ineffectual supplications. I well know I am past all forgiveness. No,"
he added, with a fearful imprecation, "since Nizza is alive, I will not
die."
"Right, Sir Paul, right," rejoined Chowles; "put a bold face on it, and
I will answer for it you will get over the attack. Have no fear of
Judith Malmayns," he added, in a significant tone. "However she may
treat others, she will cure _you_."
"I will make it worth her while to do so," rejoined Parravicin.
"Here is the cart," cried Chowles, seeing the vehicle approach. "I will
take you in the first place to Saint Paul's. Judith must see you as soon
as possible."
"Take me where you please," rejoined Parravicin, faintly; "and remember
what I have said. If I die, the nurse will get nothing--if I am cured,
she shall be proportionately rewarded."
"I will not forget it," replied Chowles. And with the help of Jonas he
placed the knight carefully in the cart. "You need not trouble yourself
further about him," he added to Leonard.
"Before he quits this place I must know who he is," rejoined the latter,
placing himself at the horse's head.
"You know his name as well as I do," replied Chowles.
"Parravicin is not his real name," rejoined Leonard.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Chowles, "this is news to me. But no matter who he
is, he is rich enough to pay well. So stand aside, and let us go. We
have no time to waste in further parleying."
"I will not move till my question is answered," replied Leonard.
"We will see to that," said Jonas, approaching him behind, and dealing
him so severe a blow on the head that he stretched him senseless on the
ground? "Shall we throw him into the pit?" he added to Chowles.
The latter hesitated for a moment, and then said, "No, no, it is not
worth while. It may bring us into trouble. We have no time to lose." And
they then put the cart in motion, and took the way to Saint Paul's.
On coming to himself, Leonard had some difficulty in recalling what had
happened; and when the whole train of circumstances rushed upon his
mind, he congratulated himself that he had escaped further injury. "When
I think of the hands I have been placed in," he murmured, "I cannot but
be grateful that they did not throw me into the pit, where no discovery
could have been made as to how I came to an end. But I will not rest
till I have ascertained the name and rank of Nizza's persecutor. I have
no doubt they have taken him to Saint Paul's, and will proceed thither
at once."
With this view, he hastened towards the nearest city gate, and passing
towards it, shaped his course towards the cathedral. It was a fine
starlight night, and though there was no moon, the myriad lustres
glowing in the deep and cloudless vault rendered every object plainly
distinguishable. At this hour, little restraint was placed upon the
sick, and they wandered about the streets uttering dismal cries. Some
would fling themselves upon bulks or steps, where they were not
unfrequently found the next morning bereft of life. Most of those not
attacked by the distemper kept close house; but there were some few
reckless beings who passed the night in the wildest revelry, braving the
fate awaiting them. As Leonard passed Saint Michael's church, in
Basinghall-street, he perceived, to his great surprise, that it was
lighted up, and at first supposed some service was going on within it,
but on approaching he heard strains of lively and most irreverent music
issuing from within. Pushing open the door, he entered the sacred
edifice, and found it occupied by a party of twenty young men,
accompanied by a like number of females, some of whom were playing at
dice and cards, some drinking, others singing Bacchanalian melodies,
others dancing along the aisles to the notes of a theorbo and spinet.
Leonard was so inexpressibly shocked by what he beheld, that unable to
contain himself he mounted the steps of the pulpit, and called to them
in a loud voice to desist from their scandalous conduct, and no longer
profane the house of God. But they treated his remonstrances with
laughter and derision, and some of the party forming themselves into a
group round the pulpit, entreated him to preach to them.
"We want a little variety," said one of the group, a good-looking young
man, upon whom the wine had evidently made some impression--"we are
tired of drinking and play, and may as well listen to a sermon,
especially an original one. Hold forth to us, I say."
"I would, hold forth till daybreak, if I thought it would produce any
impression," returned Leonard. "But I perceive you are too hardened to
be aroused to repentance."
"Repentance!" cried another of the assemblage. "Do you know whom you
address? These gentlemen are the Brotherhood of Saint Michael, and I am
the principal. We are determined to enjoy the few days or hours we may
have left--that is all. We are not afraid of the future, and are
resolved to make the most of the present."
