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The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

Page 142

by Robert Reed


  and fair . The land was ploughed, the slender blades of wheat broke

  through the dark soil, the fruit trees were covered with buds, the

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  husbandman was abroad in the fields, the milk-maid tripped home

  with well-filled pails, the swallows and martins struck the sunny

  pools with their long, pointed wings, the new dropped lambs re-

  posed on the young grass, the tender growth of leaves—

  Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds

  A silent space with ever sprouting green.12

  Man himself seemed to regenerate, and feel the frost of winter

  yield to an elastic and warm renewal of life—reason told us that care

  and sorrow would grow with the opening year—but how to believe

  the ominous voice breathed up with pestiferous vapours from fear’s

  dim cavern, while nature, laughing and scattering from her green lap

  flowers, and fruits, and sparkling waters, invited us to join the gay

  masque of young life she led upon the scene?

  Where was the plague? “Here—every where!” one voice of hor-

  ror and dismay exclaimed, when in the pleasant days of a sunny

  May the Destroyer of man brooded again over the earth, forcing the

  spirit to leave its organic chrysalis, and to enter upon an untried life .

  With one mighty sweep of its potent weapon, all caution, all care,

  all prudence were levelled low: death sat at the tables of the great,

  stretched itself on the cottager’s pallet, seized the dastard who fled,

  quelled the brave man who resisted: despondency entered every

  heart, sorrow dimmed every eye .

  Sights of woe now became familiar to me, and were I to tell all

  of anguish and pain that I witnessed, of the despairing moans of age,

  and the more terrible smiles of infancy in the bosom of horror, my

  reader, his limbs quivering and his hair on end, would wonder how

  I did not, seized with sudden frenzy, dash myself from some preci-

  pice, and so close my eyes for ever on the sad end of the world . But

  the powers of love, poetry, and creative fancy will dwell even beside

  the sick of the plague, with the squalid, and with the dying . A feeling

  of devotion, of duty, of a high and steady purpose, elevated me; a

  strange joy filled my heart. In the midst of saddest grief I seemed

  12 Keats .

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  to tread air, while the spirit of good shed round me an ambrosial

  atmosphere, which blunted the sting of sympathy, and purified the

  air of sighs. If my wearied soul flagged in its career, I thought of my

  loved home, of the casket that contained my treasures, of the kiss of

  love and the filial caress, while my eyes were moistened by purest

  dew, and my heart was at once softened and refreshed by thrilling

  tenderness .

  Maternal affection had not rendered Idris selfish; at the begin-

  ning of our calamity she had, with thoughtless enthusiasm, devoted

  herself to the care of the sick and helpless . I checked her; and she

  submitted to my rule . I told her how the fear of her danger palsied

  my exertions, how the knowledge of her safety strung my nerves to

  endurance . I shewed her the dangers which her children incurred

  during her absence; and she at length agreed not to go beyond the in-

  closure of the forest . Indeed, within the walls of the Castle we had a

  colony of the unhappy, deserted by their relatives, and in themselves

  helpless, sufficient to occupy her time and attention, while cease-

  less anxiety for my welfare and the health of her children, however

  she strove to curb or conceal it, absorbed all her thoughts, and un-

  dermined the vital principle . After watching over and providing for

  their safety, her second care was to hide from me her anguish and

  tears . Each night I returned to the Castle, and found there repose and

  love awaiting me . Often I waited beside the bed of death till mid-

  night, and through the obscurity of rainy, cloudy nights rode many

  miles, sustained by one circumstance only, the safety and sheltered

  repose of those I loved . If some scene of tremendous agony shook

  my frame and fevered my brow, I would lay my head on the lap of

  Idris, and the tumultuous pulses subsided into a temperate flow —

  her smile could raise me from hopelessness, her embrace bathe my

  sorrowing heart in calm peace . Summer advanced, and, crowned

  with the sun’s potent rays, plague shot her unerring shafts over the

  earth. The nations beneath their influence bowed their heads, and

  died . The corn that sprung up in plenty, lay in autumn rotting on the

  ground, while the melancholy wretch who had gone out to gather

  bread for his children, lay stiff and plague-struck in the furrow . The

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  green woods waved their boughs majestically, while the dying were

  spread beneath their shade, answering the solemn melody with in-

  harmonious cries. The painted birds flitted through the shades; the

  careless deer reposed unhurt upon the fern—the oxen and the horses

  strayed from their unguarded stables, and grazed among the wheat,

  for death fell on man alone .

