Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire

"Oh heavens!" exclaimed Amabel.

"Ghost of Tarquin!" cried Boutefeu, "we'll teach him to break into the houses of quiet citizens, and attempt to carry off their daughters against their will. By the soul of Dick Whittington, Lord Mayor of London! we'll maul and mangle him."

"Silence! Bernard Boutefeu," interposed Gregory. "You frighten Mistress Amabel by your strange oaths."

"I should be sorry to do that," replied Boutefeu—"I only wish to show my zeal for her. Don't be afraid of the Earl of Rochester, fair mistress. With all his audacity, he won't dare to enter the house when he finds we are there."

"Is it your pleasure that we should thrust a halberd through his body, or lodge a bullet in his brain?" asked Gregory, appealing to Amabel.

"Touch him not, I beseech you," she rejoined. "Leonard, I have your promise that, if I can prevail upon him to depart, you will not molest him."

"You have," he replied.

"You hear that," she observed to the watchmen.

"We are all obedience," said Gregory.

"Bless your tender heart!" cried Boutefeu, "we would not pain you for the world."

"A truce to this," said Leonard. "Come to the yard, we will wait for him there."

"I will go with you," cried Amabel. "If any harm should befall him, I should never forgive myself."

"Remember what I told you," rejoined Leonard, sternly; "it depends upon yourself whether he leaves the house alive."

"Heed him not," whispered Gregory. "I and my comrade will obey no one but you."

Amabel could not repress an exclamation of surprise.

"What are you muttering, sirrah?" demanded Leonard, angrily.

"Only that the young lady may depend on our fidelity," replied Gregory.

"There can be no offence in that. Come with us," he whispered to Amabel.

The latter part of his speech escaped Leonard, but the tone in which it was uttered was so significant, that Amabel, who began to entertain new suspicions, hesitated.

"You must come," said Leonard, seizing her hand.

"The fault be his, not mine," murmured Amabel, as she suffered herself to be drawn along.

The party then proceeded noiselessly towards the yard. On the way, Amabel felt a slight pressure on her arm, but, afraid of alarming Leonard, she made no remark.

The back-door was opened, and the little group stood in the darkness. They had not long to wait. Before they had been in the yard five minutes, a noise was heard of footsteps and muttered voices in the entry. This was followed by a sound like that occasioned by fastening a rope-ladder against the wall, and the next moment two figures were perceived above it. After dropping the ladder into the yard, these persons, the foremost of whom the apprentice concluded was the Earl of Rochester, descended. They had no sooner touched the ground than Leonard, drawing his pistols, advanced towards them.

"You are my prisoner, my lord," he said, in a stern voice, "and shall not depart with life, unless you pledge your word never to come hither again on the same errand."

"Betrayed!" cried the earl, laying his hand upon his sword.

"Resistance is in vain, my lord," rejoined Leonard. "I am better armed than yourself."

"Will nothing bribe you to silence, fellow?" cried the earl. "I will give you a thousand pounds, if you will hold your tongue, and conduct me to my mistress."

"I can scarcely tell what stays my hand," returned Leonard, in a furious tone. "But I will hold no further conversation with you. Amabel is present, and will give you your final dismissal herself."

"If I receive it from her own lips," replied the earl, "I will instantly retire—but not otherwise."

"Amabel," said Leonard in a low tone to her, "you hear what is said.

Fulfil your promise."

"Do so," cried a voice, which she instantly recognised, in her ear—"I am near you."

"Ah!" she exclaimed.

"Do you hesitate?" cried the apprentice, sternly.

"My lord," said Amabel, in a faint voice, "I must pray you to retire, your efforts are in vain. I will never fly with you."

"That will not suffice," whispered Leonard; "you must tell him you no longer love him."

"Hear me," pursued Amabel; "you who present yourself as Lord Rochester, I entertain no affection for you, and never wish to behold you again."

"Enough!" cried Leonard.

"Admirable!" whispered Gregory. "Nothing could be better."

"Well," cried the supposed earl, "since I no longer hold a place in your affections, it would be idle to pursue the matter further. Heaven be praised, there are other damsels quite as beautiful, though not so cruel. Farewell for ever, Amabel."

So saying he mounted the ladder, and, followed by his companion, disappeared on the other side.

