Tales from Blackwood Volume Viii Part 6

"Henry!--Mr Jervas!" she exclaimed, and would have fallen to the ground had I not drawn our horses together, and supported her sinking frame upon my breast. There was not a sound in the air, that had so lately been torn with dreadful noises, except the low sobs of my companion, whose tears were flowing unrestrained upon my bosom, and the dreamy plas.h.i.+ng of the river beside us, as it hastened to drown its murmurs in the moan of the sea, that came heavily at intervals on the wind like a lamentation. The wind that was now abroad was barely strong enough to lift a curl or two of the long and lovely tresses that lay cl.u.s.tering on my breast. All the light in the sky was insufficient to show more than the dim outline of the hills rising black around us against the paler gloom of the heavens. Everything was steeped in profound tranquillity, but the uproar that this quiet had succeeded was less confounding a thousand times, than the tumultuous feelings which agitated my heart in the midst of that solemn and oppressive calm.

"Tell me, Ellen, is it possible that you can have been under the same roof with this villain Forrest?"

"Alas, poor wretch!" she exclaimed, "he was burned to death--he and his cousin Hiram."

"Murderous ruffians!--robbers, dogs, and pirates! what better fate did they merit?" I exclaimed, forgetting that she was ignorant of their piracy.

"Nay, indeed, Mr Jervas, they were only doing their duty. You know that they would have been obliged to fight with the crew, had not the s.h.i.+p been deserted. Oh, although Mr Forrest was a harsh and selfish man, and although I came here so much against my own wishes, yet, believe me, you wrong him with these horrid names; but tell me, I beseech you, how did _you_ come here? Surely you cannot have come all the way from Bromley Hall?--Pray tell me."

"Could I show you my dripping clothes, my bleeding hands, my scorched and smarting face," cried I, "you might then guess where I come from--from the midst of breakers and fire, out of the hands of pirates and a.s.sa.s.sins, who would fain have stained with my blood that fatal s.h.i.+p that they once before polluted with the ma.s.sacre of her crew, but which G.o.d in his justice has guided over the seas to be a destruction for them and theirs. I came in the French fire-s.h.i.+p!"

This was indignantly, bitterly, and thoughtlessly spoken; and I was well rebuked by her placid reply. "Let us pray to be protected in our distress, for, alas! I fear you are distracted, and I scarcely know, myself, whether I am awake or not."

"I would give all I value in the world, except your good wishes, Ellen, that this _were_ a dream; but it is too true--listen now (and I solemnly a.s.sure you there is no deception in what I say), and I will tell you all;" and so I related to her everything that had occurred from the time of our dancing the last rigadoon together in Bromley Hall, up to our present meeting among the Forrest-Race Hills.

"And now, Ellen, that these wretches themselves have been tossed out like burned cinders from the fire, and that their house has been blown stone from stone to the foundation, can you doubt that the hand of Providence has been put forth in their punishment, as plainly as in our reunion after so sudden a separation, and one which threatened to last for years, if not for life? and can you for a moment doubt that I have been brought here thus fearfully and strangely to be a protector to you now, and a cherisher and protector to you till death part us?"

"Oh, do not talk of happiness to me; I feel that I am doomed to be miserable and the cause of misery; the avenging hand lies heavy on us all. But let us hasten to Truro, and hurry up to Bromley, and get my dear guardian's advice, before----" she burst into renewed tears, and then exclaimed, "Alas, alas, ill-fated Mary Forrest! you had little thought, when you went to sleep to-night, that you should be awakened by the light of your husband's death-fire!"

"The miserable woman!" I cried, "what has become of her?"

"She will soon be with her brothers, I trust, in safety; they took her and her baby in the boat to Falmouth, but I was sent off with George the gardener, on horseback, as you see, for Truro. Poor George has suffered with the rest; his horse was frightened by the fire and threw him on the hill; let us go back and see if he is hurt."

