Читать книгу Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 12

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Any doubts entertained by Leonard Holt as to the manner in which his rival entered the house, were removed by discovering the open window in the passage and the rope-ladder hanging to the yard-wall. Taking the ladder away, and making all as secure as he could, he next seized his cudgel, and proceeded to Blaize's room, with the intention of inflicting upon him the punishment he had threatened: for he naturally enough attributed to the porter's carelessness all the mischief that had just occurred. Not meeting with him, however, and concluding he was in the kitchen, he descended thither, and found him in such a pitiable plight, that his wrath was instantly changed to compassion.

Stretched upon the hearth before a blazing sea-coal fire, which seemed large enough to roast him, with his head resting upon the lap of Patience, the pretty kitchen-maid, and his left hand upon his heart, the porter loudly complained of a fixed and burning pain in that region; while his mother, who was kneeling beside him, having just poured a basin of scalding posset-drink down his throat, entreated him to let her examine his side to see whether he had any pestilential mark upon it, but he vehemently resisted her efforts.

"Do you feel any swelling, myn lief zoon?" asked old Josyna, trying to remove his hand.

"Swelling!" ejaculated Blaize—"there's a tumour as big as an egg."

"Is id possible?" exclaimed Josyna, in great alarm. "Do let me look ad id."

"No, no, leave me alone," rejoined Blaize. "Don't disturb me further. You will catch the distemper if you touch the sore."

"Dat wond hinder me from drying to zaave you," replied his mother, affectionately. "I must see vad is de madder vid you, or I cannod cure you."

"I am past your doctoring, mother," groaned Blaize. "Leave me alone, I say. You hurt me shockingly!"

"Poor child!" cried Josyna, soothingly, "I'll be as dender as possible. I'll nod give you de leasd pain—nod de leasd bid."

"But I tell you, you do give me a great deal," rejoined Blaize. "I can't bear it. Your fingers are like iron nails. Keep them away."

"Bless us! did I ever hear de like of dad!" exclaimed Josyna. "Iron nails! if you think so, myn arm zoon, you musd be very ill indeed."

"I am very ill," groaned her son. "I am not long for this world."

"Oh! don't say so, dear Blaize," sobbed Patience, letting fall a plentiful shower of tears on his face. "Don't say so. I can't bear to part with you."

"Then don't survive me," returned Blaize. "But there's little chance of your doing so. You are certain to take the plague."

"I care not what becomes of myself, if I lose you, Blaize," responded Patience, bedewing his countenance with another shower; "but I hope you won't die yet."

"Ah! it's all over with me—all over," rejoined Blaize. "I told Leonard Holt how it would be. I said I should be the next victim. And my words are come true."

"You are as clever as a conjurer," sobbed Patience; "but I wish you hadn't been right in this instance. However, comfort yourself. I'll die with you. We'll be carried to the grave in the same plague-cart."

"That's cold comfort," returned Blaize, angrily. "I beg you'll never mention the plague-cart again. The thought of it makes me shiver all over—oh!" And he uttered a dismal and prolonged groan.

At this juncture, Leonard thought it time to interfere.

"If you are really attacked by the plague, Blaize," he said, advancing, "you must have instant advice. Doctor Hodges is still upstairs with our master. He must see you."

"On no account," returned the porter, in the greatest alarm, and springing to his feet. "I am better—much better. I don't think I am ill at all."

"For the first time, I suspect the contrary," replied the apprentice, "since you are afraid of owning it. But this is not a matter to be trifled with. Doctor Hodges will soon settle the point." And he hurried out of the room to summon the physician.

"Oh! mother!—dear Patience!" roared Blaize, capering about in an ecstasy of terror; "don't let the doctor come near me. Keep me out of his sight. You don't know what horrid things are done to those afflicted with my complaint. But I do—for I have informed myself on the subject. Their skins are scarified, and their sores blistered, lanced, cauterized, and sometimes burned away with a knob of red-hot iron, called 'the button.'"

"But iv id is necessary, myn goed Blaize, you musd submid," replied his mother. "Never mind de hod iron or de lance, or de blisder, iv dey make you well. Never mind de pain. It will soon be over."

