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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN LITERATURE,
SCIENCE AND MEDICINE

Humoral Wombs on the

Shakespearean Stage

Amy Kenny
Palgrave Studies in Literature, Science and Medicine

Series Editors
Sharon Ruston
Department of English and Creative Writing
Lancaster University
Lancaster, UK

Alice Jenkins
School of Critical Studies
University of Glasgow
Glasgow, UK

Catherine Belling
Feinberg School of Medicine
Northwestern University
Chicago, IL, USA
Palgrave Studies in Literature, Science and Medicine is an exciting new
series that focuses on one of the most vibrant and interdisciplinary areas in
literary studies: the intersection of literature, science and medicine.
Comprised of academic monographs, essay collections, and Palgrave Pivot
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conjunction with a range of other theoretical approaches. The series will
cover all aspects of this rich and varied field and is open to new and emerg-
ing topics as well as established ones. Editorial board: Steven Connor,
Professor of English, University of Cambridge, UK; Lisa Diedrich,
Associate Professor in Women’s and Gender Studies, Stony Brook
University, USA; Kate Hayles, Professor of English, Duke University,
USA; Peter Middleton, Professor of English, University of Southampton,
UK; Sally Shuttleworth, Professorial Fellow in English, St Anne’s College,
University of Oxford, UK; Susan Squier, Professor of Women’s Studies
and English, Pennsylvania State University, USA; Martin Willis, Professor
of English, University of Westminster, UK

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 Amy Kenny

Humoral Wombs on
the Shakespearean
Stage
Amy Kenny
University of California
Riverside, CA, USA

Palgrave Studies in Literature, Science and Medicine

ISBN 978-3-030-05200-3    ISBN 978-3-030-05201-0 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-05201-0

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© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2019

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
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The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
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Cover illustration: Female figure with womb exposed displaying a fetus from Adriaan van
de Spiegel’s, ‘De Formato Foetu’ - Everett Collection Historical / Alamy Stock Photo

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
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 To my mum, who is stronger than people know.
To my dad: one of us isn’t necessary, but I’m glad you’re still around.
 Acknowledgments

I have been fortunate to receive support from many people over the pro-
cess of working on this book. My colleagues at UC Riverside (UCR) have
created a welcoming, supportive environment for me. Heidi Brayman and
Deborah Willis have been exceedingly generous with their time, mentor-
ing me in various ways. My students have been a persistent source of joy
and enthusiasm while I have written this book. Their questions, dedica-
tion, and insights continue to impress me. Talking about Shakespeare and
the humors with them is a genuine privilege.
Before I landed at UCR, Andrew Hadfield and Farah Karim-Cooper
provided constructive advice and opportunities for me to grow as a scholar
and learn about early modern drama. I am indebted to them for the chance
to research and teach at Shakespeare’s Globe, which informed my think-
ing about bodies in performance spaces. Much of the research for this
book was completed at the Huntington Library, where everyone was help-
ful, patient, and knowledgeable beyond measure. The team at Palgrave
Macmillan has been a pleasure to work with, assisting me through the
entire process.
I am thankful to know a group of generous scholars who offered feed-
back on this book project at various stages. Ariane Balizet, Heidi Brayman,
John Briggs, Casey Caldwell, Brenna Jones, Sarah Lewis, Penelope Meyers
Usher, and Deborah Willis read chapters of this book and undoubtedly
improved the work with their erudite suggestions and kind comments.
Ideas for specific chapters were initially presented at the Shakespeare
Association of America and the Renaissance Conference of Southern

vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

California. I am appreciative to the participants and auditors for their

insightful questions about my work.
The most heartfelt acknowledgments are always closer to home. My
family—Thompsons and Kennys—none of whom really enjoy Shakespeare,
continuously humor me by taking an interest for my sake. Their support
has kept me grounded while working on this project. My biggest debt of
gratitude is to my husband, Andrew, who inspires me to be my best, and
never judges me at my worst. Andrew, “haply I think on thee […] that
then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
 Contents

1 Introduction: The Early Modern Womb  1

2 The Green Womb 27

3 The Thick Womb 57

4 The Fertile Womb 83

5 The Monstrous Womb111

6 The Tomb Womb139

7 The Male Womb167

8 Coda: The Exonerated Womb193

Index199

ix
 List of Figures

Fig. 4.1 Dissected woman pointing to an extracted uterus while stepping

on a set of closed books. (From Jacopo Berengario da Carpi,
Anatomia Carpi. Venice: B. de Vitalibus, 1535. Wellcome
Collection)85
Fig. 4.2 Lying in room with attendant, child, and midwife. (From Jacob
Rüff, T’boeck vande vroet-wijfs. Amsterdam: W. Jansz [Blaeu],
1616. Wellcome Collection) 96
Fig. 5.1 Illustration of various figures: small dark figure, hairy woman,
and an upright creature. (From Ambroise Paré, Les oeuures d’
Ambroise Paré (Paris: Gabriel Buon, 1585), 1037. Wellcome
Collection)128
Fig. 6.1 Anatomical dissection by Andreas Vesalius of a female cadaver,
attended by a large crowd of onlookers. (Woodcut from title
page of Andreas Vesalius, De humani corporis fabrica libri septem.
Basel: [Oporinus], 1555. Wellcome Collection) 149
Fig. 7.1 Treatment of prolapse of uterus. (From Caspar Stromayr, Die
Handschrift des Schnitt- und Augenarztes Caspar Stromayr in
Lindau im Bodensee. Berlin: Idra-Verlagsanstalt, 1559. Wellcome
Collection)184

xi
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 CHAPTER 1

Introduction: The Early Modern Womb

When Goneril scolds her father for his entourage’s behavior, Lear’s
response is to attack her ability to conceive children. He berates her:

Into her womb convey sterility,

Dry up in her the organs of increase,
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honor her. If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen, that it may live
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her. (King Lear 1.4.275–280)

Why does Lear believe cursing Goneril’s womb will distinctively disparage
her? How does he plan to “convey sterility” and create a “child of spleen”
in his daughter’s body? How was this internal, corporeal process enacted in
the early modern playhouse? Lear’s understanding of Goneril’s fertility
raises larger enquiries explored by this book about the intersection of
humoralism and performativity when analyzing the early modern womb.
Lear wishes to preclude the womb from the generative process by empow-
ering the spleen, a byword for malice and rashness, to procreate a perverse
child. By attacking her fertility, Lear demonstrates the womb’s prominent
role in the body as he attempts to denigrate his daughter solely by assaulting
her hostile womb. His premise is predicated on a valid geohumoral reading,
constructing the climate’s heat as intercepting the internal moisture of
Goneril’s womb. Sterility was thought to derive from humoral imbalance

© The Author(s) 2019 1

A. Kenny, Humoral Wombs on the Shakespearean Stage, Palgrave
Studies in Literature, Science and Medicine,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-05201-0_1
2 A. KENNY

in the female body, which prevented male seed from receiving proper
nutrients in the womb.1 Cursing Goneril with an internal humoral
drought, Lear emphasizes the leakiness expected of wombs in early mod-
ern discourse by rhetorically dehydrating his daughter’s interiors. While
drastic, his malediction illustrates the concept at the heart of geohumoral-
ism: that the humoral body is mediated by the external world. Lear’s curse
situates the womb as a potentially dangerous organ, able to deplete the
body of moist humors necessary to remain fertile. The fact that he consoli-
dates his animosity toward his daughter on the womb highlights the way
it became conflated with the female body over the course of the early
modern period. Cursing Goneril’s womb effectively admonishes her wom-
anhood, agency within patriarchy, and purpose in reproduction. His
humoral imprecation offers one of many instances where the womb is
evoked on the Shakespearean stage, which is the focus of this book.
In early modern England, Galenic naturalism utilized the four humors—
yellow bile, black bile, phlegm, and blood—to delineate the psychological
and physiological apparatus. As other scholars have shown, humoral the-
ory was part of the common vernacular of people of all classes, believed to
be the rudimentary premise on which the body was based.2 All bodily
systems were understood as part of the Galenic framework, which con-
ceived of the body in flux, with the humors in constant need of regulation.
The title page of Thomas Walkington’s The Optick Glasse of Humors cate-
gorizes each of the four humors in relationship with the elements, age,
planets, and zodiac signs, illustrating the humoral body’s reciprocal rela-
tionship with the larger environment. The humoral body was considered
porous, adaptable, and susceptible to innumerable changes in the climate,
season, region, or age, even when healthy. Illness was conceptualized as an
imbalance of the humors, and therefore, people were encouraged to use
the non-naturals: sleep, diet, exercise, climate, excretion, and the passions
to regulate their bodies. While each subject was born with a predisposition
for one humoral temperament, she/he could mediate the humors through
nutrition, bloodletting, enemas, temperature, and other remedies uti­
lizing the non-naturals, which functioned interdependently. Humoralism
endowed individual organs with a sense of agency within the body, with
the subject often acting as a passive recipient of the organ’s autonomy.
Much of the writing from this period shows that an organ could act
independently without the subject’s consent or knowledge. The womb
in particular was understood within this ideology, often described as an
“animal in an animal,” able to impact the female body based on its own
 INTRODUCTION: THE EARLY MODERN WOMB 3

desires.3 This framework offered medical practitioners a discourse for

describing and constructing an interiority that was otherwise impenetrable
to them. Using somatic terminology to expound inward experiences high-
lights how humoral theory seeks to visualize and externalize inner pro-
cesses. While our post-Cartesian ontology makes metaphors of bodily
experience, no distinction between internal and external identities exists in
humoral discourse. Galenic models are based on the body’s permeability
to the surrounding environment, rendering all physical discourse not
merely linguistic representation but an exploration of the porous self. In
attempting to recover the performativity of the humors in this context, we
can further explore the role the interior played in early modern
playhouses.
This book considers how the humoral womb was evoked, enacted, and
embodied on the early modern stage by exploring the intersection of per-
formance studies and humoral theory. Gail Kern Paster demonstrated how
humoral theory can develop our understanding of affect in Shakespeare’s
canon, and this book draws on that work by examining how the humoral
womb was signified in a theatrical space. While this book will focus exclu-
sively on Shakespeare’s canon for the sake of brevity, it hopes to inspire
future scholarship to explore similar questions about the paradoxical,
intriguing depiction of the womb across early modern drama. The humoral
wombs that I trace in this book are Shakespearean in nature, and as such,
were portrayed on an all-male stage during public performances. Therefore,
I consider both an early modern medical reading of the female body pre-
sented in the canon and how it was represented on stage through the male
performer. The body of the actor physicalizes a conceptual awareness of
the humors on stage, inviting the audience to interpret language and char-
acter in corporeal terms. His physical presence in front of the audience
interrogates the body not as metaphorical or elusive but material, carnal,
and palpable. Humoral Wombs is interested in the interaction between the
invisibility of humoral wombs and the visual medium that conjured them
on stage, particularly in considering their impact on our interpretation of
theatrical moments which invoke the womb. This introduction outlines
the humoral concept of the womb disseminated in medical tracts, domes-
tic manuals, diaries, and pamphlets, specifically interrogating how it was
crucial to the larger socio-political discourse surrounding women’s bodies
in the early modern period. The book begins by providing a medical
framework for the literature analysis that occupies the remaining chapters.
The purpose, structure, and function of the womb in early modern
4 A. KENNY

medicine are explored in a variety of texts to demonstrate how early mod-

erners broadly theorized female anatomy when Shakespeare wrote his plays.

