*CHAPTER II.*
Lauretta's letter had informed Inglesant that she would endeavour to lethim know where she was; and with that hope he was obliged to be content,as by no effort he could make could he discover any trace of thefugitive's route. Florence, however, became distasteful to him, and hewould have left it sooner but for an attack of fever which prostratedhim for some time. Few foreigners were long in Italy, in those days,without suffering from the climate and the miasmas and unhealthyvapours, which, especially at night, were so hurtful even to thoseaccustomed to the country. In his illness Inglesant was carefullynursed by some of the Jesuit fathers, and those whom they recommended;and it is possible that they took care that he should not be left toomuch to the care of the physicians, whose attentions, at that period atany rate, were so often fatal to their patients. In the course of a fewweeks he was sufficiently recovered to think of leaving Florence, and hedespatched a messenger to Don Agostino, begging him to meet him atLucca, where they might decide either to visit Venice or go on straightto Rome. It was not without some lingering hope that he might findLauretta in the town of her birth, that he set out for Lucca, butmisfortune followed his path. It was reported that the plague hadbroken out in Florence, and travellers who were known to have come fromthence were regarded with great suspicion. Inglesant's appearance,recently recovered from sickness, was not in his favour; and atFucecchio, a small town on the road to Lucca, he was arrested by theauthorities, and confined by them in the pest-house for forty days. Itwas a building which had formerly been a gentleman's house, andpossessed a small garden surrounded by a high wall. In this drearyabode Inglesant passed many solitary days, the other inmates being threeor four unfortunates like himself,--travellers on business through thecountry,--who, their affairs being injured by their detention, weremelancholy and despondent. He was short of money, and for some time wasunable to communicate with any of his friends either in Florence orSienna. With nothing but his own misfortunes to brood upon, and withthe apprehension of the future, which almost amounted to religiousmelancholy, frequently before his mind, it is surprising that he kepthis reason. To add to his misfortunes, when the greater portion of thetime fixed for his detention was expired, one of the inmates of thepest-house suddenly died; and although the physicians pronounced hisdisease not to be the plague, yet the authorities decreed that allshould remain another forty days within its dreary walls. The death ofthis person greatly affected Inglesant, as he was the only one of theinmates with whom he had contracted any intimacy.
During the first part of his sojourn here, there was brought to thehouse, as an inmate, a wandering minstrel, who, the first evening of hisstay, attracted the whole of the gloomy society around him by hisplaying. He played upon a small and curiously shaped instrument calleda vielle, somewhat like a child's toy, with four strings, and a kind ofsmall wheel instead of a bow. It was commonly used by blind men andbeggars in the streets, and was considered a contemptible instrument,though some of these itinerant performers attained to such skill upon itthat they could make their hearers laugh and dance, and it was said evenweep, as they stood around them in the crowded streets. Inglesant soonperceived that the man was no contemptible musician, and after hisperformance was over he entered into conversation with him, asking himwhy he, who could play so well, was content with so poor an instrument.The man, who appeared to have a great deal of intelligence and humour,said that he was addicted to a wandering and unsettled life, among thepoorer and disorderly classes in the low quarters of cities, in mountainvillages, and in remote hostelries and forest inns; that the possessionof a valuable viol, or other instrument, even if he should practicesufficient self-denial to enable him to save money to purchase such aone, would be a constant anxiety to him, and a source of danger amongthe wild companions with whom he often associated. "Besides, signore,"he said, "I am attached to this poor little friend of mine, who willspeak to me though to none else. I have learnt the secrets of itsheart, and by what means it may be made to discourse eloquently of humanlife. You may despise my instrument, but I can assure you it is farsuperior to the guitar, though that is so high bred and genteel agentleman, found in all romances and ladies' bowers. For any music thatdepends upon the touch of a string, and is limited in the duration ofthe distinct sounds, is far inferior to this little fellow's voice."
"You seemed trained to the profession of music," said Inglesant.
"I was serving-lad to an old musician in Rome, who not only played onseveral instruments, but gave a great deal of time to the study of thescience of harmony, and of the mysteries of music. He was fond of me,and taught me the viol, as I was apt to learn."
