The house of Doctor Dee Part 9

'With all my heart, Doctor Dee. What do they say? Talk after meat is best?'

'Yes. That is what they say.'

And so we went down, where Philip was already preparing the board. My wife meantime was busy about the basins and towels, but gave acknowledgement to Mr Kelley's bow and answered his questions boldly enough. Yet it was all t.i.ttle-tattle, and soon I had endured enough of it. 'Rinse the gla.s.s, mistress,' I said to her, 'that I may taste the wine.' It was a Flemish grape, and somewhat sharp on the tongue; but I love bitter fruit, and supped it up willingly. 'How do you like this wine?' I asked our guest.

'I like it very well.'

My wife laughed at this, and I turned upon her. 'Why do you laugh, mistress?'

'Why? The face of our guest was plain to see when he tasted it. You are not a subtle fellow, Mr Kelley. You cannot deceive us that you like our wine.'

'No, madam, no. You imagine evil where there is only goodness.' He spoke in a railing sort, which seemed to please her. 'The wine delights me. It has a northern taste.' Philip and Audrey had now covered the table, and Kelley burst out with, 'Oh, sir, it is too much. There is as much meat as at a wedding.' I suspected then that he was no spy, or agent, but indeed what he claimed to be.

We took our places, and after I had spoken the grace we fell to the dishes.

'I pray you,' Mrs Dee said, 'I pray you, husband, cut a little of that powder-beef, the sight of which makes Mr Kelley long to eat, of it. Is that not true, sir?'

'Certainly, madam, it is true.'

'Or will you eat of this veal, sir? Or this leg of mutton?' Then she continued with the railing which he had begun. 'Yet I believe you are so fine that you cannot eat such gross meats. Is that not so?'

'I can eat anything if it be from your table.'

'Philip,' I said, 'give me your knife. This one is not sharp, and cuts nothing.' I was in an ill humour, since I cannot abide too much talk at dinner. 'The crust of this pie is too much baked,' I continued, looking at my wife opposite to me.

'No, no, it is well enough done,' she replied. 'But it is a great pity that the sauce is so run out. It is the fault of the baker: I wish that he had it in his own stomach.'

'Wife, have we nothing else?'

'Yes, husband. Perhaps Mr Kelley will try our sh.e.l.l-fish while he waits for the meat to be cut. Or will you try these smelts and eels? There is good Parmesan beside them, Mr Kelley, grated with sage and sugar in the London fashion.'

'In these cold days,' he replied, 'no food can be too hot, and the physicians say that there is nothing hotter than sh.e.l.l-fish. So I will eat them with a good grace, if it please you to serve them to me.'

I like to set a full table before strangers, even though I myself eat quickly and without any savour. For what is the lot of man but to hunger after that which he does not have, and distaste that which is set before him? The appet.i.te is great, the practice meagre. 'Do not speak to me of physicians,' I said. 'They know nothing. Less than nothing. There are some fools who cannot have a fart awry but they must have their purgation pills or, if there is the least spot upon the face, then they must have a pill to curb hot blood. But not I. I do not wait at the door for the apothecary with his lozenges and antidotes.'

'Truly, Doctor Dee, you are wise in that.'

'What is there that an apothecary would have me know? That melancholy may be cured with sovereign h.e.l.lebore, or choler with the rhubarb? Well, I will tell him this in turn, that the stone incurius takes away illusion from the eyes. These men traffic in nothing but flesh and blood, and other filthy merchandise.'

'Take the white of this boiled capon, Mr Kelley,' my wife broke in. 'Some beyond the sea marvel how Englishmen can eat their capons without oranges, but we should marvel more how they can eat their oranges without capons. Is that not true, husband?'

But I paid no heed to her, being still intent upon my own matter. 'And you must know, Mr Kelley, that I have learned how to minister to my own ills. Do you remember, wife, when sorrow came to my kidneys?' She seemed distracted, and said nothing at all. 'It was a great fit of the stone as I felt it, and all day, Mr Kelley, I could do but three or four drops of water. But I drank a draught of white wine and salet oil and, after that, I ate crab's eyes in powder with the bone in the carp's head. Then at about four of the clock I ate toasted cake b.u.t.tered, with sugar and nutmeg upon it, but I also drank two great draughts of ale with it. And then do you know the effect? I voided within an hour all my water, together with a stone as big as an Alexander seed. So what would these physicians have me learn from them, when I know all?'

My wife looked at me, as I thought, with pity. 'Why, husband, I believe that you must have eaten that mutton, you speak so gross.'

