by Mark Twain
CHAPTER XXIX
THE SMALLPOX HUT
When we arrived at that hut at mid-afternoon, we saw no signsof life about it. The field near by had been denuded of its cropsome time before, and had a skinned look, so exhaustively hadit been harvested and gleaned. Fences, sheds, everything had aruined look, and were eloquent of poverty. No animal was aroundanywhere, no living thing in sight. The stillness was awful, itwas like the stillness of death. The cabin was a one-story one,whose thatch was black with age, and ragged from lack of repair.
The door stood a trifle ajar. We approached it stealthily--on tiptoeand at half-breath--for that is the way one's feeling makes him do,at such a time. The king knocked. We waited. No answer. Knockedagain. No answer. I pushed the door softly open and looked in.I made out some dim forms, and a woman started up from the groundand stared at me, as one does who is wakened from sleep. Presentlyshe found her voice:
"Have mercy!" she pleaded. "All is taken, nothing is left."
"I have not come to take anything, poor woman."
"You are not a priest?"
"No."
"Nor come not from the lord of the manor?"
"No, I am a stranger."
"Oh, then, for the fear of God, who visits with misery and deathsuch as be harmless, tarry not here, but fly! This place is underhis curse--and his Church's."
"Let me come in and help you--you are sick and in trouble."
I was better used to the dim light now. I could see her holloweyes fixed upon me. I could see how emaciated she was.
"I tell you the place is under the Church's ban. Save yourself--and go, before some straggler see thee here, and report it."
"Give yourself no trouble about me; I don't care anything for theChurch's curse. Let me help you."
"Now all good spirits--if there be any such--bless thee for thatword. Would God I had a sup of water!--but hold, hold, forgetI said it, and fly; for there is that here that even he thatfeareth not the Church must fear: this disease whereof we die.Leave us, thou brave, good stranger, and take with thee suchwhole and sincere blessing as them that be accursed can give."
But before this I had picked up a wooden bowl and was rushingpast the king on my way to the brook. It was ten yards away.When I got back and entered, the king was within, and was openingthe shutter that closed the window-hole, to let in air and light.The place was full of a foul stench. I put the bowl to the woman'slips, and as she gripped it with her eager talons the shutter cameopen and a strong light flooded her face. Smallpox!
I sprang to the king, and said in his ear:
"Out of the door on the instant, sire! the woman is dying of thatdisease that wasted the skirts of Camelot two years ago."
He did not budge.
"Of a truth I shall remain--and likewise help."
I whispered again:
"King, it must not be. You must go."
"Ye mean well, and ye speak not unwisely. But it were shame thata king should know fear, and shame that belted knight shouldwithhold his hand where be such as need succor. Peace, I willnot go. It is you who must go. The Church's ban is not upon me,but it forbiddeth you to be here, and she will deal with you witha heavy hand an word come to her of your trespass."
It was a desperate place for him to be in, and might cost him hislife, but it was no use to argue with him. If he considered hisknightly honor at stake here, that was the end of argument; hewould stay, and nothing could prevent it; I was aware of that.And so I dropped the subject. The woman spoke:
"Fair sir, of your kindness will ye climb the ladder there,and bring me news of what ye find? Be not afraid to report,for times can come when even a mother's heart is past breaking--being already broke."
"Abide," said the king, "and give the woman to eat. I will go."And he put down the knapsack.
I turned to start, but the king had already started. He halted,and looked down upon a man who lay in a dim light, and had notnoticed us thus far, or spoken.
"Is it your husband?" the king asked.
"Yes."
"Is he asleep?"
"God be thanked for that one charity, yes--these three hours.Where shall I pay to the full, my gratitude! for my heart isbursting with it for that sleep he sleepeth now."
I said:
"We will be careful. We will not wake him."
"Ah, no, that ye will not, for he is dead."
"Dead?"
"Yes, what triumph it is to know it! None can harm him, noneinsult him more. He is in heaven now, and happy; or if not there,he bides in hell and is content; for in that place he will findneither abbot nor yet bishop. We were boy and girl together; wewere man and wife these five and twenty years, and never separatedtill this day. Think how long that is to love and suffer together.This morning was he out of his mind, and in his fancy we wereboy and girl again and wandering in the happy fields; and so inthat innocent glad converse wandered he far and farther, stilllightly gossiping, and entered into those other fields we knownot of, and was shut away from mortal sight. And so there wasno parting, for in his fancy I went with him; he knew not butI went with him, my hand in his--my young soft hand, not thiswithered claw. Ah, yes, to go, and know it not; to separate andknow it not; how could one go peace--fuller than that? It washis reward for a cruel life patiently borne."
There was a slight noise from the direction of the dim corner wherethe ladder was. It was the king descending. I could see that hewas bearing something in one arm, and assisting himself with theother. He came forward into the light; upon his breast lay aslender girl of fifteen. She was but half conscious; she was dyingof smallpox. Here was heroism at its last and loftiest possibility,its utmost summit; this was challenging death in the open fieldunarmed, with all the odds against the challenger, no reward setupon the contest, and no admiring world in silks and cloth of goldto gaze and applaud; and yet the king's bearing was as serenelybrave as it had always been in those cheaper contests where knightmeets knight in equal fight and clothed in protecting steel. Hewas great now; sublimely great. The rude statues of his ancestorsin his palace should have an addition--I would see to that; and itwould not be a mailed king killing a giant or a dragon, like therest, it would be a king in commoner's garb bearing death in hisarms that a peasant mother might look her last upon her child andbe comforted.