"I have heard of musicians," said Inglesant, "who have written on thephilosophy of sound. He was doubtless one of them."
"There are things concerning musical instruments," said the man, "verywonderful; such as the laws concerning the octaves of flutes, which,make them how you will, you can never alter, and which show how theprinciples of harmony prevail in the dead things of the world, which wethink so blockish and stupid; and what is more wonderful still, thepassions of men's souls, which are so wild and untamable, are all ruledand kept in a strict measure and mean, for they are all concerned in andwrought upon by music. And what can be more wonderful than that amaestro in the art can take delight in sound, though he does not hearit; and when he looks at some black marks upon paper, he hearsintellectually, and by the power of the soul alone?"
"You speak so well of these things," said Inglesant, "that I wonder youare content to wander about the world at village fairs and countryweddings, and do not rather establish yourself in some great town, whereyou might follow your genius and earn a competence and fame."
"I have already told you," replied the man, "that I am wedded to thiskind of life; and if you could accompany me for some months, with yourviol d'amore, across the mountains, and through the deep valleys, andinto the old towns where no travellers ever come, and where all standsstill from century to century, you would never leave it, any more than Ishall. I could tell you of many strange sights I have witnessed, and ifwe stay long in this place, perhaps you will be glad to hear some talesto while away the time."
"You spoke but now," said Inglesant, "of the power that music has overthe passions of men. I should like to hear somewhat more of this."
"I will tell you a curious tale of that also," said the man.
THE VIELLE-PLAYER'S STORY.
"Some twenty-five years ago there lived in Rome two friends, who wereboth musicians, and greatly attached to each other. The elder, whosename was Giacomo Andria, was maestro di capella of one of the churches,the other was an accomplished lutinist and singer. The elder was acavaliere and a man of rank; the younger of respectable parentage, ofthe name of Vanneo. The style of music in which each was engaged wassufficiently different to allow of much friendly contention; and manylively debates took place as to the respective merits of 'Sonate daChiesa' and 'Sonate da Camera.' Their respective instruments alsoafforded ground for friendly dispute. Vanneo was very desirous that hisfriend should introduce viols and other instruments into the service, inconcert with the voices, in the Church in which Vanneo himself sang inthe choir; but the Cavaliere, who considered this a practice derivedfrom the theatre, refused to avail himself of any instrument save theorgan. Vanneo was more successful in inducing his friend to practiceupon his favourite instrument the lute, though Andria pretended at firstto despise it as a ladies' toy, and liable to injure the shape of theperformer. His friend, however, though devoted to secular music,brought to the performance and composition of it so much taste andcorrect feeling, that Andria was ravished in spite of himself, and ofhis preference to the solemn music of the Church. Vanneo excelled incontrasting melancholy and pensive music with bright and lively cords,mingling weeping and laughter in some of the sweetest melodies thatimagination ever suggested. He accompanied his own voice on the lute,or he composed pieces for a single voice
with accompaniment for violins.In a word, he won his friend over to this grave chamber music, in somerespects more pathetic and serious than the more monotonous masses andsonatas of the Church composers. Vanneo composed expressly for thispurpose fantasies on the chamber organ, interposed, now and then, withstately and sweet dance music, such as Pavins (so named from the walk ofa peacock) Allemaines, and other delightful airs, upon the violins andlute. In these fancies he blended, as it were, pathetic stories, gayfestivities, and sublime and subtle ideas, all appealing to the secretand intellectual faculties, so that the music became not only anexponent of life but a divine influence. After these delightfulmeetings had continued for several years, circumstances obliged Vanneoto accompany a patron to France, and from thence he went over intoEngland, to the great King of that nation, as one of his privatemusicians; for the Queen of England was a French Princess, and was fondof the lute. His departure was a great grief to the Cavaliere, whodevoted himself more than ever to Church music and to the offices ofreligion. He was a man of very devout temper, and was distinguished forhis benevolent disposition, and especially for his compassion for thepoor, whom he daily relieved in crowds at his own door, and in theprisons of Rome, which he daily visited. From time to time he heardfrom his friend, to whom he continued strongly attached."
"I was brought up at the English Court," said Inglesant, "and have beentrying to recall such a man, but cannot recollect the name you mention,though I remember several lutinists and Italians."