I with difficulty dissuaded her from delaying us by such a fruitless search, and represented my own miserable condition.

"Oh that the sky would clear," she cried, "and show us how to go! there is a cottage somewhere near us where you can get dried. You will perish if you remain in wet clothes any longer--but can it be that you are all this time riding bare-headed?" and she drew up her horse, and pulling a handkerchief from her neck, tied it, yet warm from her bosom, round my cold temples and dank hair. Every touch of her fingers streamed a flood of warmth to my heart; my very brain derived new vigour from the comfortable cincture; and having kissed her gentle hands again and again, I recommenced to explore the road with indefatigable perseverance. At length, after a tedious ride over a bleak and almost impracticable track, we saw the low roof of the cottage rise between us and the sky. A feeble light struggled for a moment over the common as we approached, and then disappeared. Having with some searching found a stake to which to tie the horses, we advanced to the door; it opened, and we entered the cabin's only apartment. In one corner, on a low truckle, lay an old man bedridden and doting. In the middle of the floor, a child of about eight years was lighting a candle at the embers of a wood fire; she screamed as we stood before her, and flew to the bedside of the cripple, who mumbled and moaned at the disturbance, but did not seem to comprehend its cause. The little girl's large dark eyes bespoke terror and amazement till my companion addressed her, "My pretty Sally, do you not remember the lady who gave the gown to your mother, and the money?" The little thing then let go its hold of the old man's quilt, and shading the candle from the open window, dropped a timid curtsy and said, "They are all gone down to see the burning at the Race, and they told me to keep the candle in the window till they would come back; but the draught blows it out, madam."

"Lend me the candle, my dear, and we will kindle a nice fire which the draught will only make burn the brighter, and _that_ will do far better," said my companion, and began--beautiful being!--to pile up the wood and clean the hearthstone, with as prompt and housewife-like an alertness as though she had herself been a daughter of the carefullest cottager. The blaze soon crackled up through the grey smoke, and while I stretched myself along the earthen floor, and basked in the pleasant glow, she busied herself in the corner with the little girl--how, I could not imagine, till I heard a rustling of straw and the bleat of a goat. I looked round, and beheld her kneeling on the ground, and milking the poor ragged animal, with hands that took from their pious and charitable employment a loveliness far purer than ever the flowers of the green lane at Bromley had shed over them. She bore the milk warm in a wooden bowl to my lips as I lay; and the child brought me bread. I ate and drank, and blessed them, and tears gushed from my eyes.

"And now my pretty Sally," said my sweet friend, patting the dark head of the little maiden, "does not your mother plait straw hats?"

"Oh!" cried the child, lifting up her tiny hands, "there is a _beautiful_ one in the chest for Simon Jones, madam; but he has gone to be a soldier, and has got a hat now that s.h.i.+nes like gla.s.s, and has lovely feathers in it."

"Then give it to me for this gentleman, and I will give you all this money for your mother." I had my own purse in my pocket, but felt that it would gratify her not to interfere, and did not. So, after a great deal of coaxing, she at length prevailed on the child to open the sacred box, and take out the hat with reverential hands, into which she put a sum that made the poor little creature hold them up even higher than at the mention of the admirable Simon Jones. I being thus refitted and refreshed, we prepared to take the road again, the less reluctantly, as we had already consumed the last log of wood in the house. So, after raking the embers together for fear of accident, and kissing our little benefactress, we remounted, and turned our horses' heads along the road to Truro. Here we arrived before day, and having knocked up the people of an inn, got admitted with some difficulty. It was now my turn to take care of my companion, and I did my best to repay her kindness. I procured refreshments, saw to the horses, and bade her good-night, just as the morning dawn was breaking. I got two or three hours' sleep, and had my clothes thoroughly cleansed and dried before the coach arrived in which we were to proceed, when I placed the horses at livery in the name of Mr Forrest's executors, and took my seat beside all that was now dearest to me in the world. We were two days and a night on the road, for the proprietor of the coach would not permit it to run on the Sabbath, and we therefore spent all the second day, which was Sunday, in the little village where we stopped on the previous night. We went to church together, and after service wandered about the environs. That was the most delightful morning I had ever spent. It was then I persuaded her to promise that if Mr Blundell and her father refused to sanction our union, she would never marry another. I had little thought when exacting an engagement so important, of the heavy responsibility we both undertook. I thought only that the possession of so much goodness and beauty--I will not do injustice to my enthusiasm _then_, though I might add "riches" to the list, did this refer to any other day--would make me the happiest of living men; and I urged and entreated till I made as sure of the divine prize as ever man did in Courts.h.i.+p's lottery, before the final certainty of marriage.