"Soon over!" bellowed Blaize, sinking into a chair. "Yes, I feel it will. But not in the way you imagine. This Doctor Hodges will kill me. He is fond of trying experiments, and will make me his subject. Don't let him—for pity's sake, don't."

"But I musd, myn lief jonger," replied his mother, "I musd."

"Oh, Patience!" supplicated Blaize, "you were always fond of me. My mother has lost her natural affection. She wishes to get rid of me. Don't take part with her. My sole dependence is upon you."

"I will do all I can for you, dear Blaize," blubbered the kitchen-maid. "But it is absolutely necessary you should see the doctor."

"Then I won't stay here another minute," vociferated Blaize. "I'll die in the street rather than under his hands."

And bursting from them, he would have made good his retreat, but for the entrance of Leonard and Hodges.

At the sight of the latter, Blaize ran back and endeavoured to screen himself behind Patience.

"Is this the sick man?" remarked Hodges, scarcely able to refrain from laughing. "I don't think he can be in such imminent danger as you led me to suppose."

"No, I am better—much better, thank you," returned Blaize, still keeping Patience between him and the doctor. "The very sight of you has frightened away the plague."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Hodges, smiling, "then it is the most marvellous cure I ever yet effected. But, come forward, young man, and let us see what is the matter with you."

"You neither lance nor cauterize an incipient tumour, do you, doctor?" demanded Blaize, without abandoning his position.

"Eh, day!" exclaimed Hodges, "have we one of the faculty here? I see how it is, friend. You have been reading some silly book about the disease, and have frightened yourself into the belief that you have some of its symptoms. I hope you haven't been doctoring yourself, likewise. What have you taken?"

"It would be difficult to say what he has not taken," remarked Leonard. "His stomach must be like an apothecary's shop."

"I have only used proper precautions," rejoined Blaize, testily.

"And what may those be—eh?" inquired the doctor. "I am curious to learn."

"Come from behind Patience," cried Leonard, "and don't act the fool longer, or I will see whether your disorder will not yield to a sound application of the cudgel."

"Don't rate him thus, good Master Leonard," interposed Patience. "He is very ill—he is, indeed."

"Then let him have a chance of getting better," returned the apprentice. "If he is ill, he has no business near you. Come from behind her, Blaize, I say. Now speak," he added, as the porter crept tremblingly forth, "and let us hear what nostrums you have swallowed. I know you have dosed yourself with pills, electuaries, balsams, tinctures, conserves, spirits, elixirs, decoctions, and every other remedy, real or imaginary. What else have you done?"

"What Dr. Hodges, I am sure, will approve," replied Blaize, confidently. "I have rubbed myself with vinegar, oil of sulphur, extract of tar, and spirit of turpentine."

"What next?" demanded Hodges.

"I placed saltpetre, brimstone, amber, and juniper upon a chafing-dish to fumigate my room," replied Blaize; "but the vapour was so overpowering, I could not bear it."

"I should be surprised if you could," replied the doctor. "Indeed, it is astonishing to me, if you have taken half the remedies Leonard says you have, and which, taken in this way, are no remedies at all, since they counteract each other—that you are still alive. But let us see what is the matter with you. What ails you particularly?"

"Nothing," replied Blaize, trembling; "I am quite well."

"He complains of a fixed pain near de haard, docdor," interposed his mother, "and says he has a large dumour on his side. But he wond let me examine id."

"That's a bad sign," observed Hodges, shaking his head. "I am afraid it's not all fancy, as I at first supposed. Have you felt sick of late, young man?"

"Not of late," replied Blaize, becoming as white as ashes; "but I do now."

"Another bad symptom," rejoined the doctor. "Take off your doublet and open your shirt."

"Do as the doctor bids you," said Leonard, seeing that Blaize hesitated, "or I apply the cudgel."

"Ah! bless my life! what's this?" cried Hodges, running his hand down the left side of the porter, and meeting with a large lump. "Can it be a carbuncle?"

"Yes, it's a terrible carbuncle," replied Blaize; "but don't cauterize it, doctor."