"I tell the story as I heard it," replied the other. "The man may havechanged his name in a foreign country. One day the Cavaliere hadreceived a letter from his friend, brought to him by some Englishgentleman travelling to Rome. Having read it, and spent some time withthe recollections that its perusal suggested to his mind, he set himselfto the work in which he was engaged--the composition of a motet for someapproaching festival of the Church; but although he attempted to fix hismind upon his occupation, and was very anxious to finish his work, hefound himself unable to do so. The remembrance of his friend tookcomplete possession of his mind; and his imagination, instead ofdwelling on the solemn music of the motet, wandered perversely into thealluring world of phantasied melody which Vanneo had composed. Thosesad and pensive adagios, passing imperceptibly into the light gaiety ofa festival, never seemed so delightful as at that moment. He rose fromtime to time, and walked to and fro in his chamber, and as he did so heinvoluntarily took up a lute which Vanneo had left with him as a partinggift, and which always lay within reach. As he carelessly touched thestrings, something of his friend's spirit seemed to have inspired him,and the lute breathed again with something of the old familiar charm.Each time that he took it up, the notes formed themselves again underhis hand into the same melody, and at last he took up a sheet of paper,intended for the motet, and scored down the air he had involuntarilycomposed. His fancy being pleased with the occurrence, he elaborated itinto a lesson, and showed it to several of his associates. He gave itthe name of 'gli amici,' and it became very popular among the masters inRome as a lesson for their pupils on the lute. Among those who thuslearnt it was a youth who afterwards became page to a Florentinegentleman, one Bernard Guasconi, who went into England and took serviceunder the King of that country, who, as you doubtless know better than Ido, was at war with his people."
"I know the Cavaliere Guasconi," said Inglesant, "and saw him lately inFlorence, where he is training running horses for the Grand Duke."
"This war," continued the man, "appears to have been the ruin of Vanneo;for the English people, besides hating their King, took to hating allkinds of music, and all churches and choristers. Vanneo lost his placeas one of the King's musicians, and not being able to earn his living byteaching music where so few cared to learn, he was forced to enlist as asoldier in one of the King's armies, and was several times near losinghis life. He escaped these dangers, however; but the army in which heserved being defeated and dispersed, he wandered about the country,wounded, and suffering from sickness and want of food. He supportedhimself miserably, partly by charity, especially among the Loyalistfamilies, and partly by giving singing lessons to such as desired them.He was without friends, or any means of procuring money to enable him toreturn to Italy. As he was walking in this manner one day in thestreets of London, without any hope, and with scarcely any life, heheard the sound of music. It was long since the melody of a lute, onceso familiar, had fallen on his ear; and as he stopped to listen, thenotes came to him through the thick moist air like an angelic and divinemurmur from another world. The music seemed to come from a small roomon the ground-floor of a poor inn, and Vanneo opened the door and wentin. He found a young man, plainly dressed, playing on a double-neckedtheorbo-lute, which, from the number of its strings, enables, as youknow, the skilful lutinist to play part music, with all the varieties offugues and other graces and ornaments of the Italian manner. The piecewhich the young man was playing consisted of an allegro and yet sweetmovement on the tenor strings, with a sustained harmony in thoroughbass. The melody, being carefully distributed through the parts, spoketo Vanneo of gaiety and cheerfulness, as of his old Italian life,strangely combined at the same time with a soothing and patheticmelancholy, like a corpse carried through the streets of a gay city,strewn with flowers and accompanied with tapers and singing of boys.The whole piece finished with a pastorale, or strain of low and sweetnotes. As Vanneo listened he was transported out of himself. It wasnot alone the beauty of the music which ravished him, but he wasconscious that a mysterious presence, as of his friend the Cavaliere,was with him, and that at last the perfect sympathy which he had soughtso long was established; and that in the music he had heard a commonexistence and sphere of life was at last created, in which they bothlived, not any longer separate from each other, but enjoying as it wereone common being of melody and ecstatic life of sound. When the musicceased Vanneo accosted the lutinist, and inquired the name of thecomposer; but this the young man could not tell him. He only knew itwas a favourite lesson for skilful pupils among the music-masters inRome, and as such he had learnt it. Vanneo was confident the piece hadbeen written by Andria, and by none other, and told the young man so.By this time they had discovered that they were fellow-countrymen, andthe lutinist sent for refreshments, of which Vanneo stood very much inneed. He also told him that his name was Scacchi, and that he was pageto the Signore Bernard Guasconi, who was then in arms for the King, andwas besieged in some town of which I have forgotten the English name."