We arrived at Bromley Hall on the evening of Monday. I need not try to describe how my worthy friend stared when he saw us walk in together, whom he had sent little more than a week before, as widely asunder as east and west could separate. Nevertheless, he met his ward with open arms.

"Ellen, my darling child, welcome back to me!--but what the devil do _you_ mean, sir?" cried he, with a ludicrous comminglement of anger and goodwill upon his face, while he seized my hand with the grasp of a thief-catcher, and held me at arm's-length in the middle of the floor.

"I have the strangest story to tell you, sir," I began----

"Some trumpery excuse," cried he, "for thwarting my desires, and neglecting your own business, sir--Why have you not gone on board your vessel yet? Ah, I'll warrant, you would rather be running after heiresses than facing the French cannon."

"Indeed, my dear sir, you wrong Mr Jervas very much," interrupted my fair friend in good time, for I was on the point of making a most indignant reply; but she stopped short, blus.h.i.+ng and confused at the betrayal of any interest towards one in whom she took so much, till I broke the awkward silence which succeeded by requesting my host to grant me his private ear for a very few minutes.

"Very well, sir, very well; here is the same spot where you made all your fine promises to me not a week ago" (he had led me into the library); "so sit down, and let me hear what you have to say for yourself in this very suspicious business." I surprised myself by the manliness and confidence with which I told my story, and avowed my determination never to forego a claim so sanctioned by Providence, and so fully recognised by the party most concerned.

"But trust me, sir, I have more pride than to act otherwise than you once so prudently advised me," said I; "I will return immediately to my profession, and you shall not again see me in the character of a suitor till I can come in one that will be worthy such an errand."

I stopped to hear what he would say to this; but he made no reply; indeed, he hardly seemed to have heard the latter part of my story at all, for he looked utterly bewildered and confounded.

"Henry," at length, said he, after long rubbing his temples, and twice or thrice ejaculating, "G.o.d help us!" "you have brought yourself into a situation where you will have need for all the patience and resignation you possess--Sit down,"--for I had risen with a sudden apprehension of something dreadful. "Sit down, and bear this like the man you have shown yourself to be. You remember what I once told you of Ellen's father--that he was living in a manner disgraceful to us all in London.

Well, Henry, keep your seat. I wrote the other day to inquire about him from a friend in the Admiralty. You are unwell, Harry; let me ring for something for you."

"For G.o.d's sake, sir," I gasped, "tell me the worst at once."

"It is bad enough, Harry, but here it is:--I was informed in answer that Mr Fane had obtained the command of the tender, Gull, and had just sailed for Cherbourg."

"By Heaven, it is not possible!--that wretch the father of _my_ Ellen!

Oh, sir, it is impossible! it is impossible," I reiterated; "what was his christened name?"

"Harry, Harry!" he exclaimed, "be calm, I beseech you, and do not drive me more distracted than I am already. Mr Fane's name was Thomas--Tom Fane. You see, my dear boy, that this is all too true. Bear it like a man, or you will make children of us both; and rather try to aid me in considering how it is to be revealed to _her_, than make yourself unfit to join in alleviating her misery. I say nothing now, Henry, about your proposals--be that as you may think fit hereafter, for such a calamity as this must alter everything; only this I conjure you to, let us not now desert the innocent girl in the time of her affliction."

