The Remedy: A Novel of London & Venice

by Michelle Lovric

  Licking snowflakes from his lips, Valentine moves to leave the Riva degli Schiavoni. In that moment he notices the calle, which leads to San Zaccaria, the convent where Catarina Venier apparently met her death. He turns into it and walks swiftly to the church complex. He stands outside, looking at the ruota by the gate.

  He thinks he might ring the bell, and enter on some inventive pretext or another. He stares at the gate, and wills an idea to emerge from his teeming thoughts. He waits a long time, till he must shake the heavy snow from the furrows of his hat, but no inspiration comes to him for a case that might be presented in a credible manner to the nuns of San Zaccaria, who are surely not in the habit of permitting entry to foreign men lacking even the Italian to make their request. Anyway, from within he hears the choir at song: He can hardly interrupt their devotions.

  He is almost losing his nerve: His every fiber cries out to go to the appointed rendezvous at the Black Bat, despite his determination not to do so until he knows all about her; at least until he knows as much about her as she now knows about him. Remembering how much that is, a flush suffuses his face. For surely Pevenche, with her unquenchable candor, has also revealed the exact nature of his business to the actress, and many more unpalatable facts besides. Mimosina Dolcezza has hinted at a more refined understanding of his circumstances in her letter.

  Once again he is hardened: He can survive another day—the third since arriving in Venice—without seeing her. He knows she is safe. These days of denying her serve to put his own dignity, so damaged by her machinations, into a necessary state of recuperation.

  Smerghetto has been dispatched to see if a woman is to be seen in the vicinity of the Black Bat at four o’clock each afternoon on successive days. He has reported the presence of various ladies. When breathlessly questioned on their specific attractions, he has supplied cold-blooded descriptions such as could not confirm or deny the presence of Mimosina Dolcezza. There is one woman about whom he appears to hesitate, for there is something about her appearance that he seems to find hard to describe. It is at this stage that Smerghetto always delicately brings the question back round to his master: Why is it that he wants to know so much about this particular woman?

  • 8 •

  Splanchnic Powder

  Take Ashtree rind half a scruple; Rhubarb 5 grains; Spikenard, Saffron, each 2 grains; long Pepper 1 grain; make them into a Powder. To which may Chalybeats be added, pro re nata.

  It removes Obstructions of the Viscera, corrects depraved Ferments, represses spasmodic Flatulencies, rouseth up a languishing Appetite, and alleviates pain and tension of the Hypochondria.

  Preparations for the Venetian nostrum are proceeding well. Dizzom writes. Some instinct has compelled Smerghetto to hoard the letter until that dangerous hour that hovers around four o’clock, when he beholds in his English master all the symptoms of a lively fever. For this moment of maximum temptation he has reserved the packet from London. After placing it on Valentine’s desk, he makes bat-like motions with his hands and points to his black hair, then waves and slips out of the room before any remonstrance can be made.

  Valentine forces himself not to follow by sitting firmly in a chair and clutching its arm with one hand while flapping open the letter with the other. Soon he is absorbed in its contents.

  Dizzom is currently working on some Manus Christi preparations, allegedly made from crushed pearls (sacred to Cleopatra), and swirling with passable imitations of gold leaf. It seems that real gold leaf might prove less expensive than some of its imitators. It shakes Valentine to think that there might be some justification in the outrageous price of the medicine. But why not? The Venetian Balsamick nostrum is to be different in every way from what has gone before it. And he has come to think of it sentimentally, as the nostrum inspired by his love for Mimosina Dolcezza.

  And in this case the haggling and scrimping are unacceptable, entirely.

  Meanwhile Dizzom has been struck by a promising idea as to how to market the nostrum. There is a certain Dottore Velena working in Bankside whose performances easily rival those of the Venetians, he writes.

  The name is ringing a bell at the back of my mind. I wish I had more of an ear for these foreign tongues.

  Instead of disseminating the new Venetian Balsamick among all the quacks of their manor, Dizzom suggests that they render it more desirable by making it (at first) available through just one source, thereby building up its legend among the quack fraternity itself before news of it is broadcast to the public.