"It was Colchester," said Inglesant; "I was in prison at the time of thesiege; but I know the history of it and its sad ending."
"Becoming very familiar with Vanneo, he advised him to accompany him toColchester. His master, he said, would doubtless be set at libertyimmediately as a foreigner and a friend of the Grand Duke's, and hecould accompany him home to Italy as a domestic. As no better prospectwas open to Vanneo of returning to his native country, he gladlyaccepted the page's offer, and agreed to accompany him next day. Thebesiegers of the town which you call Colchester were engaging personsfrom all parts of the country to work their trenches, and the town notbeing far from London, many persons went from that place to earn thewages offered. Many of the Loyalists also took advantage of thispretext, intending to join the besieged if a favourable opportunityoffered. To one of these parties Vanneo and the page joined themselves.You may wonder that I know so much of these matters, but I have heardthe story several times repeated by the page himself. The weather wasvery cold and wet, and the companions underwent much hardship on theirmarch. They travelled through a flat and marshy country, full of woodsand groves of trees, and crossed with dykes and streams. Vanneo,however, who had endured so much privation and suffering, began to sinkunder his fatigues. After travelling for more than two days theyarrived at the leaguer. They were told that the besieged were expectedevery day to surrender at discretion; but they were sent into thetrenches with several other volunteers to relieve those already there,many of whom were exhaus
ted with the work, and were deserting. As theyarrived at the extreme limit of the lines the besiegers had planted fourgreat pieces of battering cannon against the town, and fired great shotall the forenoon, without, however, doing much damage. The Royalistsmustered all their troops upon the line, intending, as it afterwardsappeared, to break out at night and force their way through the leaguer.The lines were so close that the soldiers could throw stones at eachother as they lay in the trenches; and Vanneo and the page could see theKing's officers plainly upon the city walls. The Royalists did notfire, being short of ammunition, and in the night a mutiny took placeamong some of the foot-soldiers, which prevented the project of cuttingtheir way out from taking effect. The soldiers of both armies were nowalready mixed on many places upon the line, and no fire was given oneither side, as though the Royalists were already prisoners. The pageleft Vanneo, who was worn-out and ill, and easily made his way into thetown, where he found his master. When he returned to the trenches hefound Vanneo very ill, and a physician with him, a doctor of the town,named Gibson, as I remember, who told the page that he thought hiscompanion was dying. Vanneo, in fact, appeared to be insensible, hiseyes were closed, and he was perfectly pale. He lay in a small house,just within the lines, which had been deserted by its inhabitants, whowere weavers. The gentlemen were under arrest in the town, and it wasreported that several were to be immediately shot, of whom it waswhispered the Signore Guasconi was to be one. About two in theafternoon the general of the besieging army entered the town, and agreat rabble of the soldiers with him. The latter broke into manyhouses to search for plunder, and among them into that in which Vanneowas lying. As they came into the room and saw the dying man, theystopped and began to question the page as to who he was. Before hecould reply Vanneo opened his eyes with a smile, raised himself suddenlyfrom the straw on which he lay, and, stretching out his hand eagerly asone who welcomes a friend, exclaimed in Italian, 'Cavaliere, theconsonance is complete;' and having said this he fell back upon thestraw again, and, the smile still upon his face, he died."
The musician stopped a moment, and then glancing at Inglesant with acurious look said, "It is confidently said that about that very momentthe Cavaliere Andria died at Rome; at any rate when the page returned toItaly and inquired for him at Rome, he was dead. He caught a fever inone of his visits to the prisons, and died in a few days."
"Did the page tell you of the two gentlemen who were shot atColchester?" said Inglesant.
"Yes, he told me that Guasconi stood by with his doublet off expectinghis turn; but when the others were shot he was taken back to his prison.They only found out he was an Italian by his asking leave to write tothe Grand Duke."