“receptacle and receiver of seed”

Humorally, women were typically considered phlegmatic, which produced
a cold and moist temperament and was elementally connected to water.
Midwife Jane Sharp attributed this to the “defect of heat in women,”4
while barber surgeon Ambroise Paré claimed “a woman’s flesh is more
sponge-like and softer than a man’s: since this is so, the woman’s body
draws moisture both with more speed and in greater quantity from the
belly than does the body of a man.”5 Regardless of the cause of a woman’s
succulence, it was generally agreed in medical texts that the “man ­therefore
is hot and dry; woman cold and moist: he is the agent, she the patient, or
weaker vessel.”6 Crucially, the woman’s cold and moist humors were
thought to produce a passive, less assertive disposition. The female body
was therefore akin to the grotesque: unfinished and porous, known for its
inability to control itself.7 Casting the female body in this manner con-
trasted it with the perfected male form, which situated the womb as cen-
tral to this Othering process. Medical authors used the biblical creation
narrative as justification for denigrating women, stressing the importance
of difference among genders for procreative success. If men and women
embodied the same humoral constitution, these writers claim, they could
not reproduce as their seed would not combine accurately. By predicating
conception on differing humoral temperaments of men and women, med-
ical theorists justified their own subjugation of women by cultivating a
distinct female humorality responsible for behavior.
Various terminology was used to denote the womb, including “matrix,”
“mother,” or “female yard.” Famed physician Eucharius Rösslin notes in
his immensely popular The Birth of Mankind, “these three words, the
matrix, the mother, and womb do signify but one thing.”8 As the byword
“mother” suggests, the womb’s function was primarily understood in con-
nection to gestation in these medical texts. Defining the womb in terms of
fertility hints at the underlying premise in early modern medical texts that
the womb served no other purpose in the female body other than facilitat-
ing reproduction. Rösslin even defines the organ as “the place wherein the
seed of man is conceived, fortified, conserved, nourished, and augmented.”9
Referred to as the “receptacle and receiver of seed,” the womb’s principal
function was to produce a healthy fetus by sustaining male seed.10 Jane
 INTRODUCTION: THE EARLY MODERN WOMB 5

Sharp explains simply “the concavity or hollow of it is called the womb, or

house for the infant to lie in.”11 Likewise, The Compleat Midwife claims,
“the first use of the womb is to attract the seed by a familiar sympathy, just
as the load-stone draws iron. The second use is to retain it, which is prop-
erly called conception.”12 The womb was commonly thought to be
equipped with magnetic capabilities able to lure male seed for nourish-
ment to fulfill its propagative role.13 As these examples make plain, the
womb was defined as an empty vessel for male reproduction, emphasizing
its ability to nurture seed for procreative purposes because of its humoral
temperament.
Midwifery manuals expose such assumptions and offer a ripe space in
which to question the medical discourse perpetuating distrust for the
woman’s leaky anatomy. Since women differed from their male counter-
parts in producing menstrual blood and breastmilk, their bodies were
characterized as leaky vessels through a shameful overproduction of fluids.
Debates surfaced over why women menstruate, when men did not. Jane
Sharp labels menstruation “a monstrous thing, that no creature but a
woman hath them.”14 Physician Daniel Sennert claims, “menstrual blood
only offends in quantity, and not in any manifest or hidden quality.”15
Although it was pure and “profitable blood,” menses required release due
to its superfluous quantity.16 While some medical practitioners denigrated
menstrual blood itself, most agreed that the quality of blood was not
offensive since all bodily fluids were considered fungible, and therefore,
menstrual blood and breastmilk were the same substance. The woman’s
“superfluous blood” helped nurture a fetus during gestation, but other-
wise, necessitated spontaneous purging.17 Since menses provided suste-
nance to an infant in the form of breastmilk, it could not be toxic in
quality. Rather, the blood was produced in excess and consequently
required excretion to maintain humoral balance in the female body. Her
humoral state, even when healthy, was associated with surplus fluid, and
required perpetual cleansing. The shame inherent to the leaky vessel
centered on the perceived lack of control the female subject had over
her own body. She is unable to limit her production of fluids, and there-
fore seen as inferior to the male subject, who is humorally dry. Her humoral
moisture embodies the shameful lack of agency her secretions will come to
expose, inscribing her as an inert force in her own body. In many ways,
the womb epitomizes this contemptible excess moisture, as it charac-
teristically links the woman to her humoral leakiness. As the book will
show, the womb becomes a synecdoche for feminine moisture, absorbing
6 A. KENNY

the male anxiety over the divergent female condition. As the remaining chap-
ters will demonstrate, Shakespeare subversively questions this contemporary
construct of the womb and instead equips the organ with agency and auton-
omy. The womb no longer functions as solely the receptacle of seed or source
of a retributive evacuation of fluids, but a space for female characters to cul-
tivate their own unique geohumoral subjectivity in the Shakespearean canon.

“evil quality of the womb”

While menstruation was coded as involuntary, passive, and punitive, women
who experienced amenorrhea suffered from a variety of womb ailments,
which further perpetuated the notion of the weak female body. Early mod-
ern medicine inherited Hippocrates’ suspicion of the womb as the source of
the 500 miseries of women.18 Consequently, cultural ­anxieties were pro-
jected onto the womb, an organ paradoxically interpreted as the nexus of
birth and death, which was perpetually constructed as illusive. The womb
was stigmatized as both internally polluted and externally polluting the envi-
ronment, able to infect other nearby porous bodies. As Mary E. Fissell has
demonstrated elsewhere, the womb “goes bad” once women are no longer
encouraged to identify with the Virgin Mary, and instead, physicians begin
to ascribe numerous disorders to the organ.19 Over the course of the early
modern period, the womb shifts from the site of miraculous conception to
a dangerous organ that provoked disease. Sennert advises that menses “hath
strange qualities when it is mixed with bad humors or is kept too long in the
body to be corrupted and cause great symptoms.”20 Academic John Sadler
blames the frailty of women, who “cannot digest all their last nourishment,”
which leads to disease.21 Jane Sharp makes this plain in stating, “the female
sex are subject to more diseases by odds than the male kind are.”22 English
physician Edward Jorden notes, “the passive condition of womankind is
subject unto more diseases and of other sorts and natures than men are.”23
Following Galen and Hippocrates, The couple at doctress succinctly states:
“the matrix is the cause of all those diseases which happen to women.”24 The
womb and its functions were habitually blamed for an assortment of ail-
ments, suggesting the inherent weakness of the female body could not con-
trol her own internal systems. The cultural anxiety around women’s bodies
pervades the womb, suggesting its negative impact on the humoral body,
culminating in the passive, cold, and moist female. By positioning the womb
as unable to maintain its fluids, medical practitioners ensured surveillance
over women’s bodies under the guise of controlling their weakness. Casting
the womb as an organ in constant need of regulation corroborated the chain
of being’s placement of women as subservient to men.
 INTRODUCTION: THE EARLY MODERN WOMB 7

Endowed with an emotional temperament, the womb was often

described as angry, poised to retaliate against the body at any moment.25
Reconstructed as a malevolent force in the body, the womb was con-
nected to many illnesses, monstrous births, and the inexplicable.
Tumors, scirrhus (an earthy, hard tumor), cancer, ulcers, or rottenness
of the womb were all used to corroborate the womb’s inherent diseased
state. The womb’s disproportionate moisture, derived from excessive
female seed, humors, or menstrual blood, caused various maladies as
well. Dropsy and inflammation of the womb derived from excess water
and blood, respectively, swelling the womb so much that it became anal-
ogous to a bladder.26 Corruption of the humors resulted cacochymical,
colloquially known as “the whites” because it produced a white, red, or
yellow vaginal discharge. Greensickness, mother-fits, suffocation of the
mother, and frenzy of the womb were all consequent of excess seed
which generated immoderate lust, delirium, convulsions, hysteria, and
sometimes even death. Excess fluid was generally blamed for womb dis-
eases, as this was a convenient catch-all response to the womb’s lack of
regulatory power over its excretions. Since women were typically cold
and moist humorally, they were encouraged to eat a hot, dry diet, purge
gratuitous seed, and evacuate fluids (excrement, urine, and blood) to
treat these conditions, which hints at the perceived relationship between
phlegmatic excess and disease. This catalog of female ailments demon-
strates the broader medical implications of casting the female body as
the leaky vessel, wherein fluids become the signifier of humoral imbal-
ance, and therefore, disease. The womb acts as the locus of many of
these diseases in early modern medicine and adopts many of the cultural
anxieties about gender during the period. Constructed as an active,
semi-independent force within the female body, the womb was endowed
with its own agency, which exacerbated male anxiety about controlling
the female body.
The illegibility of the womb created apprehension over the female
body’s divergence from the perfected male form, because the organ was
never fully exposed to scrutiny by the male gaze. Connected to this
Othering of the womb is the notion that the female body contained
numerous secrets and was able to evade epistemology. Medical practitio-
ners recorded a variety of curious objects reportedly found in the womb,
from a “rough stone as big as a duck’s egg” to “hairs like yellow wool.”27
Sharp simply notes: “strange things are found in it” to express her dis-
may.28 As the word “strange” indicates, many medical tracts read more like
8 A. KENNY