"He is gone," said Leonard, "and I hope for ever. Now let us return to the house."

"I am coming," rejoined Amabel.

"Let him go," whispered Gregory. "The ladder is still upon the wall; we will climb it."

And as the apprentice moved towards the house, he tried to drag her in that direction.

"I cannot—will not fly thus," she cried.

"What is the matter?" exclaimed Leonard, suddenly turning.

"Further disguise is useless," replied the supposed Gregory Swindlehurst. "I am the Earl of Rochester. The other was a counterfeit."

"Ah!" exclaimed Leonard, rushing towards them, and placing a pistol against the breast of his mistress? "Have I been duped? But it is not yet too late to retrieve my error. Move a foot further, my lord,—and do you, Amabel, attempt to fly with him, and I fire."

"You cannot mean this?" cried Rochester. "Raise your hand against the woman you love?"

"Against the woman who forgets her duty, and the libertine who tempts her, the arm that is raised is that of justice," replied Leonard. "Stir another footstep, and I fire."

As he spoke, his arms were suddenly seized by a powerful grasp from behind, and, striking the pistols from his hold, the earl snatched up Amabel in his arms, and, mounting the ladder, made good his retreat.

A long and desperate struggle took place between Leonard and his assailant, who was no other than Pillichody, in his assumed character of Bernard Boutefeu. But notwithstanding the superior strength of the bully, and the advantage he had taken of the apprentice, he was worsted in the end.

Leonard had no sooner extricated himself, than, drawing his sword, he would have passed it through Pillichody's body, if the latter had not stayed his hand by offering to tell him where he would find his mistress, provided his life were spared.

"Where has the earl taken her?" cried Leonard, scarcely able to articulate from excess of passion.

"He meant to take her to Saint Paul's,—to the vaults below the cathedral, to avoid pursuit," replied Pillichody. "I have no doubt you will find her there."

"I will go there instantly and search," cried Leonard, rushing up the ladder.

V.

THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER

Scarcely knowing how he got there, Leonard Holt found himself at the great northern entrance of the cathedral. Burning with fury, he knocked at the door; but no answer being returned to the summons, though he repeated it still more loudly, he shook the heavy latch with such violence as to rouse the sullen echoes of the aisles. Driven almost to desperation, he retired a few paces, and surveyed the walls of the vast structure, in the hope of descrying some point by which he might obtain an entrance.

It was a bright moonlight night, and the reverend pile looked so beautiful, that, under any other frame of mind, Leonard must, have been struck with admiration. The ravages of time could not now be discerned, and the architectural incongruities which, seen in the broad glare of day, would have offended the eye of taste, were lost in the general grand effect. On the left ran the magnificent pointed windows of the choir, divided by massive buttresses,—the latter ornamented with crocketed pinnacles. On the right, the building had been new-faced, and its original character, in a great measure, destroyed by the tasteless manner in which the repairs had been executed. On this side, the lower windows were round-headed and separated by broad pilasters, while above them ran a range of small circular windows. At the western angle was seen one of the towers (since imitated by Wren), which flanked this side of the fane, together with a part of the portico erected, about twenty-five years previously, by Inigo Jones, and which, though beautiful in itself, was totally out of character with the edifice, and, in fact, a blemish to it.

Insensible alike to the beauties or defects of the majestic building, and regarding it only as the prison of his mistress, Leonard Holt scanned it carefully on either side. But his scrutiny was attended with no favourable result.

Before resorting to force to obtain admission, he determined to make the complete circuit of the structure, and with this view he shaped his course towards the east.

He found two small doors on the left of the northern transept, but both were fastened, and the low pointed windows beneath the choir, lighting the subterranean church of Saint Faith's, were all barred. Running on, he presently came to a flight of stone steps at the north-east corner of the choir, leading to a portal opening upon a small chapel dedicated to Saint George. But this was secured like the others, and, thinking it vain to waste time in trying to force it, he pursued his course.

Skirting the eastern extremity of the fane—then the most beautiful part of the structure, from its magnificent rose window—he speeded past the low windows which opened on this side, as on the other upon Saint Faith's, and did not pause till he came to the great southern portal, the pillars and arch of which differed but slightly in character from those of the northern entrance.