"I have been told," he continued, "that this poor King was a great loverof music, and played the bass viol himself."
"He was a great admirer of Church music," said Inglesant; "I have oftenseen him appoint the service and anthems himself."
As the conversation of this man was a great entertainment to Inglesant,so his sudden and unexpected death was a great shock to him. Thephysician could give no clear explanation of his decease, and thegeneral opinion was that he died of the plague, though it was, ofcourse, the interest of every one in the pest-house that this should notbe acknowledged.
A few days after the burial two of the Jesuit Fathers arrived fromFlorence, accompanied by Don Agostino, who, having in vain waited forhis friend at Lucca, had sought him at Florence, and finally traced himto his dreary prison. By their influence Inglesant was allowed todepart; and actuated still by his desire to see Venice, set out,accompanied by Don Agostino, in the hope of reaching that city. Theycrossed the Apennines, and journeyed by Modena, Mantua, Verona, andPadua. These places, which at other times would have excited inInglesant the liveliest interest, were passed by him now as in a dream.The listless indifference which grew day by day, developed at Padua intoabsolute illness; and Agostino took lodgings for his friend in one ofthe deserted palaces of which the city was full. A few days' rest fromtravel, and from the excitement produced by novel scenes and by thescorching plains, had a soothing and beneficent effect; but Venice beingreported to be at that time peculiarly unhealthy, and Inglesant becomingsensible that he was physically unable to prosecute any inquiries there,the friends resolved to abandon their journey in that direction, and toreturn towards Rome. At this juncture Don Agostino received letterswhich compelled him to return hastily to Sienna, and after spending afew days with his friend, he left, promising to return shortly andaccompany Inglesant to Rome, when he was sufficiently recruited by a fewweeks' repose.
The failure of the silk trade, owing to the importation of silk fromIndia into Europe, had destroyed the prosperity of many parts of Italy;and in Padua long streets of deserted mansions attested by their beautythe wealth and taste of the nobility, whom the loss of the rents oftheir mulberry groves had reduced to ruin. Many houses being empty,rents were exceedingly cheap, and the country being very plentiful inproduce, and the air very good, a little money went a long way in Padua.There was something about the quiet gloomy town, with its silent narrowstreets and its long and dim arcades,--by which you might go from oneend of the city to the other under a shady covert,--that soothedInglesant's weary senses and excited brain.
His was that sad condition in which the body and the mind, beingequally, like the several strings of an ill-kept lute, out of tune,jarred upon each other, the pains of the body causing phantasms anddelusions of the mind. His disappointment and illness at Florence, hislong confinement in the pest-house, and the sudden death of his friendthe poor musician, preyed upon his spirits and followed him even in hisdreams; and his body being weakened by suffering, and his mind depressedby these gloomy events and images, the old spiritual terrors returnedwith augmented force. Nature herself, in times of health and happinessso alluring and kind, turns against the wretch thus deprived of othercomfort. The common sights and events of life, at one time so full ofinterest, became hateful to him; and amid the solemn twilights andgorgeous sunsets of Italy, his imagination was oppressed by anintolerable presentiment of coming evil. Finally, he despaired ofhimself, his past life became hateful to him, and nothing in the futurepromised a hope of greater success. He saw himself the mere tool of apolitical faction, and to his disordered fancy as little better than ahireling bravo and mercenary. The rustling of leaves, the falling ofwater, the summer breeze, uttered a pensive and melancholy voice, whichwas not soothing, but was like the distant moaning of sad spiritsforeboding disaster and disgrace. On his first arrival in Padua DonAgostino had introduced him to two or three ecclesiastics, whosecharacter and conversation he thought would please his friend; butInglesant made little effort to cultivate their acquaintance. Hisprincipal associate was the Prior of the Benedictine monastery, a mileor two beyond the Ferrara Gate, who, becoming at last distressed at hiscondition, advised him to consult a famous physician named SignoreJovanni Zecca.
