Love Among the Ruins

by Warwick Deeping

  XXII

  Aurelius, physician of Gilderoy, flourished on the fatness of afortunate reputation. He was a rubicund soul, clean and pleasant, witha neatly-trimmed beard, and a brow that seemed to dome a very variousand abundant wisdom. He combined a sprightly humour and an enliveningpresence with the reverent solemnity necessary to his profession.

  As for the ladies of Gilderoy, they reverenced Master Aurelius with aloyalty that became perhaps less remarkable the more one considered thecharacter of the worthy charlatan. Aurelius was an AEsculap in courtclothing. He was ignorant, but as no one realised the fact, the soul ofHippocrates would have been wasted in his body. Discretion was hiscrowning virtue. He was so sage, so intelligent, so full of a simpleunderstanding for the ways of women, that the frail creatures could notlove him enough. The confidences granted to a priest were nothingcompared to the truths that were unmasked to his tactful ken. Thephysician is the priest of the body, a privileged person, suffered toenter the bed-chamber before the solemn rites of the toilet have beenperformed. He sees many strange truths, beholds fine and wonderfultransfigurations, presides over the confessional of the flesh. AndAurelius never whispered of these mysteries; never displayedastonishment; always discovered extraordinary justification for thequaintest inconsistencies, the most romantic failings. He carried asweet and sympathetic air of propriety about with him, like a perfumethat exhaled a most comfortable odour of religion. His salves weredelectable to a degree, his unguents and cosmetics remarkableproductions. Dames took his potions in lieu of Malmsey, his powders inplace of sweetmeats. Never did a more pleasant, a more tactful oldhypocrite pander to the failings of an unregenerate world.

  Aurelius stood in his laboratory one June morning, balancing a money-bagin his chubby pink palm. He seemed tickled by some subtlety of thought,and wonderfully well pleased with his own good-humour. He smiled,locked the money-bag in a drawer that stood in a confidential cupboard,and, taking his cap and walking-staff, repaired to the street. Pacingthe narrow pavement like a veritable potentate, pretentious as anypeacock, yet mightily amiable from the superb self-satisfaction thatroared in him like a furnace, he acknowledged the greetings ofpassers-by with the elevation of a hand, a solemn movement of the head.It was well to seem unutterably serious when under the eyes of the mob.Only educated folk can properly understand levity in a sage.

  In the Erminois, a stately highway that ran northwards from thecathedral, he halted before a mansion whose windows were rich withscutcheons and proud blazonry. Aurelius prospered with the rich. Theatmosphere of the mean quarters was like a miasma to him; he lovedsunlight and high places where he might bask like a lizard. He passedby a great gateway into the inner court, and was admitted into the housewith that ready deference that speaks of familiarity and respect.

  Aurelius climbed the broad stairway, and sailed like a stately carrackinto my lady's chamber. A dame in blue and silver greeted him from anoriel. The compounder of cosmetics bowed, disposed his staff and velvetcap upon a table, and appropriated the chair the lady had assigned tohim.

  "Superb weather, madame."

  "Too sultry, though I am a warm-souled person."

  "True, madame, true, Gilderoy would be fresher if there were no meanfolk to stifle up the streets like weeds. The alleys send up such anunpleasant stench upon the breeze, that it makes the cultured senserevolt from poverty."

  The Lady Duessa's lips curled approvingly,

  "Poverty, poverty, my dear Aurelius, is like a carcase, fit only forquicklime. If I had the rule of the place, I would make poverty acrime, and cram all our human sweepings into lazar quarters."

  The man of physic nodded for sympathy.

  "Exactly so, madame, but one would have to deal with the inevitablereligious instinct."

  "That would be simple enough," she simpered. "I should confine religionto shadows and twinkling tapers, lights streaming in through enamelledcasements upon solemn colours bowing before dreamy music; pardons andabsolutions bought with a purse of gold. It is sad, Aurelius, but whodoubts but that religion makes scavengers of us all? Away with yoursmug widows, your frouzy burgher saints, your yellow-skinnedpriest-hunters! I would rather have picturesque sin than vulgar piety."

  The man of herbs sighed like an organ pipe.

  "Everything can be pardoned before coarseness," he said; "give me adirty heart before a dirty face, provided the sinner be pretty. I trustthat madame was satisfied with my endeavours, that the perfumes weresuch as she desired, the oil of Arabia pleasant and fragrant?"

  "Magical, my AEsculap. The oil makes the skin like velvet, and thedrugs are paradisic and full of languors. Ah, woman, set the tray besideMaster Aurelius' chair."

  The man's eyes glistened over the salver and the cup. He bowed to hishostess, sniffed, and pursed his lips over the wine.

  "Madame knows how to warm the heart."

  "Truth to you. Who have you been renovating of late? What carcase haveyou been painting, you useful rogue?"

  "Madame, my profession is discreet."

  "I see your work everywhere. There is the little brown-faced thing whois to marry John of Brissac. Well, she needed art severely. Now thelady has a complexion like apple-blossom."