Here he knocked as before, and was answered, as on the former occasion, by sullen echoes from within. When these sounds died away, he placed his ear to the huge key-hole in the wicket, but could not even catch the fall of a footstep. Neither could he perceive any light, except that afforded by the moonbeams, which flooded the transept with radiance.

Again hurrying on, he passed the cloister-walls surrounding the Convocation House; tried another door between that building and the church of Saint Gregory, a small fane attached to the larger structure; and failing in opening it, turned the corner and approached the portico,—the principal entrance to the cathedral being then, as now, on the west.

Erected, as before mentioned, from the designs of the celebrated Inigo Jones, this magnificent colonnade was completed about 1640, at which time preparations were made for repairing the cathedral throughout, and for strengthening the tower, for enabling it to support a new spire. But this design, owing to the disorganised state of affairs, was never carried into execution.

At the time of the Commonwealth, while the interior of the sacred fabric underwent every sort of desecration and mutilation,—while stones were torn from the pavement, and monumental brasses from tombs,—while carved stalls were burnt, and statues plucked from their niches,—a similar fate attended the portico. Shops were built beneath it, and the sculptures ornamenting its majestic balustrade were thrown down.

Amongst other obstructions, it appears that there was a "high house in the north angle, which hindered the masons from repairing that part of it." The marble door-cases, the capitals, cornices, and pillars were so much injured by the fires made against them, that it required months to put them in order. At the Restoration, Sir John Denham, the poet, was appointed surveyor-general of the works, and continued to hold the office at the period of this history.

As Leonard drew near the portico, he perceived, to his surprise, that a large concourse of people was collected in the area in front of it; and, rushing forward, he found the assemblage listening to the denunciations of Solomon Eagle, who was standing in the midst of them with his brazier on his head. The enthusiast appeared more than usually excited. He was tossing aloft his arms in a wild and frenzied manner, and seemed to be directing his menaces against the cathedral itself.

Hoping to obtain assistance from the crowd, Leonard resolved to await a fitting period to address them. Accordingly, he joined them, and listened to the discourse of the enthusiast.

"Hear me!" cried the latter, in a voice of thunder. "I had a vision last night and will relate it to you. During my brief slumbers, I thought I was standing on this very spot, and gazing as now upon yon mighty structure. On a sudden the day became overcast, and ere long it grew pitchy dark. Then was heard a noise of rushing wings in the air, and I could just discern many strange figures hovering above the tower, uttering doleful cries and lamentations. All at once these figures disappeared, and gave place to, or, it may be, were chased away by, others of more hideous appearance. The latter brought lighted brands which they hurled against the sacred fabric, and, in an instant, flames burst forth from it on all sides. My brethren, it was a fearful, yet a glorious sight to see that vast pile wrapped in the devouring element! The flames were so vivid—so intense—that I could not bear to look upon them, and I covered my face with my hands. On raising my eyes again the flames were extinguished, but the building was utterly in ruins—its columns cracked—its tower hurled from its place—its ponderous roof laid low. It was a mournful spectacle, and a terrible proof of the Divine wrath and vengeance. Yes, my brethren, the temple of the Lord has been profaned, and it will be razed to the ground. It has been the scene of abomination and impiety, and must be purified by fire. Theft, murder, sacrilege, and every other crime have been committed within its walls, and its destruction will follow. The ministers of Heaven's vengeance are even now hovering above it. Repent, therefore, ye who listen to me, and repent speedily; for sudden death, plague, fire, and famine, are at hand. As the prophet Amos saith, 'The Lord will send a fire, the Lord will commission a fire, the Lord will kindle a fire;' and the fire so commissioned and so kindled shall consume you and your city; nor shall one stone of those walls be left standing on another. Repent, or burn, for he cometh to judge the earth. Repent, or burn, I say!"

As soon as he concluded, Leonard Holt ran up the steps of the portico, and in a loud voice claimed the attention of the crowd.

"Solomon Eagle is right," he cried; "the vengeance of Heaven will descend upon this fabric, since it continues to be the scene of so much wickedness. Even now it forms the retreat of a profligate nobleman, who has this night forcibly carried off the daughter of a citizen."

"What nobleman?" cried a bystander.