This man had the reputation of a wit, maintained chiefly by a constantstudy of Boccalini's "Parnassus," with quotations from which work heconstantly adorned his discourse. He found Inglesant prostrate on acouch in his apartment, with the Prior by his side. The room had beenthe state reception room of the former possessor, and the windows, whichwere open, looked upon the wide space within one of the gates. It wasthe most busy part of the city, and for that reason the rooms had beenchosen by Don Agostino, as commanding the most agreeable and livelyprospect.
The Prior having explained to the physician the nature of Inglesant'smalady, as far as he was acquainted with it, inquired whether thesituation of the rooms seemed suitable to the doctor, or whether itwould be well to remove to some country house. The scene from thewindows indeed was very lively, and might be considered too distractingfor an invalid. The prospect commanded the greater part of the Piazza,or Place d'Armes, the gate and drawbridges and the glacis outside, witha stretch of country road beyond, lined with poplars. This extensivestage was occupied by ever-varying groups,--soldiers on guard in sti
ffand picturesque uniform, men carrying burdens, pack-horses, oxen, nowand then a carriage with a string of horses and with running footmen,peasant women, priests, children, and beggars, with sometimes apuppet-show, or a conjuror with apes, and side by side with these last,in strange incongruity, the procession of the Host.
"From what I know of this gentleman's malady and disposition," said thephysician, "I should suppose that these sights and sounds, thoughperhaps hurtful to his physical nature, are so dear to his moral naturethat to speak against them were useless. These sounds, thoughphysically unpleasant, contain to the philosophic mind such moral beautyas to be attractive in the highest degree, and to such a nature as thismy patient possesses offer a fascination which it would be unwise tocontend against."
"If," said the Prior to Inglesant with a smile, "your case requiresphilosophic treatment, you are fortunate in having secured the advice ofSignore Zecca, who has the reputation of a philosopher and wit, as wellas that of a most skilful physician."
"With respect to my calling as a physician, I may make some claimcertainly," said the doctor, "if descent has any title to conferexcellence, for my great-grandfather was that celebrated Jovanni Zecca,after whom I am named, the Physician of Bologna, whom you will findmentioned in the most witty 'Ragguagli' of Messere Tragano Boccalini;therefore, if I fail in my profession, it is not for want of generationsof experience and precept; but as regards my proficiency as aphilosopher, I have no one to depend upon but myself, and my proficiencyis indeed but small."
"You are pleased to say so, Signore Fisico," said Inglesant languidly,"with the modesty usual with great minds; nevertheless the remark whichyou have just made shows you to be familiar with the deepest of allphilosophy, that of human life. It is my misfortune that I am too deeplyimpressed already with the importance of this philosophy, and it is myinadequate following of its teaching which is killing me."
"It is a subject of curious study," said the physician, "for perplexityperhaps, certainly for much satire, but scarcely, I should think, formartyrdom. The noblest things in life are mixed with the most ignoble,great pretence with infinite substance, vain-glory with solidness. Thefool of one moment, the martyr of the next: as in the case of thatSpaniard mentioned by Messere Boccalini, whose work doubtless you know,signore, but if not, I should recommend its perusal as certain to domuch to work your cure. This man--the Spaniard, I mean--dying mostgallantly upon the field of honour, entreated his friend to see himburied without unclothing him; and with these words died. His body,being afterwards examined, it was found that he who was so sprucelydressed, and who had a ruff about his neck so curiously wrought as to beof great value, had never a shirt on his back. This discovery causedgreat laughter among the vulgar sort of mankind; but by order of Apollo,the great ruler of learning and philosophy, this Spaniard was given apublic and splendid funeral, equal to a Roman triumph; and an orationwas pronounced over him, who was so happy that, in his great calamity,he was careful of his reputation before his life. His noble funeralseems to me rather to proclaim the fact that our worst meannesses cannotdeprive us of the dignity of that pity which is due to human naturestanding by the brink of an open grave. A man has mistaken the secretof human life who does not look for greatness in the midst of folly, forsparks of nobility in the midst of meanness; and the well-poised minddistributes with impartiality the praise and the blame."
"It is my misfortune," replied Inglesant, "that my mind is incapable ofthis well-poised impartiality, but is worn out by the unworthy conflictwhich the spirit within us wages with the meannesses of life. As thePsalmist says, 'The very abjects make mouths at me, and cease not.'
