Chapter XXIII

Feeling his extreme loneliness, yet "breaking into songs by fits" (which proves that _In Memoriam_ was written at intervals),[20] he wanders sometimes to where the cloaked Shadow is sitting--Death,

"Who keeps the keys of all the creeds"--

inasmuch as only when we die shall we know the whole truth; and "falling lame" on his way, that is, stumbling in his vain enquiries as to whence he came and whither he is going, he can only grasp one feeling, which is, that all is miserably changed since they were in company--friends enjoying life together, travelling in foreign lands, and indulging in scholarly communion on classic subjects.