"Ay, ay," cried the others, with a great shout of laughter, which,
however, was interrupted by a cry of anguish from one of the party.
"There is another person seized," said the principal; "take him away,
brothers. This is owing to listening to a sermon. Let us return to our
wine."
"Will you not accept this awful warning?" cried Leonard. "You will all
share your companion's fate."
"We anticipate nothing else," returned the principal; "and are therefore
resolved to banish reflection. A week ago, the Brotherhood of Saint
Michael consisted of forty persons. We are already diminished to half
the number, but are not the less merry on that account. On the contrary,
we are more jovial than ever. We have agreed that whoever shall be
seized with the distemper, shall be instantly conveyed to the
pest-house, so that the hilarity of the others shall not be interrupted.
The poor fellow who has just been attacked has left behind him a
beautiful mistress. She is yours if you choose to join us."
"Ay, stop with us," cried a young and very pretty woman, taking his hand
and drawing him towards the company who were dancing beneath the aisles.
But Leonard disengaged himself, and hurried away amid the laughter and
hootings of the assemblage. The streets, despite their desolate
appearance, were preferable to the spot he had just quitted, and he
seemed to breathe more freely when he got to a little distance from the
polluted fane. He had now entered Wood-street, but all was as still as
death, and he paused to gaze up at his master's window, but there was no
one at it. Many a lover, unable to behold the object of his affections,
has in some measure satisfied the yearning of his heart by gazing at her
dwelling, and feeling he was near her. Many a sad heart has been cheered
by beholding a light at a window, or a shadow on its closed curtains,
and such would have been Leonard's feelings if he had not been depressed
by the thought of Amabel's precarious state of health.
While thus wrapt in mournful thought, he observed three figures slowly
approaching from the further end of the street, and he instinctively
withdrew into a doorway. He had reason to congratulate himself upon the
precaution, as, when the party drew nearer, he recognised, with a pang
that shot to his heart, the voice of Rochester. A moment's observation
from his place of concealment showed him that the earl was accompanied
by Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. They paused within a short
distance of him, and he could distinctly hear their conversation.
"You have not yet told us why you brought us here my lord," said
Etherege to Rochester, after the latter had gazed for a few moments in
silence at the house. "Are you resolved to make another attempt to carry
off the girl--and failing in it, to give her up for ever!"
"You have guessed my purpose precisely," returned Rochester. "Doctor
Hodges has informed a friend of mine that the pretty Amabel has fallen
into a decline. The poor soul is, doubtless, pining for me; and it would
be the height of inhumanity to let her perish."
Leonard ground his teeth-with suppressed rage.
"Then you mean to make her Countess of Rochester, after all," laughed
Etherege. "I thought you had determined to carry off Mistress Mallett."
"Old Bowley declares he will send me to the Tower if I do," replied
Rochester; "and though his threats would scarcely deter me from acting
as I think proper, I have no inclination for marriage at present. What a
pity, Etherege, that one cannot in these affairs have the money oneself,
and give the wife to one's friend."
"That is easily accomplished," replied Etherege, laughingly; "especially
where you have a friend so devoted as myself. But do you mean to carry
off Amabel to-night?"
"Ay, now we come to business," interposed Pillichody. "Bolts and
barricadoes! your lordship has only to say the word, and I will break
into the house, and bear her off for you."
"Your former conduct is a good guarantee for your present success,
truly," returned Rochester, with a sneer. "No, no; I shall postpone my
design for the present. I have ascertained, from the source whence I
obtained information of Amabel's illness, that she is to be removed into
the country. This will exactly suit my purpose, and put her completely
in my power."
"Then nothing is to be done to-night?" said Pillichody, secretly
congratulating himself on his escape. "By my sword! I feel equal to the
most desperate attempt."
"Your courage and dexterity must be reserved for some more favourable
occasion," replied Rochester.
"If not to carry off the girl, I must again inquire why your lordship
has come hither?" demanded Etherege.
"To be frank with you, my sole motive was to gaze at the house that
contains her," replied Rochester, in a voice that bespoke his sincerity.