  Dizzom himself has just been to see Dottore Velena perform—normally he does not concern himself with the retailing end of the business—and he is constrained to admit that the Dottore’s act is unparalleled. A Scot, he paints up well as an Italian, and even peppers his act with genuine Venetian words. On being interviewed, the Dottore declared that he had been taught them by a proper Venetian woman who has lately served a short season as his cure-victim. Dizzom has no idea if the words are genuine. He has written down a few for his master to verify locally. They concern ill-health.

  Valentine holds up the relevant words under the noses of the truncheoni, who have arrived promptly as Smerghetto left. He reads them aloud, struggling with the unfamiliar syllables: “Ti xe mal ciapa… Ti xe drio… Tirar i spaghi.”

  The truncheoni cross their eyes in concentration—and eventually admit that these words are recognisable to them. But they are nudging one another, and eventually Momolo says, “Veleno… POY-Zen.”

  So Velena means poison? Valentine Greatrakes laughs out loud. The name has a good ring and bounce to it, and Londoners are not likely to uncover the meaning of the word. He turns back to the letter.

  According to Dizzom, Dottore Velena is wildly enthusiastic, which gratifies. He would adore to take on the Balsamick. He has even suggested an additional merit for it: As well as encouraging the Venus Sports, he says that this nostrum might also be marketed as a cure for those diseases that come from them! Or those spurious symptoms that are imagined by those whose engagement with the act is more contemplative and solitary than active and intermingling: the onanists are always ready to believe that their lonely pleasures are dangerous.

  Dottore Velena, Dizzom recounts, has recently positioned himself as the savior, and indeed also the creator, of a generation of erotic hypochondriacs. Since the departure of the Venetian lady he has been obliged to diversify: Her absence has bitten a hole in the profits—she really was a most notable cure-victim, able to generate tears, groans, and mad delight in her audience.

  Without her, Dottore Velena has turned to preying on those unfortunate young men who suffer from nocturnal emissions caused by self-abuse. The doctor knows that each young man is tortured by guilt and ignorance, and usually believes himself unique in his malady. It soon comes to a point, if carefully managed, that the youth’s imagination runs on nothing much beyond his sexual organ. He is only too suggestible to the notion that these symptoms are merely the early stages of a far more serious disease.

  And to help him milk these young gulls, Dottore Velena carries everywhere with him a wax model showing a man and a woman in the advanced stages of venereal disease. Recycled from his previous act, for reasons of modesty this vile prodigy is kept in a curtained cage, and viewings of it are normally strictly confined to men—men who pay considerable sums for the revelation. Then, gasping with horror, these unfortunate boobies are informed that the mild itch in their privities is but the first sign of such catastrophic ravaging, and that without the doctor’s particular nostrum their fate is shortly to be as already portrayed in three lurid waxy dimensions in front of them. Dizzom has seen and handled the model, which is said to have been made in the hot laboratories of Mrs. Salmon herself. It is most cleverly done. The wax effigies are of a young blue-eyed couple of handsome and sweet demeanor. Dizzom writes, “I assure you, their very visages scream the implication: We innocents committed just one indiscretion and look!”

  Dottore Velena always draws the curtains bef
ore his clients have finished looking. He can rely on their imaginations to do the rest, and more efficiently than the carbuncular dollies.

  He is perfectly safe from the vengeful ire of uncured patients. He sells his nostrum only to those who are sure to die soon anyway, or to those whose healthy complexions tell him that they shall fast recover from their mild symptoms. And when word of mouth fails him Dottore Velena also runs to printed advertisements in loud lettering. His handbills are prefaced with such beckoning words as MANHOOD, MANLY VIGOR and THE SILENT FRIEND. Other words flutter forth in many combinations: always included are allusions to certain manual practices and secret cures. These handbills are dispensed from boxes in every urinal and dark byway where a young man might find himself alone in an anxious moment. Dizzom has enclosed one of the handbills and Valentine Greatrakes peruses it with pleasure, finding much to amuse himself.