"The Earl of Rochester," replied Leonard. "He has robbed Stephen Bloundel, the grocer of Wood-street, of his daughter, and has concealed her, to avoid pursuit, in the vaults of the cathedral."

"I know Mr. Bloundel well," rejoined the man who had made the inquiry, and whom Leonard recognised as a hosier named Lamplugh, "and I know the person who addresses us. It is his apprentice. We must restore the damsel to her father, friends."

"Agreed!" cried several voices.

"Knock at the door," cried a man, whose occupation of a smith was proclaimed by his leathern apron, brawny chest, and smoke-begrimed visage, as well as by the heavy hammer which he bore upon his shoulder. "If it is not instantly opened, we will break it down. I have an implement here which will soon do the business."

A rush was then made to the portal, which rang with the heavy blows dealt against it. While this was passing, Solomon Eagle, whose excitement was increased by the tumult, planted himself in the centre of the colonnade, and vociferated—"I speak in the words of the prophet Ezekiel:—'Thou hast defiled thy sanctuaries by the multitude of thine iniquities, by the iniquity of thy traffic. Therefore will I bring forth a fire from the midst of thee, and will bring thee to ashes upon the earth, in the sight of all them that behold thee!'"

The crowd continued to batter the door until they were checked by Lamplugh, who declared he heard some one approaching, and the next moment the voice of one of the vergers inquired in trembling tones, who they were, and what they wanted.

"No matter who we are," replied Leonard, "we demand admittance to search for a young female who has been taken from her home by the Earl of Rochester, and is now concealed within the vaults of the cathedral."

"If admittance is refused us, we will soon let ourselves in," vociferated Lamplugh.

"Ay, that we will," added the smith.

"You are mistaken, friends," returned the verger, timorously. "The Earl of Rochester is not here."

"We will not take your word for it," rejoined the smith. "This will show you we are not to be trifled with."

So saying, he raised his hammer, and struck such a tremendous blow against the door, that the bolts started in their sockets.

"Hold! hold!" cried the verger; "sooner than violence shall be committed, I will risk your admission."

And he unfastened the door.

"Keep together," shouted the smith, stretching out his arms to oppose the progress of the crowd. "Keep together, I say."

"Ay, ay, keep together," added Lamplugh, seconding his efforts.

"Conduct us to the Earl of Rochester, and no harm shall befall you," cried Leonard, seizing the verger by the collar.

"I tell you I know nothing about him," replied the man. "He is not here."

"It is false! you are bribed to silence," rejoined the apprentice. "We will search till we find him."

"Search where you please," rejoined the verger; "and if you do find him, do what you please with me."

"Don't be afraid of that, friend," replied the smith; "we will hang you and the earl to the same pillar."

By this time, the crowd had pushed aside the opposition offered by the smith and Lamplugh. Solomon Eagle darted along the nave with lightning swiftness, and, mounting the steps leading to the choir, disappeared from view. Some few persons followed him, while others took their course along the aisles. But the majority kept near the apprentice.

Snatching the lamp from the grasp of the verger, Leonard Holt ran on with his companions till they came to the beautiful chapel built by Thomas Kempe, bishop of London. The door was open, and the apprentice, holding the light forward, perceived there were persons inside. He was about to enter the chapel, when a small spaniel rushed forth, and, barking furiously, held him in check for a moment. Alarmed by the noise, an old man in a tattered garb, and a young female, who were slumbering on benches in the chapel, immediately started to their feet, and advanced towards them.

"We are mistaken," said Lamplugh; "this is only Mike Macascree, the blind piper and his daughter Nizza. I know them well enough."

Leonard was about to proceed with his search, but a slight circumstance detained him for a few minutes, during which time he had sufficient leisure to note the extraordinary personal attractions of Nizza Macascree.