But I could not bear up against the agony of my feelings, as I was at length forced to admit the horrible conviction. I was utterly unable to take a part in the solicitous cares of my friend. In vain did he persuade--chide--denounce,--I wept, and groaned in the bitterest and deepest despair. After trying every means that prudence and humanity could suggest, he led me at last to my bedroom, where he left me, with the a.s.surance that, in the mean time, nothing should be disclosed to Ellen (in whose presence I had not been trusted again even long enough to bid good-night--nor had I desired it), and promised, at parting, to make my apologies below, on the ground of sudden illness. I spent a night, if possible, more miserable than the evening. Not one minute's sleep, not one minute's respite from horrible thoughts--I tossed in bodily fever, and mental disorder still more insufferable, through all the long hours (although but few in number), till the grey dawn appeared around me. And now I am going to make a shameful confession. I rose with the first light, strong enough to show the shape of things, and stole like a thief out of my window. I could no longer bear the thought of being married to a murderer's daughter, and had made up my mind to fly from Bromley Hall. I dropped safely to the court, and ran across the lawn, impelled by shame, and selfishness, and pride, and turned my steps with a dastardly speed along the road towards London. I ran on till broad daylight, when, after ascending a steep hill, I threw myself behind a clump of furze by the road side, being utterly exhausted by my impetuous speed and contending pa.s.sions. The bright freshness of the sunrise glittered over wide and rich lowlands beneath me. The breeze came up, heavy with meadow sweet and new mown hay--a delicious bath for my hot forehead. The singing of birds was showered forth from every bush and blossoming hedgerow, and a milk-white heifer came lowing up a lane, and stood placid and ruminating in the warmth beside me. I could not help thinking of the Sunday, when I had sat with Ellen on just such a hill, and had overlooked just such a sweep of meadows and pastures--and could I think of that scene, and forget how I had then vowed to cherish and support her through good and evil report, and how she had promised that she would never marry man but me? Could I forget how she had bared her bosom to the bleak wind, that she might bind my brows when I was peris.h.i.+ng with cold? Could I forget how she had stooped to menial occupations in a hovel, to get me fire, and meat, and drink, when I was wet, and hungry, and athirst? And could I now be the false, the base and recreant villain, to leave her in her premature widowhood alone, exposed to all the calamity of sudden abhorrence and bereavement? It was beyond the obstinacy of pride to resist the influence of such reflections. I found myself looking round at the white chimneys of Bromley, where they rose among the trees behind me: I burst into tears like a child, and, with a revulsion of feelings as complete as when I had first felt myself longing to escape from her, I turned my steps back again towards Ellen's dwelling.

I had hardly descended the hill when I met the London coach--I would have given twenty fares for a seat on it half an hour before; and even now, when the driver checked his horses as he pa.s.sed, and asked me, was I for London, I felt a renewal of the conflict almost as fierce as ever: But my better genius conquered. I continued on my way, and reached the house again before seven o'clock. I wished to get in un.o.bserved, and appear at breakfast as if nothing had happened, but my host himself met me as I crossed the lawn. We exchanged a melancholy salute, and he turned with me, without even asking where I had been. We walked into the library together, and I took up a book, and turned away to avoid his eye, in which a tear was trembling as well as in my own. He sat down to read his letters, sighing as if his heart would break while he opened one after another, till suddenly he caught me by the arm, and drew me close to him. I had been standing in his light; but it was not _that_ that made him grasp me so closely. "Harry, Harry, thank G.o.d, with me!"

he cried, in a voice tremulous with joy, "she is safe! she is safe!--our dear girl is safe from even a shadow of disgrace!--But why do I talk of disgrace?--here, read that letter, and thank G.o.d!"

