Else's Chronicle.
EISENACH, _January_, 1510.
We have passed through a terrible time; if, indeed, we are through it!
The plague has been at Eisenach; and, alas! is here still.
Fritz came home to us as usual at Christmas. Just before he left Erfurt
the plague had broken out in the University. But he did not know it.
When first he came to us he seemed quite well, and was full of spirits;
but on the second day he complained of cold and shivering, with pain in
the head, which increased towards the evening. His eyes then began to
have a fixed, dim look, and he seemed unable to speak or think long
connectedly.
I noticed that the mother watched him anxiously that evening; and at its
close, feeling his hands feverish, she said very quietly that she should
sit up in his room that night. At first he made some resistance, but he
seemed too faint to insist on anything; and as he rose to go to bed, he
tottered a little, and said he felt giddy, so that my mother drew his
arm within hers and supported him to his room.
Still I did not feel anxious; but when Eva and I reached our room, she
said, in that quiet, convincing manner which she had even as a child,
fixing her large eyes on mine,--
"Cousin Else, Fritz is very ill."
"I think not, Eva," I said; "and no one would feel anxious about him as
soon as I should. He caught a chill on his way from Erfurt. You know it
was late when he arrived, and snowing fast, and he was so pleased to see
us, and so eager in conversation that he would not change his things. It
is only a slight feverish cold. Besides, our mother's manner was so calm
when she wished us good night. I do not think she is anxious. She is
only sitting up with him for an hour or two to see that he sleeps."
"Cousin Else," replied Eva, "did you not see the mother's lip quiver
when she turned to wish us good night?"
"No, Eva," said I; "I was looking at Fritz."
And so we went to bed. But I thought it strange that Eva, a girl of
sixteen, should be more anxious than I was, and I his sister. Hope is
generally so strong, and fear so weak, before one has seen many fears
realized, and many hopes disappointed. Eva, however, had always a way of
seeing into the truth of things. I was very tired with the day's work
(for I always rise earlier than usual when Fritz is here, to get
everything done before he is about), and I must very soon have fallen
asleep. It was not midnight when I was roused by the mother's touch upon
my arm.
The light of the lamp she held showed me a paleness in her face and an
alarm in her eyes which awoke me thoroughly in an instant.
"Else," she said, "go into the boys' room and send Christopher for a
physician. I cannot leave Fritz. But do not alarm your father!" she
added, as she crept again out of the room after lighting our lamp.
I called Christopher, and in five minutes he was dressed and out of the
house. When I returned to our room Eva was sitting dressed on the bed.
She had not been asleep, I saw. I think she had been praying, for she
held the crucifix in her clasped hands, and there were traces of tears
on her cheek, although when she raised her eyes to me, they were clear
and tearless.
"What is it, Cousin Else?" she said. "When I went for a moment to the
door of his room he was talking. It was his voice, but with such a
strange, wild tone in it. I think he heard my step, although I thought
no one would, I stepped so softly, for he called 'Eva, Eva!' but the
mother came to the door and silently motioned me away. But _you_ may go,
Else," she added, with a passionate rapidity very unusual with her. "Go
and see him."
I went instantly. He was talking very rapidly and vehemently, and in an
incoherent way it was difficult to understand. My mother sat quite
still, holding his hand. His eyes were not bright as in fever, but dim
and fixed. Yet he was in a raging fever. His hand, when I touched it,
burned like fire, and his face was flushed crimson. I stood there quite
silently beside my mother until the physician came. At first Fritz's
eyes followed me; then they seemed watching the door for some one else;
but in a few minutes the dull vacancy came over them again, and he
seemed conscious of nothing.
At last the physician came. He paused a moment at the door, and held a
bag of myrrh before him; then advancing to the bed, he drew aside the
clothes and looked at Fritz's arm.
"Too plain!" he exclaimed, starting back as he perceived a black
swelling there. "It is the plague!"
My mother followed him to the door.
"Excuse me, madam," he said; "life is precious, and I might carry the
infection into the city."
"Can nothing be done?" she said.
"Not much!" he said bluntly; and then, after a moment's hesitation,
touched by the distress in her face, he returned to the bed-side. "I
have touched him," he murmured, as if apologizing to himself for
incurring the risk; "the mischief is done, doubtless, already." And
taking out his lancet he bled my brother's arm.