  With summer and mortality grew our fears . My poor love and

  I looked at each other, and our babes .—“We will save them, Id-

  ris,” I said, “I will save them . Years hence we shall recount to them

  our fears, then passed away with their occasion . Though they only

  should remain on the earth, still they shall live, nor shall their cheeks

  become pale nor their sweet voices languish .” Our eldest in some

  degree understood the scenes passing around, and at times, he with

  serious looks questioned me concerning the reason of so vast a deso-

  lation . But he was only ten years old; and the hilarity of youth soon

  chased unreasonable care from his brow . Evelyn, a laughing cherub,

  a gamesome infant, without idea of pain or sorrow, would, shaking

  back his light curls from his eyes, make the halls re-echo with his

  merriment, and in a thousand artless ways attract our attention to his

  play . Clara, our lovely gentle Clara, was our stay, our solace, our

  delight . She made it her task to attend the sick, comfort the sorrow-

  ing, assist the aged, and partake the sports and awaken the gaiety

  of the young. She flitted through the rooms, like a good spirit, dis-

  patched from the celestial kingdom, to illumine our dark hour with

  alien splendour . Gratitude and praise marked where her footsteps

  had been . Yet, when she stood in unassuming simplicity before us,

  playing with our children, or with girlish assiduity performing little

  kind offices for Idris, one wondered in what fair lineament of her

  pure loveliness, in what soft tone of her thrilling voice, so much of

  heroism, sagacity and active goodness resided .

  The summer passed tediously, for we trusted that winter would at

  least check the disease . That it would vanish altogether was an hope

  too dear— too heartfelt, to be expressed . When such a thought was

  heedlessly uttered, the hearers, with a gush of tears and passionate

  sobs, bore witness how deep their fears were, how small the
ir hopes .

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  For my own part, my exertions for the public good permitted me

  to observe more closely than most others, the virulence and exten-

  sive ravages of our sightless enemy . A short month has destroyed

  a village, and where in May the first person sickened, in June the

  paths were deformed by unburied corpses—the houses tenantless,

  no smoke arising from the chimneys; and the housewife’s clock

  marked only the hour when death had been triumphant . From such

  scenes I have sometimes saved a deserted infant—sometimes led a

  young and grieving mother from the lifeless image of her first born,

  or drawn the sturdy labourer from childish weeping over his extinct

  family .

  July is gone . August must pass, and by the middle of September

  we may hope . Each day was eagerly counted; and the inhabitants

  of towns, desirous to leap this dangerous interval, plunged into dis-

  sipation, and strove, by riot, and what they wished to imagine to

  be pleasure, to banish thought and opiate despair . None but Adrian

  could have tamed the motley population of London, which, like a

  troop of unbitted steeds rushing to their pastures, had thrown aside

  all minor fears, through the operation of the fear paramount . Even

  Adrian was obliged in part to yield, that he might be able, if not to

  guide, at least to set bounds to the license of the times . The theatres

  were kept open; every place of public resort was frequented; though

  he endeavoured so to modify them, as might best quiet the agita-

  tion of the spectators, and at the same time prevent a reaction of

  misery when the excitement was over . Tragedies deep and dire were

  the chief favourites . Comedy brought with it too great a contrast to

  the inner despair: when such were attempted, it was not unfrequent

  for a comedian, in the midst of the laughter occasioned by his dis-

  porportioned buffoonery, to find a word or thought in his part that

  jarred with his own sense of wretchedness, and burst from mimic

  merriment into sobs and tears, while the spectators, seized with ir-

  resistible sympathy, wept, and the pantomimic revelry was changed

  to a real exhibition of tragic passion .

  It was not in my nature to derive consolation from such scenes;

  from theatres, whose buffoon laughter and discordant mirth

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  awakened distempered sympathy, or where fictitious tears and wail-

  ings mocked the heart-felt grief within; from festival or crowded

  meeting, where hilarity sprung from the worst feelings of our nature,

  or such enthralment of the better ones, as impressed it with garish

  and false varnish; from assemblies of mourners in the guise of revel-

  lers . Once however I witnessed a scene of singular interest at one

  of the theatres, where nature overpowered art, as an overflowing

  cataract will tear away the puny manufacture of a mock cascade,

  which had before been fed by a small portion of its waters .

  I had come to London to see Adrian . He was not at the palace;

  and, though the attendants did not know whither he had gone, they

  did not expect him till late at night . It was between six and seven

  o’clock, a fine summer afternoon, and I spent my leisure hours in a

  ramble through the empty streets of London; now turning to avoid

  an approaching funeral, now urged by curiosity to observe the state

  of a particular spot; my wanderings were instinct with pain, for si-

  lence and desertion characterized every place I visited, and the few

  beings I met were so pale and woe-begone, so marked with care and

  depressed by fear, that weary of encountering only signs of misery,

  I began to retread my steps towards home .