This is a copy of the letter, which he here put into my hands:--

"MY DEAR BLUNDELL,--I have made a sad mistake about poor Fane.

I was called on to visit him suddenly this morning, and found him in his last moments at a miserable lodging in the Barbican, where he expired to-day at four o'clock. Before his death, he told me the circ.u.mstances connected with the command of the Gull. It appears that, when the commission came, he was unable to move in its use from gout and the effects of long dissipation, and that the Forrests of the Race being in town, prevailed on him, for a trifling sum, to give up the papers to a vagabond namesake of his own (but no connection, as far as I can understand), who had been an old a.s.sociate of theirs in Cornwall. This fellow went down to Sheerness, and took the command unquestioned, in the hurry of preparation for sea, and, as I mentioned in my note of yesterday, has set sail for the fleet. By the by, there are dark reports in the Admiralty about the Forrests and the old Phoenix (Manson, jun.), that was supposed to have gone down at sea two years ago. The story goes, that they and this fellow Fane (against whom an order is already issued, on the elder Manson's application), made away with the crew at the Race, into which she had driven at night, and getting the s.h.i.+p off by the next tide, sailed her to Bordeaux, where they sold her to the Messrs Devereux, and fitted out their letter of marque with the money. Of course, this is in confidence. I have often warned poor Ellen's father of Adam Forrest, and told him how improper the situation was for her (I _know_ Forrest designed getting her for his cousin), but he was in the fellow's debt, and therefore under his control; so that, although he disliked the thing as much as I, my representations had no effect. His death must be a relief to us all, yet I cannot but lament him--bold, generous, and honourable he always was, even to the last; and, now that he is gone, let us say nothing of the one deforming vice.--Believe me, most truly yours," &c. &c.

For five days I had been torn from my former self by a continued series of disaster and pa.s.sionate suffering, and so constantly and rapidly had each astonishment succeeded the other, that I was become, I thought, in great measure callous to the most surprising change that could now possibly take place. But here I was placed all at once, and that when least of all expected, on the same ground as when I had parted from Ellen on the night before our first separation; and all the intermediate ordeal of terror and despair was past, and from it I had come out a bolder, truer, and happier man. It may well be credited, then, that my thanks to the Providence, through whose inscrutable hands I had been thus kindly dealt with, were full and fervent; and it may well be supposed how Ellen wondered, with blushes and doubtful confusion, what the embrace, so sadly tender yet so ardent, might mean, when both her guardian and her lover congratulated her on the dispersion of her threatened calamities. Natural sorrow took its course; and grief for the parent, wretched as he was, claimed its indulgence of time and solitude.

I had not forgotten the advice of my excellent friend, about making a man (worthy such a wife) of myself by my own exertions; and receiving official directions to join the fleet, after I had made the necessary depositions, I left Ellen with her tears scarce dried, on the understanding that I should return, so soon as of age, and claim her for my own.

DI VASARI.

A TALE OF FLORENCE.

BY THE LATE CHARLES EDWARDS, ESQ.

[_MAGA._ DECEMBER 1826.]

CHAPTER I.

"It is the Plague Fiend--the King of Fever!

Look! at his garments of the grave; His bloodless lip, white cheek, and gla.s.sy eye!

See how he shoots, borne on his car of fogs, over our city!"

