THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

upon his knee, I heard him murmur his endearments—ah, and I heard her soft and broken replies! And I knew very well that in
her heart she was reproaching herself for what I alone had done, and by her humble appeal for kindness was craving his
forgiveness for offences for which I could never hope to be forgiven.
These terrible discoveries, far from making me cease to love Aurelia, increased incalculably while they changed and purged my
love. Pity and terror, says Aristotle in his Poetics, are the soul's cathartics. Both of these I felt, and emerged the cleaner. By the
tune Aurelia had coaxed her husband to come to bed, and had gone thither, with a kiss, herself, I was half way to a great
resolve, which, though it resulted in untold misery of body, was actually, as I verily believe, the means of my soul's salvation.
Without ceasing for a moment to love Aurelia, I now loved her honestly again. I could see her a wife, I could know her a loving
wife, without one unworthy thought; I could gain glory from what was her glory, I could be enthusiastic upon those virtues in her
which to a selfish lover would have been the destruction of his hopes. In a word, I loved her now because she loved another.
There is nothing remarkable in my possession of feelings which no honourable man should be without; nor can I see that what I
was moved to do, in consequence of having those feelings, was any way out of the common. If the sweet subservience and
careful ministry of Aurelia had moved her husband's admiration, how much the more must they have moved mine! And what is
more natural to the ardent explorer than to announce his discoveries? I had learned that I had loved an angelic being; what
wonder that I desired to inform the one person in the world who had a right to know it, that such was my extreme privilege? Of
this I am content, reader, to be judged by thee. If my enthusiasm was extravagant, surely it was pardonable. Judge me then as
thou wilt, and as thou canst, for the end of this chapter of my history is cardinal.
But there were these moving considerations also. If Aurelia had tacitly reproached herself to her husband with what were my
crimes, and only mine—was it not my bounden duty to save her before it were too late? Must I not avow what, as it seemed,
she was on the point of avowing? If she—pure innocent—believed herself guilty and needing forgiveness— whereas I and I
only was that monster—in a few moments' time, when she should be with her husband in the innermost shrine of the Temple of
Hymen, I might be sure she would take upon herself the guilt, and alone receive my punishment. Could I endure the thought of
this, miserable that I was? Could I suffer such a sacrifice and wear the livery of man? I knew that I could not. "Out, therefore, of
thy hiding-place, sinner," I bade myself, "and get the vice scourged out of thee."
These were a part of my reflections, this was my plain resolution. Generous, honourable, they seemed to me then—honourable
alike to Aurelia and to her husband. The doctor had replenished his glass, and was leaning back in his chair. He had released
some of the buttons of his vest, and they had flown to their repose. He was looking down at the table, where he twisted the
glass about; he was thinking of his wife, of her sweet humour, innocence and purity—of everything which I so adored and had
dared to tarnish. He was frowning and smiling at once at his thoughts. I heard him say to himself, "That's a good girl—that's a
good girl of mine"—when I walked out of the cupboard and stood, pale but composed, before him at the opposite side of the
table. Even then, so absorbed he was in his mellow humours he did not hear me. "Eh, la Madonna!" he mused—"as good as
gold!" He stretched his legs out to the full and glanced with lazy luxury round about his room. Then he saw me.
CHAPTER V. DISASTER
"Light of Light!" he said in a horrible whisper—and again, "Very God—"
"Doctor Lanfranchi," said I seriously, for my passion lifted me up, "Doctor Lanfranchi, she is better than refined gold."
He did what I suppose he had not done for many years; he crossed himself over the face. "Bless my soul!" he said.
"Sir, sir," I admonished him, "you little know of what excellent substance that saint is compact. Sir—"
I might have continued I know not how long upon a theme so noble, but for his astonishment, which, though it kept him stupid,
must have a vent. "Who the devil—" stammers he, "What the devil—" It amazed me, and vexed me greatly, that I could not
make him understand whom I praised. I went close to him, I touched him on the shoulder.
"Hearken to me, doctor," said I, "Donna Aurelia, your lady, is as it were an angel of Heaven—and I"—I said it with sorrowful
grimness—"and I have better reason to know it than you."
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