He laid the girl down by her mother, who poured out endearmentsand caresses from an overflowing heart, and one could detect aflickering faint light of response in the child's eyes, but thatwas all. The mother hung over her, kissing her, petting her, andimploring her to speak, but the lips only moved and no sound came.I snatched my liquor flask from my knapsack, but the woman forbademe, and said:
"No--she does not suffer; it is better so. It might bring her backto life. None that be so good and kind as ye are would do herthat cruel hurt. For look you--what is left to live for? Herbrothers are gone, her father is gone, her mother goeth, theChurch's curse is upon her, and none may shelter or befriend hereven though she lay perishing in the road. She is desolate. I havenot asked you, good heart, if her sister be still on live, hereoverhead; I had no need; ye had gone back, else, and not leftthe poor thing forsaken--"
"She lieth at peace," interrupted the king, in a subdued voice.
"I would not change it. How rich is this day in happiness! Ah,my Annis, thou shalt join thy sister soon--thou'rt on thy way,and these be merciful friends that will not hinder."
And so she fell to murmuring and cooing over the girl again, andsoftly stroking her face and hair, and kissing her and calling herby endearing names; but there was scarcely sign of response nowin the glazing eyes. I saw tears well from the king's eyes, andtrickle down his face. The woman noticed them, too, and said:
"Ah, I know that sign: thou'st a wife at home, poor soul, andyou and she have gone hungry to bed, many's the time, that thelittle ones might have your crust; you know what poverty is, andthe daily insults of your betters, and the heavy hand of the Churchand the king."<
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The king winced under this accidental home-shot, but kept still;he was learning his part; and he was playing it well, too, fora pretty dull beginner. I struck up a diversion. I offered thewoman food and liquor, but she refused both. She would allownothing to come between her and the release of death. Then I slippedaway and brought the dead child from aloft, and laid it by her.This broke her down again, and there was another scene that wasfull of heartbreak. By and by I made another diversion, and beguiledher to sketch her story.
"Ye know it well yourselves, having suffered it--for truly noneof our condition in Britain escape it. It is the old, weary tale.We fought and struggled and succeeded; meaning by success, thatwe lived and did not die; more than that is not to be claimed. Notroubles came that we could not outlive, till this year broughtthem; then came they all at once, as one might say, and overwhelmedus. Years ago the lord of the manor planted certain fruit trees onour farm; in the best part of it, too--a grievous wrong and shame--"
"But it was his right," interrupted the king.
"None denieth that, indeed; an the law mean anything, what isthe lord's is his, and what is mine is his also. Our farm wasours by lease, therefore 'twas likewise his, to do with it as hewould. Some little time ago, three of those trees were found hewndown. Our three grown sons ran frightened to report the crime.Well, in his lordship's dungeon there they lie, who saith thereshall they lie and rot till they confess. They have naught toconfess, being innocent, wherefore there will they remain untilthey die. Ye know that right well, I ween. Think how this left us;a man, a woman and two children, to gather a crop that was plantedby so much greater force, yes, and protect it night and day frompigeons and prowling animals that be sacred and must not be hurtby any of our sort. When my lord's crop was nearly ready forthe harvest, so also was ours; when his bell rang to call us tohis fields to harvest his crop for nothing, he would not allow thatI and my two girls should count for our three captive sons, butfor only two of them; so, for the lacking one were we daily fined.All this time our own crop was perishing through neglect; and soboth the priest and his lordship fined us because their sharesof it were suffering through damage. In the end the fines ate upour crop--and they took it all; they took it all and made us harvestit for them, without pay or food, and we starving. Then the worstcame when I, being out of my mind with hunger and loss of my boys,and grief to see my husband and my little maids in rags and miseryand despair, uttered a deep blasphemy--oh! a thousand of them!--against the Church and the Church's ways. It was ten days ago.I had fallen sick with this disease, and it was to the priestI said the words, for he was come to chide me for lack of duehumility under the chastening hand of God. He carried my trespassto his betters; I was stubborn; wherefore, presently upon my headand upon all heads that were dear to me, fell the curse of Rome.
"Since that day we are avoided, shunned with horror. None hascome near this hut to know whether we live or not. The rest of uswere taken down. Then I roused me and got up, as wife and motherwill. It was little they could have eaten in any case; it wasless than little they had to eat. But there was water, and I gavethem that. How they craved it! and how they blessed it! But theend came yesterday; my strength broke down. Yesterday was thelast time I ever saw my husband and this youngest child alive.I have lain here all these hours--these ages, ye may say--listening,listening for any sound up there that--"
She gave a sharp quick glance at her eldest daughter, then criedout, "Oh, my darling!" and feebly gathered the stiffening formto her sheltering arms. She had recognized the death-rattle.