'No, no,' said Kelley. 'It is a necessary lesson for those of us who are still haunted by apothecaries and chirurgeons.'

Then the two of them began prattling away on other matters while I sat silent, and regretted all that I had said. I would rather eat alone and fall upon my food like a dog: to watch others eat, and laugh, and say anything, is to observe how far removed we are from the spheres and stars. It is a terrible thing to be reminded of the flesh. 'I pray you see, mistress,' I said when I could endure no longer, 'that our guest has his towel. There are too few for us to clean ourselves.'

At that Edward Kelley made shift to rise, but my wife entreated me with a look. 'Let us not rise yet,' she said. 'Is it not good to sit a while after dinner? I wonder, Doctor Dee, if our guest knows the proverb:

After dinner sit a while,After supper walk a mile?'

'I suppose,' I replied, 'that you have reason there.'

'Truly,' said Kelley, 'I am content to do anything that pleases you.

At that she clapped her hands. 'John, shall we have a song?'

He took up her theme. 'Yes, sir, a song is always a cause of content. It is a long day that has no grace note.'

What could I do but a.s.sent? 'The books of music are in my chest,' I said. 'Philip, take the keys from out of my closet. You will find them in a little till at the left hand.'

So our part-books were brought to the table, and within a few minutes they had taken their tune. I let them sing, though it was no more than the old ditty 'Remember Me As I Do Breathe', and I only joined in with the chorus:

'Deliver me out of this time,Of rash mutability;Set forth my song in rhymeOf sacred permanency.'

After we had ended, I took Edward Kelley to my private chamber for more discourse. First I asked him why he had come to visit me. 'You have not lived obscurely, sir,' he answered, 'and for many years have acquired a good name and fame.'

'I am glad of it. But I am a modest astrologien '

'No, sir, truly more than that.'

'Well, of course I must know the mechanics of astronomy as well as the rules of astrology '

'And you have written of such things, in books that will endure as long as our language itself. But further than that, surely?'

'Further than that, I cannot say.'

'My late master '

'If you mean Ferdinand Griffen, then he is our late master.'

'He spoke often of the trinity.'

'And what trinity is that?'

'The book, the scroll and the powder. And then he mentioned once the calls, or the entrance into the knowledge of the mystical tables.' I said nothing. 'And he taught me the principles of putrefaction, solution and sublimation.' Kelley got up from his chair and, going to my chamber window to look out at the marvellous storm of rain, he recited this to me: 'The art is within yourself, for you are the art. You are a part of that which you seek, for what is without is also within.'

'Go further, if you may.'

'Bring forth the water by which nothing can be made wet, then bathe the sun and the moon within it. When this is completed, breathe upon them and you will see two flowers spring forth, and out of these flowers one tree.'

'And what is your interpretation of this, Edward Kelley?'

'Nature pleases nature, sir. Nature conquers nature. Nature produces nature. This is the image of resurrection.'

I was much surprised by this, since he had uttered certain obscure words. 'Did you learn this by piece-meal?' I asked him then.

'No, sir.'

'So you speak it from art?'

'And from reason, which, as Mr Griffen taught me many times, is always the ground of art.' He turned around from the window, and looked me in the face. 'But as for the image of resurrection, what is your knowledge of it?'

The secret of the homunculus was not to be vouchsafed to him, no, nor to any man. 'It is a branch of nature's life. It is appointed for a time and a purpose, but I can tell you no more.'

'Nothing at all?'

'Some things are reserved for the ministry of seeing and hearing. To blab out secrets, sir, without leave or well-liking, is to do no good. No good at all.'

At that he burst into laughter. 'I was merely putting you to the test, sir, to see how close you kept your counsel.' This was sauciness indeed, and I was about to turn upon him in anger when he sat down again beside me on a joint-stool and said, very earnestly, 'For I have something of great moment to tell you.' Then he put his hand across his face, and I saw moisture like a dew upon his fingers.

'Are you sick?' I asked him.

'Yes, and of an evil sickness.'

I started back in my chair, fearful of any contagion. 'What has invaded you?'

'Lacking of money.'

He laughed again, but not so loud as I. 'Oh, take heed of that, Mr Kelley. Lacking of money is a pain which there is nothing like. I know it well.'

'That is why I have come to see you, Doctor Dee.' I was mightily interested, yet I endeavoured to give no sign. 'There was a time,' he said, looking into the fire, 'and that time not many hundred years past, when miracles were the only discourse and delight of men. That is truly why I have come, sir. To tell you of a miracle.'