mythological anecdotes emphasizing the womb’s curious nature when

delineating the diverse objects it could house. Early modern medicine
often utilized such bodily narratives to denigrate women’s experiences
over their own bodies. Katherine Park has shown how the female body
came to “illustrate internal anatomy in general [through an] association
with the uterus.”29 The assumption that the female body contained hid-
den truths is centered on the interior location of the primary female organ:
the womb. Since male genitalia was externalized, it was considered easier
to comprehend in medical circles. The womb, with its internal location
and intricate design, remained mysterious to many male practitioners.
Even once anatomy exploited dissection to garner medical knowledge, few
female corpses were available, meaning the womb was largely inaccessible
in the medical classroom, and therefore, incomprehensible. The womb
becomes akin to a preternatural force that works on the body without
a visible trace. Ultimately, women’s bodies were considered unknowable,
secretive, and untrustworthy in early modern medicine because of the
illusive womb.
Consequently, the womb adopted occult terminology in early mod-
ern medical texts, despite the general secularization of medicine through-
out the period. Medical manuals held that the womb acted as a magnet
to entice male seed and was equipped with supernatural abilities. Rösslin
notes, “this womb port doth naturally open itself, attracting, drawing,
and sucking into the womb the seed by a vehement and natural desire,”30
as does Aristotle’s Masterpiece: “the womb itself has many properties
­attributed to it, as, first attraction of the seed by familiar sympathy.”31 In
addition, the womb could smell external aromatics, housed a variety of
inanimate objects, and could indelibly mark a fetus simply through the
mother’s imagination during pregnancy. These phenomena were predi-
cated on the secretive nature of the womb, suggesting the female body
was willfully deceitful in concealing itself from the external observer.
The idea of practical physic makes plain “the occult qualities, which the
womb hath is apparent from hence, because it hath a singular sympathy
and antipathy with diverse things.”32 Perhaps most surprising to mod-
ern readers is that the womb was believed to contaminate other organs,
causing headaches, and more seriously, heart, spleen, liver, and stomach
diseases when agitated. In his Sick Woman’s Looking Glass, Sadler notes,
“with the evil quality of the womb the whole body stands charged, but
especially the heart, the liver, and the brain.”33 Sharp echoes this idea,
noting “the womb, by its consent with other parts of the body,
 INTRODUCTION: THE EARLY MODERN WOMB 9

as well as by its own nature, is subject to multitudes of diseases.”34 English

physician Nicholas Culpeper, likewise, wrote “the womb is delighted with
that sweet and hidden quality with which it hath a particular sympathy, the
evil humors that lie in the womb,” which causes suffocation of mother and
other catastrophic illness.35 The womb had a unique sympathy with other
organs, suggesting a type of occult power to communicate and influence
the remainder of the body through its active force. It is clear that the
womb, which was once praised for its miraculous ability to nurture male
seed, transformed into a dangerous locus of disease at this time. As Jane
Sharp notes, “the wombs of women should always be kept temperate, that
they exceed not in any preternatural quality.”36 Previous to this, medicine
incorporated religious discourse to explain unusual phenomenon or unex-
plained diseases. As medicine became secularized, divine and demonic
interaction was seldom blamed for illness, rather, humoral imbalance was
discussed with greater depth. Physician Levinus Lemnius makes plain to
readers: “humors and not bad angels cause diseases.”37 Despite the shift in
describing the physiological causes of disease, the female body absorbs the
supernatural qualities abandoned by the demonic in the secularization of
medicine.

“womb unmeasurable”
Thus far, I have laid the groundwork for a broad medical context of the
womb when Shakespeare wrote his plays. It is worth noting that the medi-
cal literature of the period is prescriptive in nature, and therefore, cannot
offer a holistic description of the past’s medical beliefs. Even in instances
where medical books describe bodily processes, they denote a representa-
tion of the past, and not a comprehensive view of what all early modern
people thought of the womb. Since the past is not monolithic, it is reduc-
tive to think medical texts present the prevailing view of all ideologies in
the early modern period. However, this book will treat medical texts as
depictions of a humoral ideology that permeated early modern culture. It
makes no claim that this is the singular understanding of the body at this
time, nor does the book intend to present medical literature as demon-
strative of all early modern people’s ideas about the womb. Instead, this
book uses medical writing as a tool to unpack a specific, humoral ideology
of the womb present in the early modern period and considers how that
compares to its portrayal in Shakespeare’s plays. While there is not a
mimetic relationship between medical publishing and the playhouse, the
10 A. KENNY

exchange between the two is where this book locates its analysis of the
womb. Shakespeare’s audience would have access to this information
about the humoral womb, as medical manuals were often written for a
novice ­audience without university training on how to practice medi-
cine. Unlike today, where medicine is often standardized and regulated,
the early modern period saw a variety of people practice medicine in one
form or another, including the physic, (barber) surgeon, midwife, apoth-
ecary, physician, empiric, doctor of medicine, and even the mountebank.
This list is not intended to be exhaustive, but offers a glimpse of the
spectrum of consultants available in the medical marketplace, all of
whom possessed a cursory knowledge of the humoral body. These prac-
titioners ranged in levels of medical expertise, experience, and expense.
For my purposes, the variety of treatments and practitioners available
depicts a facet of the lived experience of everyday people in the early
modern period.
It is not merely that trained physicians had access to Galen’s theories
about the bodily humors, but rather that they were incorporated into a
variety of medical practices at the time. Around 590 editions of Galen’s
works were published in Europe between 1500 and 1600, and Galenic
humoralism underwent a resurgence in England after royal surgeons
Thomas Linacre and John Caius began teaching his theories.38 The popu-
larity of these published texts, along with the casual references to humor-
alism in extant works from the period, suggests a pervasive familiarity
with his work. For several decades, Galen’s methods went relatively
unchallenged, until Swiss physician Paracelsus discarded humoral theory
in preference of chemical medicine. Paracelsian medicine emphasized
laboratory experimentation and introduced several chemical remedies. It
is worth noting that Galenic humoralism appears alongside Paracelsian
chemical medicine in the Shakespearean canon. Before Helena cures the
king in All’s Well that Ends Well, doctors have tried techniques “both of
Galen and Paracelsus” to no avail (2.3.11). Falstaff claims to have read
Galen when diagnosing apoplexy (Henry IV, Part 2 1.2.118) and Dr.
Hugh Evans maligns Dr. Caius because “he has no knowledge of
Hippocrates and Galen,” suggesting his ignorance (The Merry Wives of
Windsor 3.1.62). Throughout the canon, Galen is synonymous with
knowledge of the body and medical proficiency, which suggests his work
was established enough to use colloquially. Early modern drama is rooted
in the everyday lives of early modern people, suggesting the theater audi-
ence was familiar with Galen’s medical ideology of the humors.
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 INTRODUCTION: THE EARLY MODERN WOMB 11

It is not the aim of this book to trace the reliability or popularity of

Galen or Paracelsus in early modern medicine, but rather to analyze how
Galenic humoralism appears in Shakespeare’s plays in connection to the
womb. This book interrogates how the womb is interpreted and embod-
ied on stage by examining medical treatises, domestic manuals, and diaries
to establish normative early modern ideas about the womb, and analyze
Shakespeare’s plays through these contemporary, (geo)humoral attitudes.
Accordingly, it will explore how the Galenic humors and non-naturals
impact the nourishing or suffocating attributes of the organ. The word
“womb” is used over 60 times in Shakespeare’s canon to evoke a variety of
multifaceted meanings. In its most obvious use, the womb signifies fertil-
ity, pregnancy, and the female body. Gloucester recalls how his mistress
“grew round-womb’d” when pregnant with his son (King Lear 1.1.13).
Likewise, Titania remembers, “her womb then rich with my young squire”
when describing her pregnant votaress (A Midsummer Night’s Dream
2.1.131). Joan La Pucelle pleads, “murder not then the fruit within my
womb” when claiming she is pregnant to avoid death (Henry VI, Part 1
5.4.63). Cominius uses the phrase “my dear wife’s estimate, her womb’s
increase” to refer to potential offspring (Coriolanus 3.3.114) and Henry
VIII wishes to “commanded nature, that my lady’s womb, if it conceived
a male child by me, should do no more offices to life to’t than the grave
does to the dead” (Henry VIII 2.4.188–191). The Soothsayer tells
Charmian she would conceive “if every of your wishes had a womb, and
fertile every wish, a million,” correlating her maternal desire with fertility
terminology (Antony and Cleopatra 1.2.39). Mistress Quickly uses this
association when she tells Doll Tearsheet, “I pray God the fruit of her
womb miscarry!” (Henry IV, Part 2 5.4.12–13). The expectation latent in
the canon is that the womb is fertile by nature, and thus, diseased if sterile.
While invoked in a variety of contexts, these examples demonstrate the
womb’s primary function was to reproduce. Even when not addressing
the physicality of pregnancy directly, the womb becomes a byword for
fertility and gestation.
Long after pregnancy, mothers use the womb to foster a link between
themselves and their children, establishing a sense of identity in the pro-
cess. Volumnia calls Coriolanus “the only son of my womb,” predicating
his identity on her corporeality (Coriolanus 1.3.6). In The Tempest,
Miranda attempts to exonerate her grandmother’s culpability in her son’s
behavior by asserting, “good wombs have borne bad sons” (1.2.120). By
absolving her grandmother for Antonio’s misgivings, Miranda voices an
12 A. KENNY