"Let me look at it," cried Hodges, "and I shall then know how to proceed."

And as he spoke, he tore open the porter's shirt, and a silver ball, about as large as a pigeon's egg, fell to the ground. Leonard picked it up, and found it so hot that he could scarcely hold it.

"Here is the terrible carbuncle," he cried, with a laugh, in which all the party, except Blaize, joined.

"It's my pomander-box," said the latter. "I filled it with a mixture of citron-peel, angelica seed, zedoary, yellow saunders, aloes, benzoin, camphor, and gum-tragacanth, moistened with spirit of roses; and after placing it on the chafing-dish to heat it, hung it by a string round my neck, next my dried toad. I suppose, by some means or other, it dropped through my doublet, and found its way to my side. I felt a dreadful burning there, and that made me fancy I was attacked by the plague."

"A very satisfactory solution of the mystery," replied the doctor, laughing; "and you may think yourself well off with the blister which your box has raised. It will be easier to bear than the cataplasm I should have given you, had your apprehensions been well founded. As yet, you are free from infection, young man; but if you persist in this silly and pernicious practice of quacking yourself, you will infallibly bring on some fatal disorder—perhaps the plague itself. If your mother has any regard for you she will put all your medicines out of your reach. There are few known remedies against this frightful disease; and what few there are, must be adopted cautiously. My own specific is sack."

"Sack!" exclaimed Blaize, in astonishment. "Henceforth, I will drink nothing else. I like the remedy amazingly."

"It must be taken in moderation," said the doctor: "otherwise it is as dangerous as too much physic."

"I have a boddle or doo of de liquor you commend, docdor, in my private cupboard," observed Josyna. "Will you dasde id?"

"With great pleasure," replied Hodges, "and a drop of it will do your son no harm."

The wine was accordingly produced, and the doctor pronounced it excellent, desiring that a glass might always be brought him when he visited the grocer's house.

"You may rely upon id, mynheer, as long as my small sdore lasds," replied Josyna.

Blaize, who, in obedience to the doctor's commands, had drained a large glass of sack, felt so much inspirited by it, that he ventured, when his mother's back was turned, to steal a kiss from Patience, and to whisper in her ear, that if he escaped the plague, he would certainly marry her—an assurance that seemed to give her no slight satisfaction. His new-born courage, however, was in some degree damped by Leonard, who observed to him in an undertone:

"You have neglected my injunctions, sirrah, and allowed the person I warned you of to enter the house. When a fitting season arrives, I will not fail to pay off old scores."

Blaize would have remonstrated, and asked for some explanation, but the apprentice instantly left him, and set out upon his errand to the Examiner of Health. Accompanied by his mother, who would not even allow him to say good-night to Patience, the porter then proceeded to his own room, where the old woman, to his infinite regret, carried off his stores of medicine in a basket, which she brought with her for that purpose, and locked the door upon him.

"This has escaped her," said Blaize, as soon as she was gone, opening a secret drawer in the cupboard. "How fortunate that I kept this reserve. I have still a tolerable supply in case of need. Let me examine my stock. First of all, there are plague-lozenges, composed of angelica, liquorice, flower of sulphur, myrrh, and oil of cinnamon. Secondly, an electuary of bole-armoniac, hartshorn-shavings, saffron, and syrup of wood-sorrel. I long to taste it. But then it would be running in the doctor's teeth. Thirdly, there is a phial labelled Aqua Theriacalis Stillatitia—in plain English, distilled treacle-water. A spoonful of this couldn't hurt me. Fourthly, a packet of powders, entitled Manus Christi—an excellent mixture. Fifthly, a small pot of diatesseron, composed of gentian, myrrh, bayberries, and round aristolochia. I must just taste it. Never mind the doctor! He does not know what agrees with my constitution as well as I do myself. Physic comes as naturally to me as mother's milk. Sixthly, there is Aqua Epidemica, commonly called the Plague-Water of Matthias—delicious stuff! I will only just sip it. What a fine bitter it has! I'm sure it must be very wholesome. Next, for I've lost my count, comes salt of vipers—next, powder of unicorn's horn—next, oil of scorpions from Naples—next, dragon-water—all admirable. Then there are cloves of garlics—sovereign fortifiers of the stomach—and, lastly, there is a large box of my favourite rufuses. How many pills have I taken? Only half a dozen! Three more may as well go to keep the others company."

