E. K. “Now there cometh out a thing like a lion in the hinder parts, and his fore parts hath many heads of divers fashions upon one trunk; he hath like feathers on his neck; his heads are seven, three on one side, and three on another, and one in the middle, longer than the rest, lying backward to his tailward. The white man giveth him a bloody sword, and he taketh it in his fore-foot. The white man tieth this monster’s fore-legs with a chain, that he cannot go but as one shackled. Now he giveth the monster a great hammer with a seal at that end where the hammer striketh. The white man has cried with a loud cry, ‘A horrible and terrible beast!’ The white man taketh the hammer and striketh him in the forehead of that head which is in the middle. Now all this vision is vanished away: the stone is clear.”
On another occasion E. K. says, “I hear a marvellous noise, as of many mountains: which of the mouths do speak I cannot discern. I hear a greater noise still; I never heard any such noise; it is as if half the world were rushing down a hill.”[9]
During two years, in which Dee deserted his studies and sacrificed his fortune, the name of Dee still remained so eminent that learned foreigners in their visits to England continued their inquiries after him. A Polish prince, Albert a’Laski, who was received with high honours at our court, applied to the Earl of Leicester for an introduction to the great English philosopher, and the Earl appointed a day to dine with Dr. Dee. Then it was that our philosopher disclosed his mortifying condition, that he could no longer entertain his noble guests without selling his plate. The Queen instantly sent him forty angels in gold. The illustrious Polander became a constant visitor, was initiated into the theurgic mysteries; there came a whisper from the unseen “spirits” that this palatine of Siradia might yet be the elected King of Poland! Ambitious princes are as credulous as ambitious philosophers. The predictors of a crown, with a royal exchequer from the alchemists, seduced the imagination, and a’Laski invited the sages with their families to reside at his castle.
There the Polish lord seems to have wearied of the angelic communications; he transferred them to the Emperor, Rodolph, the Second, at Prague. In all the courts of Europe, occult philosophers found a ready admittance.
Dee came auspiciously recommended to the emperor; for our author had formerly dedicated to the emperor’s father, Maximilian, his cabbalistical volume, which, when admitted to a private interview with Rodolph, the sage beheld lying open on the table.[10] The introduction of an author to an emperor by his own work may have something really magical in its effect, provided the spell is not disturbed by him who raised it. In an inflated oration Dee announcing himself like a babbling missionary, as a messenger from angels, the emperor curtly observed that he did not understand Latin! The Pope’s Nuncio opportunely demanded that the two English necromancers should be questioned at Rome. Their flight relieved the emperor. A Bohemian count rejoiced to receive the fugitives at his castle of Trebona, where strange alchemical projections of pewter flagons turned into silver, which the goldsmiths of Prague bought, are attested solemnly by Arthur Dee, the son of the doctor, to the philosophical Sir Thomas Browne. This must have been that day of elation which Dee entered in his diary. “Master Edward Kelley did open the great secret to me. God be thanked!” This Arthur Dee, indeed, remained an inveterate alchemist all his life; but the man who in his medical character was recommended by James the First to the Czar of Russia, and, after several years’ residence at Moscow, on his return home, was appointed physician to Charles the First, would be a reputable witness in any court of law.[11]
Dee and Kelley were abroad, living together, from 1583 to 1589. Their adventures would form a romance, but I am not writing one. Their condition was mysterious, as were the incidents of their lives. Sometimes reduced to the most pitiable necessities for “meat and drink;” at other times we find Dee travelling with a princely equipage, in three family coaches, a train of waggons, and an escort of fifty horsemen. These extraordinary personages long attracted the wonder of the Continent; but whatever happened, their fortunes were variable. The pride of Dee was sensitive—there are querulous entries in his diary—there appeared some false play in his dangerous coadjutor—Kelley was dropping hints that he lived in a miserable state of delusion—preludes to the great rupture! Mephistopheles menaced his victim. It is evident that Kelley determined to break up the profitless partnership and set up for himself. The noise the parties raised in their quarrels on the Continent induced Elizabeth to command their return.[12] The alchemist did not return home with Dee. He obtained the patronage of the emperor, and was created a knight; but as usually happened with great alchemists, Sir Edward Kelley was twice cast into prison. Sir Edward, however, continued his correspondence with Dee, and sent her majesty a timely information of some design against her person. This adventurer may appear a very suspicious personage. Lord Burleigh addresses this “Baron of Bohemia,” as the minister designates him, with high respect and admiration, for his “virtues, his wisdom, and learning.” However, in the same confidential letter, his lordship informs “the good knight” of some malicious reports; that “he did not come home, because he could not perform that, indeed, which has been reported of him:” and others had gone so far as to deem Sir Edward “an impostor.” This letter, written by Burleigh’s own hand,[13] shows the skilful falconer luring the bird. Dee assured the queen that “the Baron of Bohemia” positively possessed the secret of the great operation. The queen anxiously concerted measures to secure the escape of Sir Edward Kelley from his second imprisonment. Agents were despatched, the jailers were drugged, the horses were awaiting for the fugitive; scaling the wall, he fell, and died of his contusions, thus abruptly closing the romance of a daring disturbed spirit.
Dee returned to England in December, 1589, and presenting himself to the queen at Richmond, was received, as he was ever accustomed to be, with all graciousness. But the philosopher, after the absence of six years, returning to his studious abode, beheld it nearly dismantled; his chemical apparatus, with all his scientific implements, had been destroyed by a mob, and his library pillaged. Every day this victim of science experienced the effects of popular obloquy. He gathered up what fragments he could; and again rapt in study, he again relapsed into his old wants. The res angusta domi once more disturbed his lares. Yet the queen was not unmindful of her philosopher; Mr. Cavendish was despatched to assure him that he might freely pursue his studies, and brought a royal Christmas gift of two hundred angels in gold, to be renewed with the season.
But the old man craved more than an uncertain eleemosynary bounty; his creditors multiplied, and the great will forget the man whom they rarely see. Dee has feelingly classed those who had outwearied his generous nature, “the ungrateful and the thankless; and the scorners and disdainers.” The royal hand alone could repair his injuries, and vindicate his genius. Dee addressed a memorial to the queen, praying that a commission might be appointed to inquire into his case, which, as he energetically expressed himself, had been “written with tears of blood.” He did not draw up his petition as an illustrious pauper, but as a claimant for services performed.