ideology which exonerates the womb, a notion that repeatedly emerges in

Shakespeare’s plays. Miranda suggests Antonio’s choices are the sole cause
of his behavior, and cannot be attributed to his mother’s imagination,
behavior, or humorality while pregnant. “Womb” comes to mean a
medium of conception, place of origin and growth, and the center of
development throughout the canon. It often functions as a methodology
for mothers to affirm their unique role in their children’s development,
one that erases the paternal link as the primary mode of identity forma-
tion. Male characters regularly adopt birthing rhetoric to articulate their
internal emotions or mental faculty, as Chap. 7 will explicate. Iago draws
on birthing imagery to discuss his nefarious plan, suggesting “there are
many events in the womb of time which will be delivered” (Othello
1.3.365). This metaphor demonstrates the prevalence of the womb as a
mode of expression, not merely used to discuss the physical act of labor.
Male characters appropriating the womb to externalize their interiority
demonstrate how the womb was often conflated with its functions (con-
ception, birth, and lactation) in the canon. The womb, then, becomes a
synecdoche for a female humorality outside of the specific organ itself.
Likewise, Shakespeare’s plays frequently use the womb as a synonym
for the land, evoking a sense of national identity through bodily discourse.
Talking to the earth, Timon begs, “Common mother, thou, whose womb
unmeasurable, and infinite breast, teems, and feeds all […] ensnare thy
fertile and conceptious womb” before finding gold (Timon of Athens
4.3.178–9, 188). Timon’s curse on humanity situates the earth as the
womb of all generation, emphasizing the prominent role of mothers in
lineage. His conflation of womb and earth attempts to solidify a shared
experience via the maternal body, a rhetorical move which suggests the
womb is the origin of all humanity. John of Gaunt famously conflates
England and womb when discussing “this England, this nurse, this teem-
ing womb of royal kings” (Richard II 2.1.22). England is construed as
fertile soil, adopting the ripe metaphor for procreation the womb allows.
In a more troubling vein, John of Gaunt also claims the “hollow womb
inherits naught but bones” (Richard II 2.2.10). The association of the
womb with a tomb conflates life and death, harrowingly replacing gesta-
tion with decay. In Romeo and Juliet, the womb’s connection to the tomb
is made explicit, particularly when Romeo calls death “fatal cannon’s
womb” (Romeo and Juliet 5.1.65) and Friar Laurence foreshadows the
lovers’ demise by claiming, “the earth, that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb.
What is her burying grave that is her womb” (2.3.5–6). Casting the womb
 INTRODUCTION: THE EARLY MODERN WOMB 13

as the nexus of life and death hints at its contradictory function in early
modern discourse, wherein the organ occupied a paradoxical space con-
nected to birth, life, death, and the unknown.
The use of the word “womb” can offer a metaphor for the occluded,
mysterious notion of the organ, such as when Horatio asks Old Hamlet’s
ghost if he has buried some “extorted treasure in the womb of earth”
(Hamlet 1.1.138). Florizel notes, “the close earth wombs or the profound
sea hides in unknown fathoms” as if to suggest its concealed nature (The
Winter’s Tale 4.4.487). Likewise, the Chorus in Henry V describes the
camp at “the foul womb of night,” insinuating the womb’s mysterious
quality by comparing it to night (Henry V 4.0.4). The womb often offers a
symbol of secrecy because of the organ’s inward location in the body, hint-
ing at the masculine apprehension over the female body’s enigmatic interi-
ors. These are but a few examples of the various connotations of the womb
in the Shakespearean canon. Since the womb was socially constructed in
contrast to male anatomy, it becomes the locus of male anxiety about the
self and one’s place in the chain of being throughout the period. The womb
often threatens male subjectivity by confronting him with his maternal ori-
gins, which is frequently shown to be a masculine concern rather than a
problem derived from a female humorality. Yet, the female body is a site of
male anxiety, not a source of contamination and disease in Shakespeare. As
I will demonstrate throughout the book, the tension around the womb’s
agency is ridiculed throughout Shakespeare’s plays as unwarranted.

“swallowing womb of this deep pit”

This book explores the interaction between the invisibility of the humoral
womb and the visual medium that conjured it on stage. While it might
seem like a contradiction to consider the performativity of an internal
organ, there are several ways in which to explore the representation of the
interior on stage. The most obvious staging of the womb is when charac-
ters are pregnant, offering an externalized marker of the physical interior.
Hermione in The Winter’s Tale, Juliet in Measure for Measure, Thaisa in
Pericles, and Tamora in Titus Andronicus all appear visibly pregnant on
stage and as such, their embodied performance comments on their wombs
in a visceral way. Sometimes the external signifier of the womb is not the
body itself but other figurative explorations of space. It is a critical
commonplace to note how the pit offers a synecdoche for the womb in
Titus Andronicus, where Quintus fears he may fall into the “swallowing
14 A. KENNY

womb of this deep pit, poor Bassianus’ grave” (2.3.239). The pit gestures
toward yonic imagery that is otherwise erased on the all-male stage.
Tombs, pits, hovels, and even the circular structure of the outdoor play-
house offer a parallel to the interiority of the womb during performance.
Throughout the chapters, I explore how various signifiers become repre-
sentative of the internal presence of the womb, suggesting that the stage’s
locus and platea cultivates an analogue to classical and grotesque bodies
during performance.
Aside from representing the womb through embodied performance
and staging practices, Shakespeare’s plays rely on the audience’s imagina-
tion to conjure the organ as part of the theatrical experience. The project
of theater-making is always intent on what is just beyond the stage, inviting
the audience to envisage what cannot be represented. The Chorus instructs
the audience to use their “imaginary forces” to make the play come to life
in Henry V, or to “imagine Pericles arrive at Tyre” in Pericles (Henry V
1.0.18, Pericles 4.0.1). These examples offer a microcosm of the invitation
implicit in the remainder of early modern drama; one that invites the audi-
ence to visualize what is beyond the stage in both an inward (bodily) and
outward (worldly) sense. The illusory process in the theater relies on a
singular space and a dozen actors figuratively transporting the audience to
engage with diverse locations, characters, times, and situations. On the all-
male stage, costume, gesture, cosmetics, and body language aided in evok-
ing a feminized presence. Thus, it is not unusual to consider the womb’s
place in the act of illusion, as this is inherent in the process of staging early
modern drama. Other scholars have drawn attention to the presumably
contradictory nature of staging the internal, such as David Hillman, who
admits the tendency to assume entrails are antitheatrical in nature, but
instead argues “it is for this very reason that the gesture towards the inte-
rior can be so powerfully dramatic, for pointing—physically and symboli-
cally—to an unseen dimension of experience is of course essential to
theatricality.”39 On stage, the actor’s body becomes a site of embodied
exploration, with thousands of spectators imaginatively dissecting the inte-
rior. As such, these plays offer a type of rhetorical blazon, inviting the
spectator to dissect the bodily interior presented on stage. Perhaps that is
what Thomas Dekker means when he admits, “the stage, like time, will
bring you to most perfect light, and lay you open.”40 Staging the body
exposes it to a type of dissection, even if only rhetorically. By encouraging
the audience’s imagination of the porous body, Shakespeare’s plays explore
the internal through metaphor, gesture, props, and staging.
 INTRODUCTION: THE EARLY MODERN WOMB 15

It is also important to consider the early modern notion of inwardness

within the humoral framework in which I am reading these plays. Michael
Schoenfeldt reminds us that during this period, “scientific language of analy-
sis had not yet been separated from the sensory language of experience” and
“embodiments of emotion will not be enactments of dead metaphors but
rather explorations of the corporeal nature of the self.”41 When a metaphor
about the womb’s function is used in Shakespeare, it not only signals the
womb’s role in the body but offers a form of embodied experience often lost
on modern audiences because of our post-Cartesian ideology of interiority.
If we interpret these metaphors as literal embodiments, as Michael Schoenfeldt
suggests, any rhetorical use of the womb invades the humoral body to
explore the internal in a palpable manner. While it is difficult to conceive of
our bodies as porous and unfinished in a modern context, the humoral body
was predicated on its reciprocity with the larger environment. Thus, when
the womb is invoked on stage in the milieu of this humoral ideology, it is
rendered viscerally present. The metaphor stresses the action of the womb
and makes visible the internal process for the audience to scrutinize.