"You are like those people, signore," said the physician, "mentioned byMessere Boccalini, whom the greatest physicians failed to cure, but whowere immediately restored to active health by the simple and commonremedies of a quack. You seek for remedies among the stars and theeternal verities of creation, whereas your ailment of mind arisesdoubtless from some physical derangement, which perchance a learner inhealing might overcome."
"The fatal confusion of human life," said Inglesant, "is surely tooobvious a fact to be accounted for by the delusions of physicaldisease."
The physician looked at Inglesant for a moment and said,--
"Some time, signore, I will tell you a story, not out of Boccalini,which perchance will convince you that, strange as it may seem, therealities of life and the delusions of disease are not so dissimilar asyou think."
"If it be so," said Inglesant, "your prescription is more terrible thanmy complaint."
"I do not see that," replied the other. "I have said nothing but whatshould show you how unwise you will be, if you overlook the bodilyailment in searching into the diseases of the soul."
"I am well aware," replied Inglesant, "that my ailment is one of thebody as well as of the mind; but were my body made perfectly whole andsound, my cure could scarcely be said to be begun."
"I hold that most of the sorrows and perplexities of the mind are to betraced to a diseased body," replied the physician, not paying muchattention to what his patient said; "the passion of the heart, heavy anddull spirits, vain imaginations, the vision of spectres and phantoms,grief and sorrow without manifest cause,--all these things may be curedby purging away melancholy humours from the body, especially as Iconceive from the meseraic veins; and the heart will then be comforted,in the taking away the material cause of sorrow, which is not to belooked for in the world of spirits, nor in any providential governmentof God, nor even in outward circumstances and perplexities, but in themechanism of the body itself."
"What cures do you propound that may be hoped to work such happyresults?" said the Prior, for Inglesant did not speak.
"We have many such cures in physics--physics studied by the light of theheavenly science," said the physician; "such as the Saturica SanctiJuliani, which grows plentifully on the rough cliffs of the TyrrhenianSea, as the old Greek chronographers called it, called St. Julian'sRock; the Epithymum, or thyme, which is under Saturn, and therefore veryfitted for melancholy men; the Febrifuga, or, in our Italian tongue,Artemisia Tenuifolia, good for such as be melancholy, sad, pensive, andwithout power of speech; the distilled water of the Fraga, orStrawberry, drunk with white wine reviveth the spirits, and as the holyPsalmist says, 'Laetificat cor hominis;' and the herb Panax, which growson the top of the Apennine, and is cherished in all the gardens of Italyfor its wonderful healing qualities; but the liquor of it, which you maybuy in Venice, is not distilled in Italy, but is brought fromAlexandria, a city of Egypt."
"You do not speak of the chemical medicines," said Inglesant, "whichwere much thought of in England when I was in Oxford; and many wonderfulcures were worked by them, though I remember hearing that the youngdoctor who first introduced them, and wrought some great cures, diedhimself soon after."
"I have indeed no faith in the new doctrine of chemical compositions andreceipts," said the physician, "which from mere empirics must needs bevery dangerous, but from a man that is well grounded in the old way maydo strange things. The works of God are freely given to man. Hismedicines are common and cheap; it is the medicines of the newphysicians that are so dear and scarce to find."
Signore Zecca soon after took his leave, promising to send Inglesant acordial, the ingredients of which he said were gathered on "a Friday inthe hour of Jupiter," and which would be sufficient to give sleep,pleasant dreams, and quiet rest to the most melancholy man in the world.For, as he sensibly observed, "waking is a symptom which much torturesmelancholy men, and must therefore be speedily helped, and sleep by allmeans procured. To such as you especially, who have what I call thetemperament of sensibility, are fearful of pain, covet music and sleep,and delight in poetry and romance, sleep alone is often a sufficientremedy."
The doctor frequently visited Inglesant, who found his humour andcurious learning entertaining; and on one occasion, when they were alonetogether, he reminded him of his promise to relate a story which wouldprove his assertion that the ill
s of the soul were occasioned by thoseof the body.
* * * * *
NOTE.--The MSS. are here imperfect.
John Inglesant: A Romance (Volume 2 of 2) Page 2