  I was now in Holborn, and passed by a public house filled with

  uproarious companions, whose songs, laughter, and shouts were

  more sorrowful than the pale looks and silence of the mourner . Such

  an one was near, hovering round this house . The sorry plight of her

  dress displayed her poverty, she was ghastly pale, and continued

  approaching, first the window and then the door of the house, as

  if fearful, yet longing to enter . A sudden burst of song and merri-

  ment seemed to sting her to the heart; she murmured, “Can he have

  the heart?” and then mustering her courage, she stepped within the

  threshold . The landlady met her in the passage; the poor creature

  asked, “Is my husband here? Can I see George?”

  “See him,” cried the woman, “yes, if you go to him; last night he

  was taken with the plague, and we sent him to the hospital .”

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  The unfortunate inquirer staggered against a wall, a faint cry es-

  caped her —“O! were you cruel enough,” she exclaimed, “to send

  him there?”

  The landlady meanwhile hurried away; but a more compassion-

  ate bar-maid gave her a detailed account, the sum of which was, that

  her husband had been taken ill, after a night of riot, and sent by his

  boon companions with all expedition to St . Bartholomew’s Hospital .

  I had watched this scene, for there was a gentleness about the poor

  woman that interested me; she now tottered away from the door,

  walking as well as she could down Holborn Hill; but her strength

  soon failed her; she leaned against a wall, and her head sunk on her

  bosom, while her pallid cheek became still more white . I went up

  to her and offered my services . She hardly looked up—“You can do

  me no good,” she replied; “I must go to the hospital; if I do not die

  before I get there .”

  There were still a few hackney-coaches accustomed to stand

  about the streets, more truly from habit than for use . I put her in one

  of these, and entered with her that I might secure her entrance into

  the hospital . Our way was short, and she said little; except inter-

  rupted ejaculations of reproach that he had left her, exclamations on

  the unkindness of some of his friends, and hope that she would find

  him alive . There was a simple, natural earnestness about her that

  interested me in her fate, especially when she assured me that her

  husband was the best of men,—had been so, till want of business

  during these unhappy times had thrown him into bad company . “He

  could not bear to come home,” she said, “only to see our children

  die . A man cannot have the patience a mother has, with her own

  flesh and blood.”

  We were set down at St . Bartholomew’s, and entered the wretch-

  ed precincts of the house of disease . The poor creature clung closer

  to me, as she saw with what heartless haste they bore the dead from

  the wards, and took them into a room, whose half-opened door dis-

  played a number of corpses, horrible to behold by one unaccustomed

  to such scenes . We were directed to the ward where her husband had

  been first taken, and still was, the nurse said, if alive. My companion

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  looked eagerly from one bed to the other, till at the end of the ward

  she espied, on a wretched bed, a squalid, haggard creatur
e, writhing

  under the torture of disease . She rushed towards him, she embraced

  him, blessing God for his preservation .

  The enthusiasm that inspired her with this strange joy, blinded

  her to the horrors about her; but they were intolerably agonizing

  to me. The ward was filled with an effluvia that caused my heart to

  heave with painful qualms . The dead were carried out, and the sick

  brought in, with like indifference; some were screaming with pain,

  others laughing from the influence of more terrible delirium; some

  were attended by weeping, despairing relations, others called aloud

  with thrilling tenderness or reproach on the friends who had deserted

  them, while the nurses went from bed to bed, incarnate images of

  despair, neglect, and death . I gave gold to my luckless companion;

  I recommended her to the care of the attendants; I then hastened

  away; while the tormentor, the imagination, busied itself in pictur-

  ing my own loved ones, stretched on such beds, attended thus . The

  country afforded no such mass of horrors; solitary wretches died

  in the open fields; and I have found a survivor in a vacant village,

  contending at once with famine and disease; but the assembly of

  pestilence, the banqueting hall of death, was spread only in London .

  I rambled on, oppressed, distracted by painful emotions—sud-

  denly I found myself before Drury Lane Theatre . The play was

  Macbeth—the first actor of the age was there to exert his powers to

  drug with irreflection the auditors; such a medicine I yearned for, so

  I entered. The theatre was tolerably well filled. Shakspeare, whose

  popularity was established by the approval of four centuries, had not

  lost his influence even at this dread period; but was still “Ut magus,”

  the wizard to rule our hearts and govern our imaginations . I came in

  during the interval between the third and fourth act . I looked round

  on the audience; the females were mostly of the lower classes, but

  the men were of all ranks, come hither to forget awhile the pro-

  tracted scenes of wretchedness, which awaited them at their miser-

  able homes . The curtain drew up, and the stage presented the scene

  of the witches’ cave . The wildness and supernatural machinery of

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  Macbeth, was a pledge that it could contain little directly connected

 

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