'And what miracle may that be?'

'There was a gentleman who died no more than two months ago, whose name and dwelling-place I could deliver '

'Come now. Be not so coy.'

'Did you know of a certain Bernard Ripley?'

'His name and reputation were known to me. He was a very grave and learned antiquary.' I put my gown around me, to ward off the dampness. 'I have his chronicles in my library here, in which he has demonstrated that the isles of Albion and Ireland should be called Brutanicae and not Britanicae, after their n.o.ble discoverer and conqueror Brutus. It was Ripley, also, who in his chronology of this island proved that Arthur, the descendant of Brutus, was the first true king of Britain. I did not know that he was dead.'

'He died raving.'

'But how could that be? He was a man of good parts, and there is no work of his which is not very orderly and laboriously gathered together.'

'I believe, sir, that he dreamed too much of old times past. He could not rest until he had discovered all, and that was why he journeyed to Glas...o...b..ry.'

'If it were a sign of frenzy to journey there, then we must all be out of our wits. Its ruined abbey is the treasury of many famous and rare carca.s.ses which, if they are secretly preserved (as many say), will bring glory once more to our nation. Edgar is buried there, and likewise Arthur in sorrowful and reverend state lies somewhere beneath the ruins.'

'And if they could be made to speak again? What then?'

'Then the secret of time might stand revealed.' I was looking into the fire, together with Kelley. 'Why do you question me thus?'

'This same Bernard Ripley, when he knew that he was dying, sent to Ferdinand Griffen and begged him to travel to Glas...o...b..ry where he would disclose to him a great matter. My master was always of a curious and froward disposition, as you know, and without more ado we were on our way to Ripley's lodgings in that town. He was staying in an old inn or hostel, not far from the ruined abbey itself, and there in the last stages of his disease he told us the history of his actions.'

'Which were?'

'That in his desire and thirst for knowledge he had consulted a conjuror in Salisbury. That the said conjuror often repeated to him that he could restore the dead to life and cause them to speak '

'It is a diabolical pursuit, this questioning of the dead for the knowledge of future accidents.'

'Not of the future, Doctor Dee.'

'What, then?'

'Of the past.' He looked steadily at me now. 'I do not justify the ways of the conjuror or of Bernard Ripley but, believe me, Mr Griffen and I were only secondary actors in this horrid business.'

'And what was then the substance of this discourse? What was this great philosophical secret which Ripley imparted to you?'

'The Salisbury conjuror told him that, in questioning of the dead under the moon, he had learned of very ancient scrolls of written paper preserved somewhere within the ruins of the abbey; that in these papers were certain notes and peculiar marks relating to this island in ancient time, with various arithmetical rules and descriptions concerning the original city of London.'

'Oh, Mr Kelley, this is the mere idle t.i.ttle-tattle of some bankrupt magician more concerned with cozening a fee than in expounding a truth. Did he inform Mr Ripley how the dead spoke?'

'He said nothing of the black arts employed, as far as we can tell. Only that, when they began to speak, a strange meteor in the form of a cloud crossed over the sky: he said that this cloud was forked for a while and, though all the sky was clear about with fair starshine, it lasted as long as the dead did speak.'

'Prattle of a loose tongue, and no more. Did he calculate its degree of height, or how it lay over our zenith? I never listen to an astrologer who is not also a mathematician. I wonder that Mr Ripley swallowed such stuff.'

'Yet here is the strangest thing, Doctor Dee. These old papers, or parchments, were found by Bernard Ripley just in the place declared to him.'

I grew more attentive at that, yet I believe I kept a grave countenance. 'In what place was this?' I asked, all the time revolving in my mind the possibility of dead men acquainting the living with news.

'Near the foundations of the abbey, on the west side, was found a great stone hollowed after the fashion of the head of a man. Therein, when it was opened, were found such parchments as I have mentioned, together with a stone as clear as crystal.'

'This was a round stone?'

'In the shape of a tennis ball, yet not so big. And, as Bernard Ripley said, you might see in it most excellent secrets. He said also that it was some token from the lost and ancient city of London.'

'But who might believe all this without sure evidence?'

'Oh, sir, there was evidence enough. For indeed I saw.'

'You saw?' saw?'

'I was granted possession of the stone for a moment: I looked within it, and had sight in crystallo in crystallo offered to me. Yes, I saw.' offered to me. Yes, I saw.'

'What did you see?'