Literature Review
Several scholars have examined the humoral body or reproduction during
this period. Michael Schoenfeldt’s Bodies and Selves in Early Modern
England (Cambridge University Press 1999) has laid the groundwork for
this book in considering how the humors and other corporeal processes
were used to explain emotion and psychology. His work emphasizes the
notion of the self through pathologizing inwardness in a variety of early
modern writers, which offers a foundation for my analysis of the womb.
Similarly, in Shakespeare’s Entrails (Palgrave Macmillan 2006), David
Hillman theorizes the early modern subject through embodiment. My
book uses similar methodology to Gail Kern Paster in The Body Embarrassed
(Cornell University Press 1993) and Humoring the Body (University of
Chicago Press 2004), both of which were seminal in their critique of early
modern drama’s portrayal of the humoral body. Gail Kern Paster demon-
strated how humoral theory can develop our understanding of affect in
Shakespeare’s canon, and this book draws on that work by investigating
how the humors were represented specifically regarding female gynecol-
ogy. Works such as Mary E. Fissell’s Vernacular Bodies (Oxford University
Press 2007), Kaara L. Peterson’s Popular Medicine and Hysterical Disease
(Ashgate 2013), and Caroline Bicks’ Midwiving Subjects in Shakespeare’s
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"Cut the threads of that; unfold the velvet, and you will find that its
shape corresponds exactly with the little rent at the foot of that
curtain. It was Dr. Rothwell who cut off this piece of velvet, bringing
it away with him to prove—if proof should ever be required—that he
has stood in the secret crypt of the Ravengars. Do you still doubt
me, my lord, or do you require further proof?"
On the contrary he was so certain of the truth of her words that he
did not attempt to verify them, but stood, fingering the velvet bow
with a dark expression of countenance.
Looking upon Lorelie as an enemy to be silenced at all costs he had
brought her to this vault intending that she should never leave it.
Ivar was a reluctant accomplice, his reluctance arising not from any
conscientious scruples, but from the dangerous consequences
attending the commission of such a deed. The disappearance of the
new viscountess on the second day of her coming to Ravenhall
would be an event that could not fail to bring suspicion and inquiry
in its train.
Lorelie had divined their plot, and having taken steps for its
frustration, had fearlessly accompanied them to the destined scene
of her death. And here she was, a slender, fragile woman, in a lonely
situation, with no one to hear her cry for help, in the presence of
two men desirous of her death, and yet, thanks to her forethought,
as safe as if attended by an armed escort.
Her calm air, her radiant beauty, added fuel to the earl's secret rage.
If he had followed his first impulse he would have seized her in his
arms and twining his fingers around her throat have silenced her
forever. But prudence compelled him to refrain from violence. The
thought of having to face on the morrow the stern inquiring eyes of
Godfrey acted as a potent check.
Fortunately for himself he had not proceeded to the length of openly
avowing his awful purpose: he was therefore free to deny it, if she
had any suspicion, as he was strongly disposed to believe that she
had. Besides, what mattered her suspicion? She had no real proof to
offer the world. Opposed to her single testimony was the joint
testimony of himself and her husband.
He began to breathe freely again. The matter might yet end well as
regarded his own safety—the only consideration that troubled him.
Lorelie, knowing the cause of his mortification, sat at ease in her
chair, secretly enjoying her triumph.
At last, feigning to be angry, she exclaimed:—
"How silent you are! Are you going to let me depart from this vault
without enlightening me as to its mysteries? Come, Ivar, play the
part of cicerone. Draw aside the curtain from each alcove, and give
me the names and biographies of the coffined dead. I am in an
historic genealogic mood."
Ivar, not knowing whether to obey, glanced irresolutely at his father.
"Gratify the curious fool," the earl muttered moodily.
With an ill grace at having to obey the wife whom he hated, and
troubled by a secret foreboding that his guilty secret was about to
transpire, Ivar approached the alcove nearest the door, and, lifting
the velvet drapery, disclosed a deep recess, the walls of which were
pierced with niches containing coffins.
"This," he remarked sullenly, touching one, "is the coffin of Lancelot
Ravengar, the first earl of Ormsby."
And so he proceeded from one alcove to another, giving the names
of the dead peers, his amiability not improved by the caustic
remarks made by Lorelie.
"A dull catalogue of nonentities, unknown to fame," she said, when
Ivar had finished his recital. "But I observed that you entirely passed
over the fourth alcove. Why? Raise the curtain and let me see what
it contains."
With manifest reluctance the viscount lifted the drapery, revealing in
the alcove a coffin on trestles.
"This is the coffin of Urien Ravengar, my grandfather."
"In saying that, you of course mean simply that that is the name on
the plate."
"That coffin," broke in the earl in a harsh voice, "contains the body
of my father, Urien Ravengar."
"I do not think so," replied Lorelie quietly.
In a blaze of wrath the earl turned suddenly upon Ivar.
"Fool! what have you been telling this woman?"
"I? Nothing!" replied the viscount, shrinking back. And seeing
disbelief expressed on his father's face, he added, "Ask her: if she
speak truth she will tell you that nothing relating to this coffin has
passed my lips."
"Then how—how?" began the earl: then, breaking off abruptly, he
turned to Lorelie with the question: "Tell me, then, what this coffin
does contain?"
"That is what I wish to learn," she replied coolly. "It is my chief
reason for visiting this vault."
"You will remain in ignorance."
"I shall depart enlightened. Was it not from that coffin, Ivar," she
said, turning to him, "that you took the golden vase you gave me
some time ago?"
She was drawing a bow at a venture, but the arrow found its mark.
The sweat glistened on Ivar's forehead. He betrayed all the
confusion of a guilty person. His father eyed him suspiciously.
"A golden vase!" he exclaimed with a bitter smile. "Ivar, I must look
into that coffin!"
Thus speaking he made his way to the alcove where the viscount
was standing. Moved by curiosity Lorelie also drew near.
"Take the screwdriver, and remove the lid," said Lord Ormsby in a
stern voice.
Sullenly and mutely Ivar proceeded to do his father's bidding.
No one spoke, and nothing disturbed the stillness save the crisp
revolution of the screwdriver. With folded arms and compressed lips
the earl stood looking on, an expression on his face that boded ill for
his son should he find his suspicion verified.
The last screw was loosed, and as Ivar raised the lid Lorelie's eyes
instantly closed, dazzled by a thousand rays of many-coloured light,
shooting up in all directions from the coffin, like bright spirits
rejoicing to be free.
Putting up her hand to shield her sight from the radiance she
endeavoured to obtain a clear idea of what was before her.
The coffin, of more than ordinary size, was a veritable treasure-
chest, filled to the lid with plate and precious stones, the latter
forming by far the larger part of the contents.
Forgetful of her aversion to the earl, forgetful of her recent peril,
forgetful of everything but the sight before her, Lorelie stood with
parted lips and dilated eyes, spellbound by the glittering array of
wealth. Her knowledge of art taught her that the antiquity and
workmanship of the ornaments far exceeded the intrinsic value of
the materials composing them. There was a crucifix, formed from
one entire piece of amber, the plunder of some Saxon monastery: an
ivory drinking-horn, engraved with runic letters, that spoke of the old
Norseland: a golden lamp, inscribed with a verse from the Koran, a
relic of Moorish rule in Spain: rare coins, that had found their way
from the Byzantine treasury. Every part of mediæval Europe had
apparently contributed some memorial to this store.
But, as previously stated, the quantity of plate was small in
comparison with the gems. It was these that riveted Lorelie's
attention. Never in any collection of crown-jewels had she seen the
equal of these stones for variety and size, for brilliance and beauty.
The richest caliph of the East might have envied the possessor of
such a store. It suggested a dream of the "Arabian Nights."
"Ah! you may well gaze!" cried the earl to Lorelie, in a fierce exultant
tone. "Find me the man in Britain who owns such wealth as this!
Take every object out of the coffin," he continued, addressing Ivar.
"Lay each and all upon the table. Let Lady Walden handle them that
she may realize the wealthy match she has made."
Lorelie quite understood the earl's motive in making this display.
Since he could not get rid of her, his only other policy was to
conciliate her. She smiled disdainfully to herself. It was not to her
interest, however, to quarrel with him at present: she must simulate
friendly relations till the purpose for which she had come to
Ravenhall should be accomplished.
"Yes, let me see everything," she said in seeming eagerness.
Drawing the table to the entrance of the alcove Ivar proceeded to
empty the coffin of its contents. During this operation Lorelie's
surprise rose almost to fever-heat at sight of some of the objects
drawn forth.
When the coffin had been emptied, the earl produced a pocketbook
containing a list of the treasures.
"'Article 1,'" he read out. "'Ancient Norse funereal urn, of pure gold,
set with opals.'"
The viscount handed a vase to his father.
"Safe, I see," said the earl. "I have been unjust to you in thought,
Ivar," he continued, apologetically. "When your wife spoke of a
golden vase given her by you, my thoughts associated themselves
with this. I acknowledge my error."
Ivar cast an anxious look at Lorelie, dreading lest her words should
lead to the betrayal of his secret. But Lorelie said nothing, though in
a state of extreme amazement and perplexity: for the jewelled
vessel now in the earl's hands seemed to be the very vase given to
her by Ivar some weeks previously—the vase that had played so
important a part in her hypnotic experiment with Beatrice.
On coming to Ravenhall Lorelie had left it behind her at The Cedars:
how came it to be here in the vault of the Ravengars? Was it a
replica? If so, it was certainly a marvellous imitation of the original,
since she could detect no points of difference.
"Observe the lustre of the opals," said the earl, his eyes gleaming
with pleasure; and Lorelie perceived that his love of study, great
though it might be, had not quenched in him the passion of avarice.
"An interesting and precious relic of Norse antiquity, this!" continued
the earl, tapping the urn affectionately. "It contains the ashes of
Draco the Golden, the founder of our family. From the grey dust
within this urn all we Ravengars have sprung."
The vase at The Cedars also held the remains of the same Viking, if
the story told by Beatrice in her hypnotic trance was to be relied
upon. The supposition that the ashes of Orm had been divided
between two urns seemed absurd: and yet how otherwise was this
mystery to be explained, unless indeed Ivar, unknown to her, had
paid a visit to The Cedars, and having obtained the vase, had
restored it to the place whence he had originally taken it. Unlikely as
this last hypothesis might be, it seemed the only one capable of
meeting the requirements of the case.
The earl, having carefully deposited the urn in one corner of the
coffin, referred again to his catalogue.
"'Article 2. Norse altar-ring of pure silver, inscribed with runic
characters.' Yes, this is it," he continued, receiving the article from
Ivar's hand. "The ring of Odin, that figures in our armorial shield.
Many a legend of blood clings to this relic. What a history it could
unfold, were it but endowed with speech!"
The golden vase had puzzled Lorelie, but this silver relic puzzled her
still more. She did not doubt that the object before her was the
identical ring, the non-production of which at the trial of Eric
Marville, was one of the points that had told against him. She knew
the story of its theft from Mrs. Breakspear, and, like Idris, knew not
whither it had vanished. Now, after all these years, it thus
reappeared! By what circuitous route, through how many
bloodstained hands, had it passed before regaining its ancient
abode?
Mechanically she took the ring from the earl's hand. If this were
indeed the very relic, there should be a black mark upon the inner
perimeter of the ring. Upon examining it, however, she could
discover no stain at all: the metal band was bright and unsullied.
Was this ring, like the vase, a replica: or was there truth in the
ancient legend that the bloodstain would vanish when some one
should meet with a violent end as an atonement for the slaying of
the Norse herald? Certain it was that a death had occurred in
connection with the finding of the treasure.
With a bewildered air she handed back the ring to the earl, who
placed it within the coffin beside the vase, and turned again to his
list.
"'Article 3. A sapphire drinking-cup. Weight'—ah! look at this!" he
cried, breaking off from his reading in an ecstasy of delight. "Look at
it! Handle it! Admire it! Can the Dresden Gallery produce its like?"
A low and prolonged cry of admiration flowed from Lorelie's lips. The
object handed to her by the earl was a miniature goblet, the tiny
bowl, stem, and stand being delicately sculptured from one entire
sapphire. It was a work of art, as well as a splendid gem. With the
delight of a child over a new toy Lorelie raised the gleaming brilliant
aloft, placing it between her eye and the light in order to mark its
lovely azure transparency. Its beauty was such as almost to reconcile
her to her lot with Ivar. To think if she chose, she might in time to
come be the joint-possessor of such a gem!
"A million of money would not buy that cup," cried the earl,
watching her look of admiration. "It belonged originally to the great
Caliph, Abderahman the Second, and was taken by Draco and his
Vikings at the sacking of the Moorish palace at Seville. It vanished
from human ken, and has lain hidden in a night of ten centuries. The
lapidaries of the present age scoff at its description in history,
believing the gem to be the creation of Arabian fancy: but here it is,
existing to-day, to confute their shallow scepticism. Were this gem
known to the world it would take the title of 'The Queen of
Sapphires.'"
Charmed beyond the power of words to describe, Lorelie turned the
cup slowly round, flashing the light from a hundred facets: and then
—and then—she made a discovery. A minute air-bubble was faintly
visible in the crystalline azure!
She glanced at the earl. His triumphant face showed that he had not
the least inkling of the truth. She looked at Ivar, who happened at
this moment to be standing behind his father. The sudden change in
Lorelie's countenance assured the viscount of the fact of her
discovery: and now, he, the coward who had been willing to take
her life, was appealing to her by gesture and expression to keep her
knowledge a secret from his father.
For that which gave the earl such pride was in truth nothing but an
artificial gem, a marvellous imitation of the real thing, but still merely
a piece of coloured glass!
Lorelie became more perplexed than ever at this discovery. How
came Ivar to know that the gem was false, and why was he so
anxious to conceal the truth from his father?
Then in a moment everything became clear.
Always pressed for money, and precluded by his father's parsimony
from obtaining it, Ivar had formed the plan of appropriating a certain
portion of the plate and gems contained in the coffin. To secure
himself from detection he had artfully replaced the originals by
clever facsimiles, fabricated on the continent by goldsmiths and
glass-workers of the class who would ask no inconvenient questions
provided that they were well paid for their work. To obtain the
necessary counterfeits Ivar must have conveyed the originals to the
continent, a very hazardous thing to do, seeing that if the earl had
paid a visit of inspection to the treasure during his son's absence,
discovery would have been inevitable. The counterfeits being
completed, Ivar had brought them concealed in the reliquary to
Ravenhall, and had transferred them to the coffin, his remark while
doing so—the remark overheard by Godfrey—to wit, "I hope Lorelie
will be satisfied," being doubtless drawn from him by the fact that
Lorelie was often making monetary demands upon him, a fact which
she herself would be the first to admit, though she little dreamed of
the means taken by him to supply her costly tastes. She could not
avoid the feeling that, to some extent, she was responsible for Ivar's
peculations: and, therefore, compliant with his wish, she kept silent,
and permitted the earl to remain in his ignorance.
The contents of the coffin were a mixture of the genuine and the
spurious. The altar-ring was the genuine article: it would not have
paid for the trouble of counterfeiting. The jewelled vase was
spurious: on glancing again at this last, Lorelie wondered how she
could have taken the metal for gold: it now seemed to her eyes
merely like common bronze. The "sapphire cup" was but worthless
glass: she almost sighed at the thought that the lovely original
should have been exchanged for current coin of the realm. The
selling of such a gem was an act little short of sacrilege.
"Well may you linger over it!" cried the earl, thinking that her long
retention of the cup was the result of admiration. "Such a gem as
that is too lovely for earth, too precious even for an empress to drink
from."
"But not for a Ravengar, surely?" said Lorelie.
And taking up the decanter she filled the azure cup with wine, and
held it out to him.
"Drink, my lord," she said smiling, and recalling his own words, "''Tis
of a choice vintage, one of the rarest of the Madeiras.'"
But from that cup the earl recoiled as from the summons of Death
himself.
"Why, you start as though 'twere poison," laughed Lorelie. "Will you
not drink, Ivar?" she added, turning to the viscount and offering him
the cup. "What! and do you, too, shrink from a few drops of
innocent Malvazia? refuse the honour of drinking from the great
Abderahman's cup? the caliph's own, veritable, genuine, historic cup!
you understand?"
He did—fully. Stepping forward, she said in a fierce thrilling whisper:
—
"How much is your life worth, if I let your father know that this cup
is but a piece of coloured glass?"
It was not in Lorelie's nature to take pleasure in another's pain; yet
on the present occasion the despair and fear expressed in Ivar's
eyes was a luxury to her, almost compensating for his attempt on
her life.
"It was for your sake I did it," he muttered with white lips.
Contemptuously turning away from him, she said:—
"Well, then, if neither will drink, I, too, shall refuse. I will imitate
those excellent examples, my husband and father. Let us be classical
and pour out a libation. Here's to the great Archfiend himself, the
author and giver of the treasure, for Heaven, I am convinced, has
had little to do with it."
She inverted the cup: but, either by accident or design, the greater
part of the liquid fell in splashes upon her dress, very few drops
reaching the floor.
* * * * * *
On reaching her bedroom Lorelie's first care was to lock the door:
her next, to cut from her dress every portion stained with wine.
These fragments of cloth she placed in a glass phial, steeping them
in water. Then the spirit that had sustained her through the long and
terrible ordeal gave way, and reeling forward she fell heavily across
the bed.
 CHAPTER XVIII
A CRANIOLOGICAL EXPERIMENT

