'
'By Jove, those are fine words,' said Arthur, rising to his feet.
Their brave simplicity moved him as no rhetoric could have done, and
they made him more eager still to devote his own life to the difficult
acquisition of knowledge. Dr Porhoet gave him his ironic smile.
'Yet the man who could write that was in many ways a mere buffoon, who
praised his wares with the vulgar glibness of a quack. He was vain and
ostentatious, intemperate and boastful. Listen:
'After me, O Avicenna, Galen, Rhases and Montagnana! After me, not I
after you, ye men of Paris, Montpellier, Meissen, and Cologne; all you
that come from the countries along the Danube and the Rhine, and you that
come from the islands of the sea. It is not for me to follow you, because
mine is the lordship. The time will come when none of you shall remain in
his dark corner who will not be an object of contempt to the world,
because I shall be the King, and the Monarchy will be mine.'
Dr Porhoet closed the book.
'Did you ever hear such gibberish in your life? Yet he did a bold thing.
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