Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire by William Harrison Ainsworth (recommended books to read .TXT) 📕

"Judith Malmayns has been absent during the whole of the afternoon," said the man, "and another nurse has taken her place in Saint Faith's. She has never been near Blaize since I have had charge of him."

By this time they had reached the pallet in which the porter was laid. His eyes and a small portion of his snub-nose were alone visible, his head being still enveloped by the linen cloth, while his mouth was covered by blankets. He looked so anxiously at the apprentice, that the latter removed the covering from his mouth, and enabled him to speak.

"I am glad to find you are getting on so well," said Leonard, in a cheerful tone. "Doctor Hodges has been with you, I understand?"

"He has," groaned Blaize; "but he has done me no good—none whatever. I could doctor myself much better, if I might be allowed; for I know every remedy that has been prescribed for the plague; but he would adopt none that I mentioned to him. I wanted him to place a hot loaf, fresh from the oven, to the tumour, to draw it; but he would not consent. Then I asked for a cataplasm, composed of radish-roots, mustard-seed, onions and garlic roasted, mithridate, salt, and soot from a chimney where wood only has been burnt. This he liked no better than the first. Next, I begged for an ale posset with pimpernel soaked in it, assuring him that by frequently drinking such a mixture, Secretary Naunton drew the infection from his very heart. But the doctor would have none of it, and seemed to doubt the fact."

"What did he do?" inquired Leonard.

"He applied oil of St. John's wort to the tumour," replied Blaize, with a dismal groan, and said, "if the scar did not fall off, he must cauterize it. Oh! I shall never be able to bear the pain of the operation."

"Recollect your life is at stake," rejoined Leonard. "You must either submit to it or die."

"I know I must," replied Blaize, with a prolonged groan; "but it is a terrible alternative."

"You will not find the operation so painful as you imagine," rejoined Leonard; "and you know I speak from personal experience."

"You give me great comfort," said Blaize. "And so you really think I shall get better?"

"I have no doubt of it, if you keep up your spirits," replied Leonard. "The worst is evidently over. Behave like a man."

"I will try to do so," rejoined Blaize. "I have been told that if a circle is drawn with a blue sapphire round a plague-blotch, it will fall off. Couldn't we just try the experiment?"

"It will not do to rely upon it," observed the attendant, with a smile. "You will find a small knob of red-hot iron, which we call the 'button,' much more efficacious."

"Oh dear! oh dear!" exclaimed Blaize, "I already feel that dreadful button burning into my flesh."

"On the contrary, you won't feel it at all," replied the attendant. "The iron only touches the point of the tumour, in which there is no sensibility."

"In that case, I don't care how soon the operation is performed," replied Blaize.

"Doctor Hodges will choose his own time for it," said the attendant. "In the mean time, here is a cup of barley-broth for you. You will find it do you good."

While the man applied the cup to the poor porter's lips—for he would not unloose the straps, for fear of mischief—Leonard, who was sickened by the terrible scene around him, took his departure, and quitted the cathedral by the great western entrance. Seating himself on one of the great blocks of stone left there by the workmen employed in repairing the cathedral, but who had long since abandoned their task, he thought over all that had recently occurred. Raising his eyes at length, he looked toward the cathedral. The oblique rays of the sun had quitted the columns of the portico, which looked cold and grey, while the roof and towers were glittering in light. In ten minutes more, only the summit of the central tower caught the last reflection of the declining orb. Leonard watched the rosy gleam till it disappeared, and then steadfastly regarded the reverend pile as its hue changed from grey to black, until at length each pinnacle and buttress, each battlement and tower, was lost in one vast indistinct mass. Night had fallen upon the city—a night destined to be more fatal than any that had preceded it; and yet it was so calm, so beautiful, so clear, that it was scarcely possible to imagine that it was unhealthy. The destroying angel was, however, fearfully at work. Hundreds were falling beneath his touch; and as Leonard wondered how many miserable wretches were at that moment released from suffering, it crossed him like an icy chill, that among the number might be Amabel. So forcibly was he impressed by this idea, that he fell on his knees and prayed aloud.

He was aroused by hearing the ringing of a bell, which announced the approach of the dead-cart, and presently afterwards the gloomy vehicle approached from Ludgate-hill, and moved slowly towards the portico of the cathedral, where it halted. A great number of the dead were placed within it, and the driver, ringing his bell, proceeded in the direction of Cheapside. A very heavy dew had fallen; for as Leonard put his hand to his clothes, they felt damp, and his long hair was filled with moisture. Reproaching himself with having needlessly exposed himself to risk, he was about to walk away, when he heard footsteps at a little distance, and looking in the direction of the sound, perceived the tall figure of Thirlby. Calling to him, the other, who appeared to be in haste, halted for a moment, and telling the apprentice he was going to Doctor Hodges's, desired him to accompany him thither, and went on.