It was somewhere about the middle of the fourteenth century, or, to fix dates more precisely, in the autumn of the year 1343, that the great plague, described by various Italian writers, and especially by Boccaccio in his Decameron, for the sins or admonition of the Tuscans, fell upon the rich and beauteous city of Florence. The means by which this calamity, after spreading desolation through the Levant, and also through many of the maritime cities of Italy, was first introduced into Florence, have been matter of dispute. Some historians declare, that it first came in by the dealing of certain Jews; who introduced into the town, and bartered with the inhabitants, large quant.i.ties of condemned apparel--clothes belonging to the dead--which they had bought privately, getting them at a low market, in the infected city of Ancona. And of this suspicion, whether it was well or ill founded, the accused in the end bore the consequences; for, with only twelve hours allowed for preparation, in the fourth week of the disease, they were driven beyond the walls of the city; the streets in which they had dwelt being levelled with the ground, and themselves adjudged to death in case they attempted to return. Other writers, however, a.s.sert, on the contrary, that the malady itself was never "infectious;" but merely "endemic;" and that it was not imported at all, but arose from some malaria, or general predisposition to disease in the atmosphere. And certain it is, which so far goes to set up the theory of these last speculators, that the weather, during the whole of the spring and summer preceding the visitation, had been unusually close and sultry. Foul and offensive exhalations had proceeded, in a remarkable degree, from all pools, and fens, and marshes, in the neighbourhood of the city. The bed of the Arno, though afterwards replenished by sudden and heavy rains, had, at one period, sunk lower than the oldest citizen ever remembered to have seen it. Insects, moreover, in all fields and gardens, had appeared in numbers quite unprecedented; so as even, in many places, combined with the effect of the drought, entirely to destroy vegetation. And--a circ.u.mstance which still more attracted notice--the rats, both in the houses of Florence, and in the farms in the neighbouring villages, multiplied with such rapidity, and to such an excess, that all temporal remedies being found unavailing, it was thought necessary to have recourse to the aid of the church, and formally to _excommunicate them_.

The success of this extraordinary measure, or how far it operated at all, does not appear; but the fact of its being applied, is distinctly stated in all the chronicles of the time. Notice was formally read in open church against the rats; that, unless they withdrew from all houses, wheat-stacks, barns, or granaries, in Florence and the vicinity, within four days from the date of those presents, process of "deprivation" would be issued against them. And a curious feature in the superst.i.tion of the time was, that the officer of the spiritual court, appointed to maintain the interests of all "non-appearing defendants,"

interfered _for the rats_, and actually obtained leave to "enlarge the rule" for their departure, from four days to six, on the ground that the _cats_ of the city, knowing of the order, would be upon the watch to intercept them.

During a considerable time, however, from whatever cause the distemper in Florence arose, it seems that the authorities of the state had presence of mind enough strenuously to maintain, that it was _not_ the "plague." The increasing deaths which occurred in the meaner and closer quarters of the city, were declared to proceed from the _Typhus Carcerum_, or putrid gaol fever. Cleanliness was recommended, and a cheap antiseptic process about all houses, and charitable distribution of wine and food by the richer citizens among the needy. Separation of the infected people from the sound, by removing them to distant hospitals, was in a few instances accomplished by force; and those who contradicted the official statement, or expressed their own alarm too obtrusively, were thrown into prison, here and there, as public agitators. But the truth, even by these expedients, was not long capable of being concealed. Some of the offenders who were sent to gaol for clamouring about the plague died of it in confinement, without waiting for the formality of a trial. The physicians who had attended the sick in the city began themselves to be attacked with illness; and hurried through their visits at the fever hospitals, in spite of their published certificates that nothing serious was the matter. At length Brother Gasparo Marcelli, a monk of the Dominican Convent of Santa Croce, who had been slightly indisposed on the night of the Feast of St Michael, was found dead in his bed on the next morning, and with appearances which admitted of no equivocation. The alarm quickly ran through the monastery; the prior and several monks were seized with sickness. The deceased had been one of the most popular confessors in Florence; and three of his penitents, who had never dreamed that fever might enter palaces, were dead--almost between the next sunrise and sunset--in different directions of the city. Upon which, personal apprehension among the higher cla.s.ses superseding every consideration of public policy, those who had most actively chastised the terrors of other persons, could now make no secret of their own. The rich began openly to provide for their safety. The seditious, always active in moments of danger, thundered against the government for its deception. The executive power gave up its doubts, whether real or pretended; and it was openly confessed that THE PLAGUE WAS IN FLORENCE.