Idris Breakspear strolled slowly to and fro beneath the lime-trees in

the garden of Wave Crest, reading for the twentieth time a letter
received by him the previous evening.
Accompanying the letter was a note worded thus:—"The enclosed
speaks for itself. Can you ever forgive me for my seven years'
silence?—Lorelie Rochefort."
The missive forwarded to Idris was her mother's confession relative
to the murder of M. Duchesne, a confession which, it need scarcely
be said, overwhelmed Idris with amazement.
The hope entertained by him during so many long years was at last
realized: it was now within his power to clear his father's memory;
but the knowledge brought with it as much pain as pleasure, for to
establish his father's innocence was to bring ignominy upon the
name of the woman he loved.
A soft footfall attracted his attention, and raising his eyes from the
letter he saw Lady Walden herself. Sadly and timidly she stood,
obviously in doubt as to the sort of reception she would meet with.
To face the reproachful eyes of Idris was a more trying ordeal than
that of accompanying the earl to the terrible vault.
She was the first to speak.
"You are reading my mother's letter, I perceive. You know now that
it was my father and not yours that murdered Duchesne. I have
come," she faltered, "I have come to ask, yet scarcely daring to ask,
whether you can forgive me for maintaining silence hitherto. I have
longed to tell you the truth, but have been afraid. Do not," she
added, breathlessly, "do not reproach me. You cannot reproach me
more than my own conscience has."
The look of sorrow in her eyes instantly effaced from Idris' mind all
resentment for his father's wrongs. The oath sworn to his mother in
childhood's days became forgotten.
"Lady Walden," he replied, "if there be anything on my part to
forgive, I freely forgive. I cannot blame you for seeking to shield
your father's name."
The look of gratitude that came over her face thrilled Idris, who
would gladly have forgiven her ten times as much for such a glance
as she now gave him.
She had expected to be treated with coldness, if not with anger by
Idris, instead of which she received from him the same tender
respect as heretofore. She trembled with secret pleasure to think
that she still held a place in his regard.
"And now you know the truth, you will publish it to the world," she
said.
"I think not," he replied, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "No, I am
sure I shall not."
"You will not redeem your father's memory from guilt?" said Lorelie,
with a little gasp of surprise. "Why not?"
"Because the fair name of Lady Walden must not be darkened by the
shadow of the past."
Her eyes drooped. She had no need to ask why he was desirous of
shielding her name from reproach, knowing full well that it was from
love of her.
"But this—this is not just," she said in a low voice.
"To proclaim the truth would injure the living," he replied, "without
in any way benefiting the dead."
"It is not right," she declared, "that your father and you should bear
the stigma that belongs to me and mine. I will proclaim the truth
myself."
"Lady Walden, if it be your desire to please me, you will maintain
silence. But pardon my discourtesy, you are standing all this time."
He led her to a garden-seat, and took his place beside her.
"You once asked me," said Lorelie, "to let you read my father's
correspondence. I have brought his letters with me. They are here."
She held out a packet of letters.
"Will you not read them to me, Lady Walden? You can then omit
what you think necessary."
"I have no wish to conceal anything contained in them," she
answered, placing the letters in his hand. "But before you read, let
me forestall and correct an erroneous impression you may be likely
to draw from them. Guided partly by these letters, partly by other
considerations, I have, till a few days ago, entertained the belief that
the Earl of Ormsby was none other than—your father, Eric Marville."
Despite his desire to be serious Idris could not refrain from smiling
at this statement.
"And what has led you to discard this extraordinary theory?" he
asked.
"I was glancing yesterday over a copy of an old French newspaper—
L'Étoile de la Bretagne—in which is given a full description of your
father as he appeared at his trial in the Palais de Justice. Now in this
account Eric Marville is described as having very dark eyes, whereas
Lord Ormsby's eyes are light grey in colour."
"Which deprives me of the honour of claiming an earl as my father,"
said Idris, with an air of mock disappointment.
"I do not think you will esteem it much of an honour when you hear
what I have to say. But, first, will you not read these letters?"
Idris, though much surprised by her words, made no further
comment, but turned to the correspondence of Captain Rochefort.
Lorelie had arranged the letters in chronological order, and Idris
began his perusal, becoming more interested with each successive
missive. When he had finished reading he looked extremely grave,
and said:—
"The final letters, interpreted by what we know to have taken place
within Ormfell, would almost seem to suggest—how shall I say it?—
that your father was killed by mine!"
"That at first was my belief, but I know now it cannot have been."
"I trust that you are right. But why cannot it have been?"
"Beatrice in her hypnotic trance recognized the face of the assassin.
But she has never seen either your father or mine. Therefore we
cannot impute the murder to either of these."
"True!" replied Idris, with a sudden feeling of relief. "But tell me,
Lady Walden, what face did she see, for I am convinced that you
know."
"If," she replied evasively, "if we can discover the present possessor
of the Viking's treasure, we shall obtain a strong clue to the
assassin?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Well, then, the Viking's treasure is at Ravenhall, concealed in the
secret vault."
And she proceeded to intensify Idris' surprise by relating the incident
of her visit to the crypt, saying nothing, however, as to the earl's
purpose in taking her thither.
"Who placed the treasure there?" asked Idris.
"Four persons only have had access to this vault—the earl, Viscount
Walden, the family solicitor, and the Rector of Ormsby. The two latter
we can at once dismiss from our list of 'suspects.'"
Idris turned a startled face upon Lorelie.
"Surely you would not have me charge your husband—your father-
in-law, with murder!"
"I strongly suspect the latter from the perturbed air manifested by
him when I once hinted at my knowledge of the crime."
"The grave and dignified earl the author of such a deed!
Impossible!"
"Not more impossible than that my own father should be a
murderer!"
Idris started at her bitter tone. Truly the Fates had dealt hardly with
her in the matter of kinsfolk. Those ladies of Ormsby who were
disposed to envy Mademoiselle Rivière her new rank would have had
little cause for envy could they have seen into her mind at that
moment.
"I have found," continued Lorelie, "the very instrument with which
the deed was wrought. It is here."
As she spoke she produced a jewelled hat-pin shaped like a stiletto,
the steel blade being broken off short at the hilt.
"This belonged to the late Countess of Ormsby, in whose jewel-case
it has lain for over twenty years: at least, so the old housekeeper
declares. The blade was broken a short time before the death of the
countess, and has never been repaired."
"Does the housekeeper give any account of how the steel came to
be broken?"
"She tells a very significant story. The countess lost this stiletto when
walking in the park one day. On discovering her loss she immediately
set the servants to look for it, but their search was unavailing. Next
morning, however, the earl returned the hat-pin to the countess,
saying that while taking a walk by moonlight he had found it in its
broken condition.
"Now my belief is that the earl, having discovered that Ormfell was
the site of a buried treasure, was proceeding thither at night, either
alone or attended by a servant, for the purpose of opening the
hillock, and while on his way through the park he chanced to light
upon his wife's hat-pin. Naturally he did not leave it lying upon the
ground, but picked it up and placed it upon his person. And this is
the weapon with which he attacked the other man, whoever he may
have been, that was with him in the hillock. When the countess next
morning received back her hat-pin from her husband, she little knew
of the terrible use to which it had been put."
"Your theory, if correct, proves that the deed was unpremeditated,
otherwise the earl would have gone provided with a more efficient
weapon. Do you know the date of the countess's death?"
"She died in the autumn of '77."
"Then the crime must have taken place more than twenty-one years
ago."
Idris fell to thinking: and the result of his thought was that it would
be an ungrateful task to bring to justice an aged peer for a crime
committed more than twenty years ago. For all he knew to the
contrary the deed might have been a case of justifiable homicide:
the earl had perhaps been compelled to slay the other in self-
defence. Besides, was he not Lorelie's father-in-law? If ignominy fell
upon the House of Ravengar it must fall likewise upon her. No breath
of scandal must touch her name. Idris felt that his hands were tied:
he could make no move in the matter.
"We know the author of the deed, it seems," he murmured, "but the
identity of the victim still remains a mystery. Who was he?"
"That is a problem I am trying to solve."
"And you say the Viking's treasure is in the crypt of Ravenhall? What
is Lord Ormsby's object in keeping it concealed?"
"I can but guess. Treasure-trove, as you know, is the property of the
Crown: therefore the earl, on finding it, was compelled to act
circumspectly. The sudden acquisition of a vast quantity of plate and
jewels might have given rise to awkward questions on the part of
the steward, and especially on the part of Lanfranc, the Ravenhall
solicitor, a man somewhat given to suspicion. The earl was therefore
obliged to secrete his ill-acquired wealth: and this he did by placing
it within one of the coffins in the crypt, gratifying his avarice by
occasional visits of inspection. That is my theory, but of course I may
be wrong."
"Mortifying that he should have to secrete it," remarked Idris, "when
if the story of the runic ring be true, the wealth is his by hereditary
right, as the eldest lineal descendant of Orm the Viking."
"Mr. Breakspear, your right to that treasure is greater than the
earl's."
Idris was disposed to think so, too, in virtue of the long years he had
spent in his attempts to decipher the runic ring. But this was not
what Lorelie meant.
"Did you not notice what my father says in one of these letters, that
Eric Marville claimed to be heir to a peerage?"
"It did not escape me. A surprising statement, if true."
"And the interest taken by your father in the runic ring, the heirloom
of the Ravengars, proves his peerage to have been the Earldom of
Ormsby."
"I fear you are dealing in fanciful hypotheses," smiled Idris.
"Your likeness to the family portraits of the Ravengars is very
remarkable."
"Mere coincidence."
"Not so. It is as certain that you are the rightful Earl of Ormsby as it
is that the sun is shining."
"But how? In what way?" cried Idris, impressed, in spite of himself,
by her air of conviction.
"That I cannot tell. I am trying to find out."
"I thank you, Lady Walden, for interesting yourself in my fortunes,
but supposing that your surmise should prove correct—what then?"
"You will take the title and station that are rightfully yours."
"And, by so doing, deprive you of your position? No, Lady Walden, I
cannot do that. If, as is implied by your words, you are seeking to
prove that I have a claim to the Earldom of Ormsby, I would ask you
to desist. Let matters be as they are. I am quite content to remain
plain Idris Breakspear, and to leave to you the coronet of the
Ravengars. I do not believe that I am of noble birth, but in any case
I will do nothing detrimental to your position."
"My position!" thought Lorelie, bitterly, as she recalled the attempt
made upon her life. "Heaven help me to escape from my position!
But," she said, aloud, "you are doing a wrong to your future wife.
She may not appreciate the generosity that deprives her of a
coronet."
"My future wife!" smiled Idris. "I shall never marry."
"And why not?"
"They do not love who love twice."
Lorelie, knowing his meaning, trembled, miserable and happy at one
and the same time.
"I am glad," he continued, "to have this opportunity of saying good-
bye, Lady Walden, for I leave England soon, probably forever."
Lorelie received this news with dismay. Whether the feeling of
pleasure derivable from Idris' friendship was a right or a wrong
feeling she had never stopped to inquire, but it was a pleasure, and
a sense of desolation fell upon her on hearing that she was to enjoy
it no longer.
"A friend of mine has received a secret commission from the Indian
Government to explore Tibet, the tour to include the forbidden city
of Lassa. I have agreed to accompany him."
Lorelie was not ignorant of the perils attending such an enterprise.
"You will never return," she cried.
"So much the better," he answered quietly.
She glanced at him for a moment, and then her eyes fell, for she
understood him. Involuntarily her mind was led to contrast the
husband, who had sought to take her life, with Idris, so anxious to
