daythan any other person perhaps, except Sir Cesar, the astrologer, withwhom he was well acquainted, and upon whom he himself looked with nosmall reverence and respect, shrewdly suspecting that in his magicalstudies he had discovered the grand secret.
Towards his house, then, Sir Osborne directed his steps, taking withhim no one but a footboy of the duke's to show him the way; for as thegood physician lived so far off as Westminster, it became necessary tohave some guide to point out the shortest and most agreeable roads.Instead of taking the highway, which, following the course of theriver, ran in nearly a straight line from London to Westminster,[7]the boy led Sir Osborne through the beautiful fields which extendedover the ground in the neighbourhood of Lincoln's Inn, and which,instead of being filled with smoky houses and dirty multitudes, werethen breathing nothing but sweets from the primroses and other wildspring flowers that were rising fresh out of a rich and grateful soil.Thence, cutting across through many a gate, and over many a stile, hisyoung conductor brought him out into the road just at the little milkand curd-house in the midst of the village of Charing, from whence,looking down the road to the left, they could see the palace, andgardens of the bishops of Durham and York, with the magnificent abbey,rising over some clumps of trees beyond.
Passing by York Place, where bustling menials and crowding courtiersannounced the ostentatious power of the proud prelate who therereigned, they left the royal mansions also behind them, and enteringinto some of the narrower and more intricate streets in Westminster,soon reached a house with a small court before it, which, as the boyinformed Sir Osborne, was the dwelling of the physician.
Seeing a door open opposite, the knight entered and found himself in asort of scullery, where a stout servant-girl was busily engaged inscrubbing some pots and crucibles with such assiduity, that she couldscarcely leave off even to answer his inquiry of whether her masterwas at home.
"Yes, sir; yes, he is at home," replied she at length; "but he cannotbe spoken with, unless you are very bad, for he is busy in thelaboratory."
The knight signified that he had a great desire to speak with him; andthe girl, looking at him somewhat more attentively, said that, "if hewere from abroad, the doctor would see him she was sure, for he had agreat many foreign folks with him always."
The knight replied that, though he was not a foreigner, he certainlyhad come from abroad very lately; upon which assurance the damselrelinquished her crucible-scrubbing, and went to announce hispresence. Returning in a few minutes, she ushered him through a longdark passage into a large low-roofed room, at the farther end of whichappeared a furnace, with the chimney carried through the ceiling, andnear it various tables covered with all sorts of strange vessels andutensils. Round about, still nearer the door, were strewed oldmouldering books and manuscripts, huge masses of several kinds of ore,heaps of coal and charcoal, and piles of many other matters, thenature of which Sir Osborne could not discover by the scanty lightthat found its way through two small lattice windows near the roof.
The principal curiosity in the room yet remained. Standing before thefurnace, holding in one hand a candle sweltering in the heat of thefire, and in the other a pair of chemical tongs embracing a crucible,was seen a stout portly man, of a rosy complexion, with a fur cap onhis head, and his body invested in a long coarse black gown, thesleeves of which, tucked up above his elbows, exhibited a full puffedshirt of very fine linen, much too white and clean for the occupationin which he was busied.
"Sir, my wench tells me you are from abroad," said he, advancing alittle, and speaking quick. "From Flanders, I see, by your dress.Pray, sir, do you come from the learned Erasmus, or from Meyerden?However, I am glad to see you. You are an adept, I am sure; I see itin your countenance. Behold this crucible," and he poked it so nearSir Osborne's nose as to make him start back and sneeze violently withthe fumes. "Sir, that is a new effect," continued the doctor: "I amsure that I have found it. It makes people sneeze. That is the hundredand thirteenth effect I have discovered in it. Every hour, everymoment, as it concentrates, I discover new effects; so that doubtlessby the time it is perfectly concreted, it will have all powers, evento the great effect, and change all things into gold. But let us putthat down;" and taking a paper he wrote, "_One hundred and thirteentheffect, makes people sneeze_; violently, I think you said?_Violently_. And now, my dear sir, what news from the great Erasmus?"
"None that I know, my good sir," answered Sir Osborne, "as I never hadthe advantage of his acquaintance."
An explanation now ensued, which at last enlightened the ideas of theworthy physician, although he had so fully possessed himself with thefancy that the knight was an adept from Flanders, a country at thattime famous for alchymical researches, that it was some time before hecould entirely disembarrass his brain from the notion.
"Bless my soul!" cried he; "so you are the young gentleman that myexcellent good uncle Wilbraham was concerned about; and well he mightbe, truly, seeing what a lover you are of the profound and noblescience. He came here yesterday to inquire for you, and finding that Ihad heard nothing of you, I thought he would have gone distracted. Buttell me, fair sir, have you met with any of the famous green water ofPalliardo? Ha! I see you were not to be deceived. I procured some, andtruly, on dipping the blade of a knife therein, it appeared gilt. Butwhat was it? A mere solution of copper."
"You mistake, I see, still," replied the knight. "In truth, I knownothing of the science to which you allude. I doubt not that it is oneof the most excellent and admirable inquiries in the world; but I am asoldier, my dear sir, and have as yet made but small progress inturning anything into gold."