In age she appeared about seventeen, and differed in the character of her beauty, as well as in the natural gracefulness of her carriage and demeanour, from all the persons he had seen in her humble sphere of life. Her features were small, and of the utmost delicacy. She had a charmingly-formed nose—slightly retroussé—a small mouth, garnished with pearl-like teeth, and lips as fresh and ruddy as the dew-steeped rose. Her skin was as dark as a gipsy's, but clear and transparent, and far more attractive than the fairest complexion. Her eyes were luminous as the stars, and black as midnight; while her raven tresses, gathered beneath a spotted kerchief tied round her head, escaped in many a wanton curl down her shoulders. Her figure was slight, but exquisitely proportioned; and she had the smallest foot and ankle that ever fell to the lot of woman. Her attire was far from unbecoming, though of the coarsest material; and her fairy feet were set off by the daintiest shoes and hose. Such was the singular and captivating creature that attracted the apprentice's attention.

Her father, Mike Macascree, was upwards of sixty, but still in the full vigour of life, with features which, though not ill-looking, bore no particular resemblance to those of his daughter. He had a good-humoured, jovial countenance, the mirthful expression of which even his sightless orbs could not destroy. Long white locks descended upon his shoulders, and a patriarchal beard adorned his chin. He was wrapped in a loose grey gown, patched with different coloured cloths, and supported himself with a staff. His pipe was suspended from his neck by a green worsted cord.

"Lie down, Bell," he cried to his dog; "what are you barking at thus?

Lie down, I say."

"Something is the matter, father," replied Nizza. "The church is full of people."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the piper.

"We are sorry to disturb you," said Leonard; "but we are in search of a nobleman who has run away with a citizen's daughter, and conveyed her to the cathedral, and we thought they might have taken refuge in this chapel."

"No one is here except myself and daughter," replied the piper. "We are allowed this lodging by Mr. Quatremain, the minor canon."

"All dogs are ordered to be destroyed by the Lord Mayor," cried the smith, seizing Bell by the neck. "This noisy animal must be silenced."

"Oh, no! do not hurt her!" cried Nizza. "My father loves poor Bell almost as well as he loves me. She is necessary to his existence. You must not—will not destroy her!"

"Won't I?" replied the smith, gruffly; "we'll see that."

"But we are not afraid of contagion, are we, father?" cried Nizza, appealing to the piper.

"Not in the least," replied Mike, "and we will take care the poor beast touches no one else. Do not harm her, sir—for pity's sake, do not. I should miss her sadly."

"The Lord Mayor's commands must be obeyed," rejoined the smith, brutally.

As if conscious of the fate awaiting her, poor Bell struggled hard to get free, and uttered a piteous yell.

"You are not going to kill the dog?" interposed Leonard.

"Have you anything to say to the contrary?" rejoined the smith, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to put an end to further interference.

"Only this," replied Leonard, "that I will not allow it."

"You won't—eh?" returned the smith, derisively.

"I will not," rejoined Leonard, "so put her down and come along."

"Go your own way," replied the smith, "and leave me to mine."

Leonard answered by snatching Bell suddenly from his grasp. Thus liberated, the terrified animal instantly flew to her mistress.

"Is this the return I get for assisting you?" cried the smith, savagely. "You are bewitched by a pair of black eyes. But you will repent your folly."

"I shall never forget your kindness," replied Nizza, clasping Bell to her bosom, and looking gratefully at the apprentice. "You say you are in search of a citizen's daughter and a nobleman. About half an hour ago, or scarcely so much, I was awakened by the opening of the door of the southern transept, and peeping out, I saw three persons—a young man in the dress of a watchman, but evidently disguised, and a very beautiful young woman, conducted by Judith Malmayns, bearing a lantern,—pass through the doorway leading to Saint Faith's. Perhaps they are the very persons you are in search of."

"They are," returned Leonard; "and you have repaid me a hundredfold for the slight service I have rendered you by the information. We will instantly repair to the vaults. Come along."

Accompanied by the whole of the assemblage, except the smith, who skulked off in the opposite direction, he passed through the low doorway on the right of the choir, and descended to Saint Faith's. The subterranean church was buried in profound darkness, and apparently wholly untenanted. On reaching the charnel, they crossed it, and tried the door of the vault formerly occupied by the sexton. It was fastened, but Leonard knocking violently against it, it was soon opened by Judith Malmayns, who appeared much surprised, and not a little alarmed, at the sight of so many persons. She was not alone, and her companion was Chowles. He was seated at a table, on which stood a flask of brandy and a couple of glasses, and seemed a good deal confused at being caught in such a situation, though he endeavoured to cover his embarrassment by an air of effrontery.