"I have before told you that she has a strong hold upon my heart. I have
not seen her for some weeks, and during that time have endeavoured to
obliterate her image by making love to a dozen others. But it will not
do. She still continues absolute mistress of my affections. I sometimes
think, if I can obtain her in no other way, I shall be rash enough to
marry her."
"Pshaw! this must never be," said Etherege.
"Were I to lose her altogether, I should be inconsolable," cried
Rochester.
"As inconsolable as I am for the rich widow of Watling-street, who died
a fortnight ago of the plague, and left her wealth to her footman,"
replied Pillichody, drawing forth his handkerchief and applying it to
his eyes--"oh! oh!"
"Silence, fool!" cried Rochester: "I am in no mood for buffoonery. If
you shed tears for any one, it should be for your master."
"Truly, I am grieved for him," replied Pillichody; "but I object to the
term 'master.' Sir Paul Parravicin, as he chooses to be called, is my
patron, not my master. He permits me a very close familiarity, not to
say friendship."
"Well, then, your patron," rejoined Rochester, scornfully. "How is he
going on to-night?"
"I feared to tell your lordship," replied Pillichody, "lest it should
spoil your mirth; but he broke out of his chamber a few hours ago, and
has not been discovered since. Most likely, he will be found in the
plague-pit or the Thames in the morning, for he was in such an
infuriated state, that it is the opinion of his attendants he would
certainly destroy himself. You know he was attacked two days after Nizza
Macascree was seized by the pestilence, and his brain has been running
upon the poor girl ever since."
"Alas!" exclaimed Rochester, "it is a sad end. I am wearied of this
infected city, and shall be heartily glad to quit it. A few months in
the country with Amabel will be enchanting."
"_Apropos_ of melancholy subjects," said Etherege, "your masque of the
Dance of Death has caused great consternation at court. Mistress Stewart
declares she cannot get that strange fellow who performed such fantastic
tricks in the skeleton-dance out of her head."
"You mean Chowles," replied the earl. "He is a singular being,
certainly--once a coffin-maker, and now, I believe, a burier of the
dead. He takes up his abode in a crypt of Saint Faith's and leads an
incomprehensible life. As we return we shall pass the cathedral, and can
see whether he is astir."
"Readily," replied Etherege. "Do you desire to tarry here longer, or
shall we proceed before you, while you indulge your tender meditations
undisturbed?"
"Leave me," replied Rochester; "I shall be glad to be alone for a few
moments."
Etherege and Pillichody then proceeded slowly towards Cheapside, while
the earl remained with his arms folded upon his breast, and his gaze
fixed upon the house. Leonard watched him with intense curiosity, and
had great difficulty in controlling himself. Though the earl was armed,
while he had only his staff, he could have easily mastered him by
assailing him unawares. But Leonard's generous nature revolted at the
unworthy suggestion, and he resolved, if he attacked him at all, to give
him time to stand upon his guard. A moment's reflection, however,
satisfied him that his wisest course would be to remain concealed. He
was now in possession of the earl's plan, and, with the help of Doctor
Hodges, could easily defeat it; whereas if he appeared, it would be
evident that he had overheard what had passed, and some other scheme, to
which he could not be privy, would be necessarily adopted. Influenced by
this consideration, he suffered the earl to depart unmolested, and when
he had got to some distance followed him. Rochester's companions were
waiting for him in Cheapside, and, joining them, they all three
proceeded towards the cathedral. They entered the great northern door;
and Leonard, who was now well acquainted with all the approaches, passed
through the door at the north side of the choir, to which he had been
directed on a former occasion by Solomon Eagle. He found the party
guided by the old verger--the only one of its former keepers who still
lingered about the place--and preparing to descend to Saint Faith's.
Leonard followed as near as he could without exposing himself, and, on
gaining the subterranean church, easily contrived to screen himself
behind the ponderous ranks of pillars.
By this time they had reached the door of the charnel It was closed; but
Rochester knocked against it, and Chowles presently appeared. He seemed
greatly surprised at seeing the earl, nor was the latter less astonished
when he learnt that Parravicin was within the vault. He desired to be
shown to his friend, and Chowles ushered him into the crypt. Leonard
would have followed them; but as Etherege and the others declined
entering the charnel, and remained at the door, he could not do so.