  The old man's eyes twinkled.

  "Madame is pleased to jest," he said, "and to think herfancies--realities. Were all ladies as fresh as Madame Duessa, what,think you, would become of my delectable art, my science of beauty? Ishould be a poor bankrupt old man, ruined by too much comeliness."

  Aurelius always had the wit to say the pleasantest thing possible, andto press the uttermost drop of honey from the comb of flattery. A surlytongue will break a man, a glib intelligence ensure him a fortune.Aurelius earned many a fee by a pretty speech, or a tactful suggestion.Then of course he was never hindered by sincerity.

  "Holy Dominic," laughed the lady, "I have proved a good patron to you inmany ways."

  "And I trust I shall always deserve madame's trust."

  "A discreet tongue and a comfortable obedience are sweet things to awoman, Aurelius."

  "Madame's voice recalls Delphi."

  "Ah, the Greeks were poets; they knew how to fit their religion to theirpleasures. 'Tis only we, poor fools, who measure sin by a priest'spardon. Give me a torch before an aspergill."

  The man of physic sipped his wine, cogitating over it with Jovianwisdom.

  "The chief aim in life, madame," he said, "should be the perfecting ofone's own comfort. 'Tis my contention that a fat bishop is a finerChristian than a lean friar. The truism is obvious. Is not my soul themore mellifluous and benign if its shell is gilded and its vest ofvelvet?"

  Duessa chuckled, and flipped her chin.

  "Give me a warm bed," she laughed, "and I will pity creation. Theworld's saints are plump and comely; the true goddess has a supple knee.Am I the worse for being buxom!"

  "Madame," said the sage with great unction, "only beggars denounce gold,and heaven is the dream of diseased souls. The cult of pleasure is theseal of health. Discontent is the seed of religion."

  The door opened a few inches, and there was the sound of voices inmuffled debate in the gallery. The Lady Duessa listened, rose from herchair, appeared restless. The man of physic comprehended the situation,and with that tact that characterised him, declared that he hadpatronage elsewhere to assuage. The lady did not detain him, butdismissed him with a smile--a smile that on such a face as hers oftentook the place of words. So Master Aurelius took his departure.

  Five minutes later Sforza, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy, occupied the vacantchair in the oriel.

  There are many ways to fame. By the broad, embattled gate where theCerberus of War crouches; by the glistening stair of glass where all thebeauty of the world gleams as in a thousand mirrors; by the cloaca ofdiplomacy and cunning, that tunnels under truth and honour. Sforza ofGilderoy was a man who never took his finger off a guinea till he hadseen ten dropped into the other palm. He was a narrow-faced,lo
ng-whiskered rat, ever nibbling, ever poking his keen snout intoprospective prosperity. He had no real reverence for anything under thesun. To speak metaphorically, he would as soon steal the sacrificialwafer from the altar as the cheese from a burgher's larder. When helived in earnest, he lived in moral nebulosity, that is to say, he hadno light save his own lantern. Publicly, he appeared a sleek, dignifiedperson, quick with his figures, apt at oratory, a man who could quotescripture by the ell and swear by every saint in the calendar.

  Sforza, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy, sat and faced Dame Duessa over alittle table that held wine and a bowl of roses. His large hands restedon the carved arms of the chair. He had a debonair smirk on his face, amask of complacency that suffered him to be vigilant in a polite andcourteous fashion.

  "Madame has considered my proposition?"

  The woman leant back in her chair and worked her full lower lip againsther teeth.

  "I recognise your infallibility, Gonfaloniere."

  "Only to the level of human foresight, madame."

  "You have a longer nose than most men."

  "I take the insinuation as a compliment."

  He contemplated her awhile in silence.

  "How am I to know that you are sincere?" he said.

  "Need you disbelieve me?"

  "It is my custom to disbelieve in everybody."

  "Till they have satisfied you?"

  "Exactly."

  Duessa looked out of the window, and played with her chatelaine.

  "You know women?"

  "I would never lay claim to such an arrogance of cunning."

  "Nevertheless you are no fool."

  "I am no fool."

  "And you imagine my protestations are not sincere, even after what Ihave suffered?"

  He smiled at her most cunningly.

  "You want proof?"

  "I do not like unsigned documents."

  She started forward in her chair with a strangely strenuous look on herface.

  "Fanatic fools have often made some show of fortitude," she said, "bythrusting a hand into the fire, or the like. See now if I am a liar or acoward."

  Before he could stay her she drew a small stiletto from her belt, spreadher left hand on the table, and then smote the steel through the thickof the palm, and held it there without flinching as the blood flowed.

  "My signature," she said, with her cheeks a shade paler.

  "Madame, you have spirit."

  "Do you believe in me?"

  "I may say so."

  "You will include me in your schemes?"

  "I will."

  "You remember our mutual bargain?"

  "I remember it."

  She withdrew the stiletto and wrapped her bleeding hand in her robe.

  "You will initiate me--at once."

  "To-morrow, madame, you shall go with me to the council."