  Dizzom has more to tell, for then there is Dottore Velena’s honored colleague Doctor Sniver who keeps a priapic anatomic museum near to Guy’s Hospital, and profits in respectability from this geographic coincidence. The museum, to which no woman may be admitted, is far from respectable, for its exhibits are all of venery and the consequences of venery The larger and hidden part of the premises are given over to a small manufactory for various potions that are readily bought by the trembling visitors who have seen their fill of the exhibits. Doctor Sniver has been consulted and he would be prepared to pay premium sums for a Venetian Balsamick specific to the condition of love. He knows it will bring customers to his museum, and he is confident of selling it in breathless quantities.

  “In all,” concludes Dizzom, “I would recommend this twin course for the Balsamick. But there is one thing to add, in which you may be able to help, being situated in Venice.

  “Dottore Velena tells me that the woman who taught him his Venetian glossary would be the perfect cure-victim for his Balsamick ‘spettacolo.’ She brought him more profit than a dozen Zanies, being young and quite lovely and yet infinitely adaptable to any kind of role and malady. He suggests that you try to find her in Venice and persuade her to return with you so that she might resume her duties with him. She is certain to render the whole exercise far more profitable.”

  In fact, Dizzom continues, the good Dottore goes so far as to suggest that she is indispensable. He adds a description: She is small, pretty, hair of a variable color, probably in the sunset years of her third decade. She has a mobile kind of face, and claimed to have come from one the most salubrious situations of Venice, but then of course she would. Dottore Velena realizes that none of this will substantially aid Valentine Greatrakes in trying to locate the correct woman. It might apply to thousands of them. And nor can he supply a profession: The doctor said that she had “spouted lies like a teapot” when asked about her training. But he has been able to offer one helpful detail: The woman rejoices in the name of Miss Jallowfiwhore, and perhaps that gives the clue to the true manner of her cultivation!

  “There cannot,” writes Dizzom, “be too many courtesans of that name, even in Venice.”

  Reading this letter, Valentine moans. This is rich! He had thought he was looking for just one murderer and just one woman in Venice. Now he is set to looking for a murderer and three different women: Mimosina Dolcezza, Catarina Venier, and Signorina Jallowfiwhore.

  A truly unfortunate name, he reflects, this last.

  Yet, I suppose she must let her clients know the nature of her business.

  • 9 •

  Sternutatory Powder

  Take Florentine Orris 1 scruple; white Hellebore half a scruple; Oil of Nutmeg 1 drop, make a Powder.

  Sternutatories purge and cleanse the Head, because they irritate the Spirits nidulating in, and irradiating those Nerves that are disseminated into the internal Membranes of the Nostrils. For the Spirits being provok’d into Spasms and tumultuary Transports, loosen the impacted viscous Humours, shake them out of their Places, and eliminate them through the Infundibulum and Pituitary Gland, out of the confines of the Brain into the Veins.

  So Valentine Greatrakes goes searching in the high-class brothels of Venice, of which there are some several score, all now decked bridally in a covering of snow. It is not his intention to visit as a customer, and nor is this chore to his taste at the moment, but he obliges himself to tour the luxurious establishments in order to find this woman, this Signorina Jallowfiwhore, who will help with the Balsamick nostrum. There is also the chance that information is to be had there regarding the actress and his ward, and perhaps even the stranger who had gloated over Tom’s body in London. His mind is open to all possibilities.

  He tells each madam that he looks not for a singular act of pleasure, but to find a courtesan with whom he might enjoy some pleasant conversation.

  “In words, you know,” he adds, with a smile that works just as well in Venice as it does in London.

  To this end, he explains to a now-captive audience that he wishes not even to sample the merchandise in the usual way, but merely to talk a little to the girls who might be available for such a contract.

  “I pay” he adds, with an inviting candor, “handsomely, because I know this request is out of the ordinary.”

  The madams narrow their eyes and raise their hands to indicate that such an expensive line of work can barely be paid for by mortal agency. In response, Valentine pats high mountains of imaginary coins to show just how well he understands the difficulty.