Shortly after this the sick man was brought out, stretched upon a
pallet, borne by Chowles and Judith; and the party proceeded slowly, and
occasionally relieving each other, to the great western entrance, where
a coach being procured by Pillichody, Parravicin was placed within it,
with Judith and Chowles; and orders being given in an under-tone to the
driver, he departed. The others then proceeded towards Ludgate, while
Leonard, again disappointed, retraced his steps to Wood-street.
* * * * *
V. HOW SAINT PATHOS WAS USED AS A PEST-HOUSE.
The distemper had by this time increased to such a frightful extent,
that the pest-houses being found wholly inadequate to contain the number
of sick persons sent to them, it was resolved by the civic authorities,
who had obtained the sanction of the Dean and Chapter of Saint Paul's
for that purpose, to convert the cathedral into a receptacle for the
infected. Accordingly, a meeting was held in the Convocation House to
make final arrangements. It was attended by Sir John Lawrence, the Lord
Mayor; by Sir George Waterman, and Sir Charles Doe, sheriffs; by Doctor
Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury; by the Duke of Albemarle, the Earl of
Craven, and, a few other zealous and humane persons. Several members of
the College of Physicians were likewise present, and, amongst others,
Doctor Hodges; and the expediency of the measure being fully agreed
upon, it was determined to carry it into immediate execution.
The cloisters surrounding the Convocation House were crowded with sick
persons, drawn thither by the rumour of what was going forward; and when
the meeting adjourned to the cathedral, these unfortunate beings
followed them, and were with some difficulty kept aloof from the
uninfected by the attendants. A very earnest and touching address was
next pronounced by the archbishop. Calling upon his hearers to look upon
themselves as already dead to the world,--to regard the present
visitation as a just punishment of their sins, and to rejoice that their
sufferings would be so soon terminated, when, if they sincerely and
heartily repented, they would at once be transported from the depths of
wretchedness and misery to regions of unfading bliss; he concluded by
stating that he, and all those around him, were prepared to devote
themselves, without regard to their own safety, to the preservation of
their fellow-citizens, and that they would leave nothing undone to stop
the ravages of the devouring scourge.
It chanced that Leonard Holt was present on this occasion, and as he
listened to the eloquent discourse of the archbishop, and gazed at the
group around him, all equally zealous in the good cause, and equally
regardless of themselves, he could not but indulge a hope that their
exertions might be crowned with success. It was indeed a touching sight
to see the melancholy congregation to whom his address was
delivered--many, nay most of whom were on the verge of dissolution;--and
Leonard Holt was so moved by the almost apostolic fervour of the
prelate, that, but for the thought of Amabel, he might have followed the
example of several of the auditors, and devoted himself altogether to
the service of the sick.
His discourse concluded, the archbishop and most of his companions
quitted the cathedral. Hodges, however, and three of the physicians,
remained behind to superintend the necessary preparations. Shortly
after, a large number of pallets were brought in, and ranged along the
nave and aisles at short distances from each other; and, before night,
the interior of the structure presented the complete appearance of an
hospital. Acting under the directions of Doctor Hodges, Leonard Holt
lent his assistance in arranging the pallets, in covering them with
bedding and blankets, and in executing any other service required of
him. A sufficient number of chirurgeons and nurses were then sent for,
and such was the expedition used, that on that very night most of the
pallets were occupied. Thus the cathedral underwent another afflicting
change. A blight had come over it, mildewing its holy walls, and
tainting and polluting its altars. Its aisles, once trodden by grave and
reverend ecclesiastics, and subsequently haunted by rufflers, bullies,
and other worthless characters, were now filled with miserable wretches,
stricken with a loathsome and fatal distemper. Its chapels and shrines
formerly adorned with rich sculptures and costly ornaments, but stripped
of them at times when they were looked upon as idolatrous and profane,
were now occupied by nurses, chirurgeons, and their attendants; while
every niche and corner was filled with surgical implements, phials,
drugs, poultices, foul rags, and linen.