And hastily swallowing them, as if afraid of detection, he carefully shut the drawer, and then crept into bed, and, covering himself with blankets, endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.

Doctor Hodges, meantime, returned to the grocer, and acquainted him that it was a false alarm, and that the porter was entirely free from infection.

"I am glad to hear it," replied Bloundel; "but I expected as much. Blaize is like the shepherd's boy in the fable: he has cried 'wolf' so often, that when the danger really arrives, no one will heed him."

"I must now take my leave, Mr. Bloundel," said Hodges. "I will be with you the first thing to-morrow, and have little doubt I shall find your son going on well. But you must not merely take care of him, but of yourself, and your household. It will be well to set a chafing-dish in the middle of the room, and scatter some of these perfumes occasionally upon it!" and producing several small packets, he gave them to the grocer. "If you ever smoke a pipe, I would advise you to do so now."

"I never smoke," replied Bloundel, "and hold it as a filthy and mischievous habit, which nothing but necessity should induce me to practise."

"It is advisable now," returned Hodges, "and you should neglect no precaution. Take my word for it, Mr. Bloundel, the plague is only beginning. When the heats of summer arrive, its ravages will be frightful. Heaven only knows what will become of us all!"

"If my poor son is spared, and we escape contagion," returned Bloundel, "I will put into execution a scheme which has occurred to me, and which (under Providence!) will, I trust, secure my family from further hazard."

"Ah, indeed! what is that?" inquired Hodges.

"We must talk of it some other time," returned Bloundel "Good-night, doctor, and accept my thanks for your attention. To-morrow, at as early an hour as you can make convenient, I shall hope to see you." And with a friendly shake of the hand, and a reiteration of advice and good wishes, Hodges departed.

Soon after this the apprentice returned, and by his master's directions, placed a chafing-dish in the middle of the room, supplying it with the drugs and herbs left by the doctor. About four o'clock, a loud knocking was heard. Instantly answering the summons, Leonard found four men at the shop-door, two of whom he knew, by red wands they carried, were searchers; while their companions appeared to be undertakers, from their sable habits and long black cloaks.

Marching unceremoniously into the shop, the searchers desired to see the sick man; and the apprentice then perceived that one of the men in black cloaks was the coffin-maker, Chowles. He could not, however, refuse him admittance, and led the way to the grocer's chamber. As they entered it, Bloundel arose, and placing his finger to his lips in token of silence, raised the blankets, and exhibited the blotch, which had greatly increased in size, under the arm of his slumbering son. The foremost of the searchers, who kept a phial of vinegar to his nose all the time he remained in the room, then demanded in a low tone whether there were any other of the household infected? The grocer replied in the negative. Upon this, Chowles, whose manner showed he was more than half intoxicated, took off his hat, and bowing obsequiously to the grocer, said, "Shall I prepare you a coffin, Mr. Bloundel?—you are sure to want one, and had better give the order in time, for there is a great demand for such articles just now. If you like, I will call with it tomorrow night. I have a plague-cart of my own, and bury all my customers."

"God grant I may not require your services, sir!" replied the grocer, shuddering. "But I will give you timely notice."

"If you are in want of a nurse, I can recommend an experienced one," added Chowles. "Her last employer is just dead."

"I may need assistance," replied the grocer, after a moment's reflection. "Let her call to-morrow."

"She understands her business perfectly, and will save you a world of trouble," replied Chowles; "besides securing me the sale of another coffin," he added to himself.

He then quitted the room with the searchers, and Leonard felt inexpressibly relieved by their departure.

As soon as the party gained the street, the fourth person, who was provided with materials for the task, painted a red cross of the prescribed size—namely, a foot in length—in the middle of the door; tracing above it, in large characters, the melancholy formula—"LORD, HAVE MERCY UPON US!"