  “And of course,” he apologizes, “I need someone who speaks English.”

  It is at this point that he asks casually, “Perhaps you have among your Goddesses a lady recently returned from some time in London?”

  The answer to the last question is never the one he wishes for. However, the mercantile madams are charmed at this challenge, and he is presented with any number of girls who have a smattering of English among their charms. Each one is boasted of as “fully fluent in your tongue, my Lord, and a perfect companion for an English gentleman like yourself.”

  Nearly all of the girls match the physical descriptions given by Dizzom of Dottore Velena’s assistant, which might also at a stretch describe Mimosina Dolcezza. This coincidence gives each visit a frisson of excitement that washes away any irritation at such a bizarre and exhausting mission. Among the Venetian courtesans the same qualities are valued both in the aristocratic marriage market and in the whorehouses: a petite frame, fair hair, regular features. The only difference is that the courtesans are expected to be barren and capable of intelligent conversation, and that the noble brides are required to be fecund and silent.

  Valentine is numb about the lips from asking the questions, “Do you know a Signorina Jallowfiwhore? Has she perhaps been a colleague of yours? Do you know where she might dwell now?”

  And at each interview he has also allowed himself to utter the names of Mimosina Dolcezza and of Catarina Venier with the same questions. To the first he receives only a feathering of giggles at the name, and to the latter the invariable response is a sucking in of teeth and a widening of eyes. “A Venier? In a whorehouse? What kind of question is that?”

  He had hoped for better gleaning. With every failure he weakens against the temptation to go to the Black Bat anyway never mind the mysteries, and claim Mimosina Dolcezza for his own. Every day at four in the afternoon, it becomes harder to sit at his table and watch Smerghetto depart for the apothecary. But every day he just manages to control himself. He sits firmly at the desk and plans his nightly itinerary of brothels.

  He adds to his repertoire of questions for the whores, but no further clues emerge. He does better when he produces the portrait of the murderous man. Several girls in assorted establishments have nodded with minimal enthusiasm. Yes, indeed that man has visited. But half the time he wanted only information. He was not a good customer. And if he traded in their habitual commodity, he took his pleasure cruelly and paid poorly. They fall into charming faraway smiles and sit silent, allowing Valentine to follow their drift. He responds by
tucking an extra coin into a bodice or sleeve, and making a prompt exit, so as not to parley wastefully with their time. No one is a greater enemy to the losing of time than Valentine Greatrakes, after all.

  None of them can name the murderer, or even remember in credible detail the shape and style of the man, even those who got to see the whole man, as it were. There’s not a mole or a scar to identify him. It seems as if he makes a profession of his anonymity.

  Impatiently, Valentine makes the rounds of all the casini, consuming his evenings in empty investigations, working his way down a list that Smerghetto has, of course, produced in immaculate order.

  It is at the fourteenth casino that he finds something of interest.

  This is a luxurious establishment, discreetly entered from the Galle Balloni just behind San Marco. Once inside, the style and purpose of the place are unmistakable. The first reception room boasts a large painting of a banana tree, of whose fruit pleasure-bent women are supposed to be extraordinarily fond. Beneath its shadow disport large numbers of ladies in a state of aggravated undress, all contending for windfalls with open mouths, and litigating violently over custody of the fruits of the greatest lengths.

  The comical painting, the ripe yellow velvet hangings, and an abundance of candlelight give the place a cheery air.

  Nor does the madam stint in her hospitality. She tells him that all her girls have English, as her establishment is the one most in demand with the British quality visiting Venice. Unlike others, she does not ration him to one girl at a time for his parleys, but allows her entire domestic stock to enter the Banana Room, and he presents the drawing of the murderer to the assembled harlots, with the usual query.

  Instantly, on seeing the portrait, one young girl gasps.

  The madam nods and makes a subtle movement with her hand. The other girls file out, to be ready for more gainful employment. She looks significantly at Valentine and he lays a gold coin casually on one of the ornate desks. Eyeing it, she smiles, and leaves, closing the door behind her.