In less than a week after it had been converted into a pest-house, the
cathedral was crowded to overflowing. Upwards of three hundred pallets
were set up in the nave, in the aisles, in the transepts, and in the
choir, and even in the chapels. But these proving insufficient, many
poor wretches who were brought thither were placed on the cold flags,
and protected only by a single blanket. At night the scene was really
terrific. The imperfect light borne by the attendants fell on the
couches, and revealed the livid countenances of their occupants; while
the vaulted roof rang with shrieks and groans so horrible and
heart-piercing as to be scarcely endured, except by those whose nerves
were firmly strung, or had become blunted by their constant recurrence.
At such times, too, some unhappy creature, frenzied by agony, would
burst from his couch, and rend the air with his cries, until overtaken
and overpowered by his attendants. On one occasion, it happened that a
poor wretch, who had been thus caught, broke loose a second time, and
darting through a door leading to the stone staircase in the northern
transept gained the ambulatory, and being closely followed, to escape
his pursuers, sprang through one of the arched openings, and falling
from a height of near sixty feet, was dashed in pieces on the flagged
floor beneath.
A walk through this mighty lazar-house would have furnished a wholesome
lesson to the most reckless observer. It seemed to contain all the sick
of the city. And yet it was not so. Hundreds were expiring in their own
dwellings, and the other pest-houses continued crowded as before. Still,
as a far greater number of the infected were here congregated, and could
be seen at one view, the picture was incomparably more impressive. Every
part of the cathedral was occupied. Those who could not find room inside
it crouched beneath the columns of the portico on rugs or blankets, and
implored the chirurgeons as they passed to attend them. Want of room
also drove others into Saint Faith's, and here the scene was, if
possible, more hideous. In this dismal region it was found impossible to
obtain a free circulation of air, and consequently the pestilential
effluvia, unable to escape, acquired such malignancy, that it was almost
certain destruction to inhale it. After a time, few of the nurses and
attendants would venture thither; and to take a patient to Saint Faith's
was considered tantamount to consigning him to the grave.
Whether Judith Malmayns had succeeded or not in curing Sir Paul
Parravicin, it is not our present purpose to relate. Soon after the
cathedral was converted into a lazar-house she returned thither, and, in
spite of the opposition of Doctor Hodges, was appointed one of the
nurses. It must not be supposed that her appointment was the result of
any ill design. Such was the difficulty of obtaining attendance, that
little choice was left, and the nurses being all of questionable
character, it was supposed she was only a shade worse than her fellows,
while she was known to be active and courageous. And this was speedily
proved; for when Saint Faith's was deserted by the others, she remained
at her post, and quitted it neither night nor day. A large pit was
digged in the open space at the north-east corner of the cathedral, and
to this great numbers of bodies were nightly conveyed by Chowles and
Jonas. But it was soon filled, and they were compelled to resort, as
before, to Finsbury Fields, and to another vast pit near Aldgate. When
not engaged in this revolting employment, Chowles took up his quarters
in the crypt, where, in spite of his propinquity to the sick, he
indulged himself in his customary revelry. He and Judith had amassed, in
one way or other, a vast quantity of spoil, and frequently planned how
they would spend it when the pestilence ceased. Their treasure was
carefully concealed in a cell in one of the secret passages with which
they were acquainted, leading from Saint Faith's to the upper structure.
One night, on his return from Finsbury Fields, as Chowles was seated in
the crypt, with a pipe in his mouth, and a half-finished flask of wine
before him, he was startled by the sudden entrance of Judith, who,
rushing up to him, seized him by the throat, and almost choked him
before he could extricate himself.
"What is the matter?--would you strangle me, you murderous harridan?" he
cried.
"Ay, that I would," replied Judith, preparing to renew the attack.
"Stand off!" rejoined Chowles, springing back, and snatching up a spade,
"or I will dash out your brains. Are you mad?" he continued, gazing
fearfully at her.
"I am angry enough to make me so," she replied, shaking her clenched
fists at him. "But I will be revenged--revenged, I tell you."
"Revenged!" cried Chowles, in astonishment--"for what! What have I
done!"
"You do well to affect ignorance," rejoined Judith, "but you cannot
deceive me. No one but you can have done it."
"Done what!" exclaimed Chowles, in increased astonishment. "Has our
hoard been discovered?"