keep her name fair before the world: Idris, whose love was such that
he was willing to sacrifice everything—even his life—for her sake!
She could not hide the tears glistening beneath her lashes. The
situation was a trying one for both, but fortunately at this moment a
third person appeared on the scene.
Beatrice emerged from the garden-porch, and Lorelie, averting her
head, essayed to remove the traces of tears from her eyes.
Beatrice gave her visitor a glad greeting, but there was a subdued
air about her, due, as Lorelie knew, to sorrow at the thought of Idris'
departure.
"Has Mr. Breakspear told you that he is going to leave us?" she
asked, and receiving an affirmative, she continued mournfully:—"As
this is perhaps the last time we shall be together you must stay with
us as long as you can. We are just about to have luncheon. Will you
not join us?"
Lorelie readily assented, and went up-stairs with Beatrice to remove
her hat and mantle.
"You are not looking very well, Lady Walden."
"No, Beatrice. And I shall never be well again."
Something in her tone went to Beatrice's heart: she guessed that
Lorelie's unhappiness arose from Ivar's ill-treatment of her.
The beautiful face was suffused by an expression so miserable that
Beatrice, the maiden of eighteen, involuntarily drew the married
woman of twenty-three within her arms and kissed her consolingly,
as though the viscountess were a little child. And Lorelie, glad of
such sympathy, clung to Beatrice's embrace.
"Beatrice," she said presently, "if you should hear that I have slipped
from a battlement on the roof of Ravenhall and dislocated my neck,
or that I have lost my life by falling into the lake in the park,
remember that this event will not have happened by accident."
"What do you mean?" gasped Beatrice, thinking that Lorelie was
contemplating suicide.
"Let your brother say whether I am wrong. Did he analyze the
contents of the phial that I sent him?"
"He said that the water contained—I forget how many grains of
strychnine," replied Beatrice, innocently.
"Then I was right," said Lorelie, with a face as white as death. "O,
Beatrice, the earl and Ivar tried to poison me!"
"Lady Walden, how dare you say that?" said Beatrice, with a burst of
indignation.
It was against Ravengars that Lorelie's charge was made, and
Beatrice suddenly remembered that she herself was a Ravengar. Bad
as Ivar might be she could not believe him capable of murder: and
as for the earl, had he not always treated her with kindness?
But when Lorelie began to relate the incident of her visit to the
crypt, Beatrice's scepticism slowly vanished, and she listened with a
growing horror upon her face. And when the story was ended, she
sat cold and trembling, unable at first to speak.
"Are they aware that you suspected their design?" she asked.
"I do not think so. I continue to speak and act as if I have every
confidence in them."
"How can you bear to live with them? What they have attempted
once they may attempt again. How can you trust yourself at the
same table with them?"
"By eating of the dishes of which they eat; they are not likely to
poison themselves. I must remain at Ravenhall till I have
accomplished my task."
"And what is that?"
"To obtain proofs of Mr. Breakspear's right to the earldom: for,
Beatrice, I have reasons for believing that he is the rightful Earl of
Ormsby."
And Lorelie proceeded to repeat the arguments she had addressed
to Idris, with some others in addition.
"Have you told Mr. Breakspear this?" said Beatrice, breathless with
excitement.
"Yes, and he refuses to move in the matter."
"But we will make him," cried Beatrice, impulsively. "We will
persuade him to give up this mad journey to Tibet. Lady Walden
——"
"Do not recall my unhappiness by using that name: besides it is not
justly mine. Call me Lorelie."
"Lorelie, then. I will come to Ravenhall and live there with you."
Lorelie's smile was like sunlight sweeping over a dark landscape.
"If anything could make me happy it would be your daily
companionship, dearest Beatrice."
"It is not safe for you to live alone at Ravenhall," continued Beatrice.
"I will return with you to keep watch and ward over you. Together
we will work and make what discoveries we can. If Idris really be the
owner of Ravenhall we will do our best to establish him in his
rights."
The light of justice shone from Beatrice's eyes. There should be a
righting of the wrong. Since the earl and Ivar had not hesitated at
murder, let them suffer the punishment due to their guilt by losing
their rank and estates.
"And when that is done," said Lorelie, "it will be for me to retire to a
convent, and for Idris to place a coronet on these tresses," she
added, touching Beatrice's hair.
"Ah, no!" replied Beatrice, sadly. "He will not marry me. Idris never
loved any one but you. It is impossible for him to have you, yet he
will never love any one else."
Lorelie was touched to the quick by Beatrice's look of distress. She
felt that if she herself had not appeared upon the scene, Beatrice
might now be happy in the love of Idris.
"Beatrice, believe me, I would gladly die if my death would enable
you to gain his love."
Beatrice did not doubt the sincerity of this assurance. Brave-hearted
and generous the little maiden harboured no resentment against her
rival.
"He will come to you some day," said Lorelie, kissing the other
tenderly. "He has been with you long enough to know your worth.
He will find a want of something in his life when he is away from
you. He will begin to ask himself what it is. 'It is Beatrice,' his heart
will answer: and he will return to seek you."
Beatrice shook her head, refusing to believe in this bright forecast.
"Have you told Idris of the attempt made upon your life?" she asked.
"No."
"We shall be doing well not to tell him of it. He is hot-blooded where
your welfare is concerned: his rage would lead him to horsewhip
both the earl and Ivar, or to do something equally rash. It is for us to
mete out the punishment. We will do it more circumspectly. We will
lull them into a false state of security, and then, when they least
expect it——"
What more she would have said was cut short by Godfrey who,
standing at the foot of the staircase, asked whether he and Idris
were or were not to have the society of the ladies at luncheon; and
thus adjured the two went down to the dining-room.
Godfrey was much struck with Lorelie's pallid look, and determined,
before letting her depart, to take a diagnosis of her state, and
prescribe accordingly.
Though full of wonder when Beatrice began to tell him of her
intention to live at Ravenhall as Lorelie's companion, he made no
objection, surmising that there was a mystery somewhere, and that
she had good reason for the course she was taking.
"I shall be sorry to lose you, Trixie," he remarked.
"It is only for a time," replied his sister.
"By the way," said Godfrey, turning to address Idris, "I attended an
old gentleman yesterday, one enthusiastically devoted to botany, and
a little 'touched,' I fancy, over his favourite pursuit. He told me
among other matters that he had once sown some mandrake seeds
on the northern side of Ormfell with a view of learning whether the
plant would outlive the rigours of our Northumbrian winter. Great
was his indignation to find one day that the plant had been wilfully
plucked up by the roots. I did not tell him that I could give the
names of the guilty persons, but contented myself with suggesting
that the renewal of his botanic experiment might have more success
if confined to the limits of his own garden."
"Ah! then there is one mystery cleared up," observed Idris.
"But there are others," remarked Lorelie, "which you are leaving
behind unsolved. Cannot you persuade Mr. Breakspear," she added,
turning to Godfrey, "to abandon his expedition?"
"O, Idris will come back safely," cheerfully responded the surgeon,
who did not view the enterprise with the same fears as the ladies.
"He will return covered with glory. He will have added a valuable
chapter to geographical science, and will of course write a book."
"Of surprising dulness," interjected Idris.
"Of surpassing interest," corrected Godfrey. "I wonder you never
took to authorship, for you have what I classify as the literary head."
"Don't! My vanity is great enough already."
"Did you not know that Godfrey is an expert in phrenology?" asked
Beatrice.
"Not till this moment. But the news comes very opportunely. Man,
know thyself! Godfrey, give me an introduction to Idris Breakspear.
Manipulate my cranium, and let me have a true account of my
character. Be critical, and spare not!"
And Godfrey, responsive to Idris' humour, proceeded to make a
study of his head.
"Take my note-book, Miss Ravengar," smiled Idris, pushing it towards
her, "and record my wicked characteristics. Now, Godfrey, begin."
"Amativeness," said the doctor, placing his finger-tips beneath Idris'
ears, while Beatrice laughingly wrote the word.
"You begin alphabetically, do you?" remarked Idris. "Amativeness:
that, being interpreted, meaneth love—of—of the ladies generally.
That organ is very large, of course?"
"No. Fairly large."
"O, come, you must be making a mistake. Feel again! It's a libel to
limit my amatory sentiment to 'fairly large' only."
"I put it down as seven," replied Godfrey.
"What's the highest figure to which you ascend?"
"Nine—in my system."
"And I do not attain the top figure? Can't you make it eight, or at
least seven and three-quarters?"
"The pupil must not dictate to the master," said Beatrice.
"Combativeness," Godfrey went on, his fingers ascending slightly.
"Combativeness," repeated Idris: "readiness to fight for—for the
ladies. Don't say that isn't large."
"It is. Very large indeed."
"Good! There may be some truth in phrenology after all. Put
'combativeness' down as nine, Miss Ravengar. Go on, Godfrey! Next
item, please!"
So amid Idris' badinage Godfrey proceeded with his statements, all
of which Beatrice laughingly wrote down. Presently a grave
expression stole over Godfrey's face, and before he had ended his
task the expression had become one of doubt and perplexity. Both
Lorelie and Beatrice noticed it. Idris, however, was precluded by his
position from seeing Godfrey's look.
"Well, now, this is very pleasant reading," said Idris banteringly,
receiving his pocketbook from Beatrice, and glancing over what she
had written. "I feel as a returned spirit may be supposed to feel
when he peruses the virtues inscribed on his tombstone and fails to
recognize himself. Such a character as this, duly attested and signed
'G. Rothwell, M. D.,' ought to procure me a free pass to any part of
Tibet."
He began to talk of his intended expedition, and a trifling argument
arising between himself and Godfrey relative to some point of
Tibetan geography, Beatrice, as if to settle the dispute, wickedly
despatched Idris to the library for a book that she knew he would
not find there.
As soon as he had vanished through the doorway she turned to her
brother.
"Godfrey, why did you look so serious while studying Idris' head?"
"Did I look serious?"
"Did you look——? Just listen to him, Lorelie! Don't equivocate. You
have discovered something: I know you have. Something that
troubles you. What is it? Didn't Idris' character impress you
favourably?"
"Idris' character is exactly as I gave it."
"Then why look as if he were an ogre?"
"It is but twenty-four hours since I examined another head."
"Whose?"
"You shall learn presently. Here is the result of my study of 'Nemo,'
as I call him."
He drew out his own pocketbook and directed Beatrice's attention to
a certain page headed "Character of Nemo."
Very much puzzled, Beatrice conned his notes, but had not
proceeded very far before she snatched up Idris' pocketbook and
began to compare the remarks in each.
"'Amativeness—seven. Combativeness—nine,'" she murmured,
reading the list of characteristics. "Why, there is no difference
between them," she exclaimed. "Idris and your 'Nemo' have heads
exactly alike."
"The very thought that struck me just now."
"Who is this 'Nemo'?"
"That is what I wish to know."
"Didn't the man give you his name, then?"
"I didn't ask him for it."
"Why not?"
"He wouldn't have told me if I had."
"He wished to remain incognito?"
"He didn't give verbal expression to that effect in fact he had lost the
power of speaking."
"Was he dumb, then?"
"Very much so."
"O, Godfrey, do be explicit, and speak so that we can understand."
"Truth to tell, the man was dead!"
Beatrice gave a little scream.
"And his head reposes in that cabinet," continued Godfrey.
"You mean the Viking's skull?"
"You've hit the mark."
"But what—what——?"
"What made me desirous of learning the character of the man to
whom the skull belonged? A passing whim—nothing more. As I was
casually opening the cabinet yesterday the skull caught my eye.
'Come!' said I, 'let me see the sort of fellow you were when alive.'
And this," added Godfrey, tapping his note-book, "this is the result.
Idris spends long years in deciphering a runic inscription on an
ancient ring: acting on the vague hints furnished by it he undertakes
an expedition to Ormfell, obtaining as his reward a skull whose
phrenological development corresponds exactly with his own. He
was quite right in his opinion that the Viking's tomb would contain a
clue towards solving his father's fate, for it is my firm belief that the
skull in that cabinet is none other than the skull of Eric Marville!"
 CHAPTER XIX
THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL

Viscount Walden's twenty-first birthday was drawing near, and

Ravenhall was making grand preparations for the occasion.
Invitations were issued to the local magnates and their families—
invitations eagerly accepted, for everybody was curious to see both
the earl, who had so long secluded himself from society, and the
new viscountess, whose secret marriage had invested her with a
romantic interest. Entertainment of various kinds was provided, for
the earl's guests, as well as for the tenantry of his estates, the day
to terminate in a grand ball, preceded by the performance of a
poetic drama, written by Lady Walden, and entitled The Fatal Skull, a
drama in which the authoress herself was to take the leading rôle.
The other dramatis personæ were drawn from a select circle of
Ormsby society, and their frequent rehearsals filled Ravenhall with a
mirth and a gaiety not known in that gloomy mansion for many
years. Lorelie took upon herself the office of stage-directress, and
flung herself heart and soul into the work. She was ably seconded
by Beatrice Ravengar, who, to the surprise of everybody in Ormsby,
had left her brother Godfrey in order to be the companion of the
new viscountess. A number of carpenters and scene-shifters from
London had transformed the great hall of the castle into a suitable
stage and auditorium. Scenic artists were busy at the canvas. Money
was freely lavished upon the appropriate theatrical costumes. A
leading society-paper had asked for, and had obtained, the favour of
having a reporter present to record the day's doings; in short,
everything had been done to ensure success, and the amateur
actors looked forward to the event with a pleasurable zest.
The great day came at last, as sunny and fair as could be desired.
The earl moved about among his guests and tenantry with a