"'S life! I know not how I came to think so." cried the doctor; "sure,the servant told me so. Ho, Kitty!" and throwing open the door, hecalled loudly to the woman, "Ho, Kitty! how came you to tell me thegentleman was an adept? Zounds! I've made him sneeze. But who is thatI see in the lavery? Oh, uncle Wilbraham! Come in! come in!"
No words can express the joy of the good tutor when he beheld theknight. He embraced him a thousand times; he shook him by the hand; heshed tears of joy, and he made him repeat a thousand times everyparticular of his escape. "The villain! the wretch!" cried he,whenever the name of Sir Payan was mentioned; "the dissemblinghypocrite! We have had news since we left Canterbury that the _posse_,which I obtained with great difficulty from the magistrates, when theyarrived at the manor-house, found every one in bed, but were speedilylet in, when Sir Payan sent word down, that though he was muchsurprised to be so visited, being a magistrate himself, yet theofficers might search where they pleased, for that he had had noprisoners during the day but two deer-stealers, whom he had liberatedthat evening on their penitence. They searched, and found no one, andso sent me a bitter letter this morning for putting them on thebusiness."
"I am glad to hear they found no one
," said the knight; "for then mypoor companion, Jekin Groby, has escaped. But, let me ask, how is LadyConstance!"
"Alas! not well, my lord, not well!" answered the clergyman. "First,the anxiety about you: in truth, she has never looked well since, notknowing whether you were dead or alive, and having known you in heryouth. Then this sudden news, that my lord cardinal will have hermarry her noble cousin, Lord Darby, has agitated her."
The knight turned as pale as death, for feelings that had lain unknownin the deepest recesses of his heart swelled suddenly up, and nearlyoverpowered him. His love for Lady Constance de Grey had run on like abrook in the summer time, which flows sweet, tranquil, and scarcelyperceptible, till the first rains that gather in the mountains swellit to a torrent that sweeps away all before it. Of his own feeling hehad hitherto known nothing: he had known, he had but felt, that it wassweet to see her, that it was sweet to think of her; but now at once,with the certainty that she was lost to him for ever, came thecertainty that he loved her deeply, ardently, irrevocably.
"Umph!" said Dr. Butts, at once comprehending all that the changes ofthe knight's complexion implied; "umph! it's a bad business."
"Nay, my good nephew, I see not that," answered the clergyman; who, agreat deal less clear-sighted than the physician, had neither seen SirOsborne's paleness, nor for a moment suspected his feelings: "I seenot that. 'Tis the very best marriage in the realm for both parties,and the lady is only a little agitated from the anxiety and hurry ofthe business."
"If that be all," said the doctor, "I'll soon cure her. But tell me,why did you call him 'my lord,' just now?"
Dr. Wilbraham looked at the knight with a glance that seemed tosupplicate pardon for his inadvertence; but Sir Osborne soon relievedhim. "I am going, Dr. Butts," said he, "to ask your advice andassistance, and therefore my secret must be told you. I ask youradvice because you know the court thoroughly, and because having, I amafraid, lost one good means of introducing myself to his grace theking, I would fain discover some other; and I tell you my secret,because I am sure that it is as safe with you as with myself."
"It is," said the physician. "But if you would have me serve you well,and to some purpose, you must tell me all. Give me no half-confidence.Let me know everything and then if I can do you good I will; if not,your counsel shall not be betrayed, my lord, I suppose I must say."
"You had better tell him all your history, my dear Osborne," said Dr.Wilbraham. "He can, and I am sure will, for my sake, serve you well."
"My dear Osborne!" echoed the physician. "Then I have it! You are myLord Darnley, my good uncle's first pupil. Your history, my lord, youneed not tell me: that I know. But tell me your plans, and I willserve you heart and hand, to the best of my power."
The plans of the young knight need not be again detailed here. Sufficeit that he laid them all open to the worthy physician, who, however,shook his head. "It's a mad scheme!" said he, in his abrupt manner."His grace, though right royal, bountiful, and just, is often ascapricious as a young madam in the honeymoon. However, if Buckingham,Abergany, Surrey, and such wise and noble men judge well of it, Icannot say against it. A straw, 'tis true, will balance it one way ort'other. However, give me to-day to think, and I will find some way ofbringing you to the king, so as to gain his good-will at first. Andnow I will go to see Lady Constance de Grey."
"We will go along, good doctor!" exclaimed the tutor; "for I must beback to speak with her, and Osborne must render her a visit to thankher for her good wishes and endeavours in his behalf. She will be socharmed to see him free and unhurt that 'twill make her well again."
"Will it?" said the doctor, drily. "Well, you shall give her thatmedicine after I have ordered her mine. But let me have my turn first.I ask but a quarter of an hour, then come both of you; and in the meantime, my good learned uncle, study that beautiful amphora, and tellme, if you can, why the ancient Greeks placed always on their tombs anempty urn. Was it an emblem of the body, from within which the spiritwas departed, like the wine from the void amphora, leaving but thevessel of clay to return to its native earth? Think of it till wemeet."
Thus saying, the learned physician left them, to proceed on his visitto Lady Constance de Grey.