The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  Instantly taking the hint, the other uttered a loud cry, and springing up, caught at Blaize, who instantly dropped the halberd, and fled into one corner of the room.

  Pillichody then hurried upstairs, while Blaize shouted after him, “Don’t touch him, Master Stephen. He has got the plague! he has got the plague!”

  Alarmed by this outcry, Stephen suffered Pillichody to pass; and the latter, darting across the yard, mounted the rope-ladder, and quickly disappeared. A few minutes afterwards, Bloundel returned with the watch, and was greatly enraged when he found that the prisoner had got off. No longer doubting that he had been robbed of his daughter by the Earl of Rochester, he could not make up his mind to abandon her to her fate, and his conflicting feelings occasioned him a night of indescribable anxiety. The party of watch whom he had summoned searched the street for him, and endeavoured to trace out the fugitives, — but without success; and they returned before daybreak to report their failure.

  About six o’clock, Mr. Bloundel, unable to restrain himself longer, sallied forth with Blaize in search of his daughter and Leonard. Uncertain where to bend his steps, he trusted to chance to direct him, resolved, if he were unsuccessful, to lay a petition for redress before the throne. Proceeding along Cheapside, he entered Paternoster-row, and traversed it till he came to Paul’s Alley, — a narrow passage leading to the north-west corner of the cathedral. Prompted by an unaccountable impulse, he no sooner caught sight of the reverend structure, than he hastened, towards it, and knocked against the great northern door.

  We shall, however, precede him, and return to the party at the altar. The awful warning of Solomon Eagle so alarmed Quatremain, that he let fall his prayer-book, and after gazing vacantly round for a few moments, staggered to one of the stalls, where, feeling a burning pain in his breast, he tore open his doublet, and found that the enthusiast had spoken the truth, and that he was really attacked by the pestilence. As to Amabel, on hearing the terrible denunciation, she uttered a loud cry, and would have fallen to the ground but for the timely assistance of the apprentice, who caught her with one arm, while with the other he defended himself against the earl and his companions.

  But, in spite of his resistance, they would have soon compelled him to relinquish his charge, if Solomon Eagle, who had hitherto contented himself with gazing sternly on what was passing, had not interfered; and, rushing towards the combatants, seized Rochester and Etherege, and hurled them backwards with almost supernatural force. When they arose, and menaced him with their swords, he laughed loudly and contemptuously, crying, “Advance, if ye dare! and try your strength against one armed by Heaven, and ye will find how far it will avail.”

  At this juncture, Leonard Holt heard a musical voice behind him, and turning, beheld Nizza Macascree. She beckoned him to follow her; and, raising Amabel in his arms, he ran towards the door leading to Saint Faith’s, through which his conductress passed. All this was the work of a moment, and when Rochester and Etherege, who rushed after him, tried the door, they found it fastened withinside.

  Just then, a loud knocking was heard at the northern entrance of the cathedral, and a verger answering the summons, Mr. Bloundel and Blaize were admitted. On beholding the newcomers, Rochester and his companions were filled with confusion. Equally astonished at the recounter, the grocer grasped his staff, and rushing up to the earl, demanded, in a voice that made the other, despite his natural audacity, quail— “Where is my child, my lord? What have you done with her?”

  “I know nothing about her,” replied Rochester, with affected carelessness.— “Yes, I am wrong,” he added, as if recollecting himself; “lam told she has run away with your apprentice.”

  Pillichody, who had changed his attire since his escape from the grocer’s dwelling, thought he might now venture to address him without fear of discovery, and, setting his arms a-kimbo, and assuming a swaggering demeanour, strutted forward and said, “Your daughter has just been wedded to Leonard Holt, Mr. Bloundel.”

  “It is false,” cried Bloundel, “as false as the character you just personated, for I recognise you as the knave who recently appeared before me as a watchman.”

  “I pledge you my word as a nobleman,” interposed Rochester, “that your daughter has just descended to Saint Faith’s with your apprentice.”

  “I can corroborate his lordship’s assertion,” said Etherege.

  “And I,” added Pillichody. “By the holy apostle to whom this fane is dedicated! it is so.”

  “To convince you that we speak the truth, we will go with you and assist you to search,” said Rochester.

  Attaching little credit to what he heard, and yet unwilling to lose a chance of recovering his daughter, the grocer rushed to the door indicated by his informant, but found it fastened.

  “You had better go to the main entrance,” said one of the vergers; “I have the keys with me, and will admit you.”

  “I will keep guard here till you return,” said another verger

  Accompanied by Rochester and Etherege, Bloundel then proceeded to the chief door of the subterranean church. It was situated at the south of the cathedral, between two of the larger buttresses, and at the foot of a flight of stone steps. On reaching it, the verger produced his keys, but they were of no avail, for the door was barred withinside. After many fruitless attempts to obtain admission, they were fain to give up the attempt.

  “Well, if we cannot get in, no one shall get out,” observed the verger. “The only key that opens this door is in my possession, so we have them safe enough.”

  The party then returned to the cathedral, where they found Blaize, Pillichody, and the two other vergers keeping watch at the door near the choir. No one had come forth.

  Rochester then walked apart with his companions, while Bloundel, feeling secure so long as he kept the earl in view, folded his arms upon his breast, and determined to await the result.

  By this time, the doors being opened, a great crowd was soon collected within the sacred structure. Saint Paul’s Churchyard, as is well known, was formerly the great mart for booksellers, who have not, even in later times, deserted the neighbourhood, but still congregate in Paternoster-row, Ave-Maria-lane, and the adjoining streets. At the period of this history they did not confine themselves to the precincts of the cathedral, but, as has been previously intimated, fixed their shops against the massive pillars of its nave. Besides booksellers, there were seamstresses, tobacco-merchants, vendors of fruit and provisions, and Jews — all of whom had stalls within the cathedral, and who were now making preparations for the business of the day. Shortly afterwards, numbers who came for recreation and amusement made their appearance, and before ten o’clock, Paul’s Walk, as the nave was termed, was thronged, by apprentices, rufflers, porters, water-carriers, higglers, with baskets on their heads, or under their arms, fish-wives, quack-doctors, cutpurses, bonarobas, merchants, lawyers, and serving-men, who came to be hired, and who stationed themselves near an oaken block attached to one of the pillars, and which was denominated, from the use it was put to, the “serving-man’s log.” Some of the crowd were smoking, some laughing, others gathering round a ballad-singer, who was chanting one of Rochester’s own licentious ditties; some were buying quack medicines and remedies for the plague, the virtues of which the vendor loudly extolled; while others were paying court to the dames, many of whom were masked. Everything seemed to be going forward within this sacred place, except devotion. Here, a man, mounted on the carved marble of a monument, bellowed forth the news of the Dutch war, while another, not far from him, on a bench, announced in lugubrious accents the number of those who had died on the previous day of the pestilence. There, at the very font, was a usurer paying over a sum of money to a gallant — it was Sir Paul Parravicin — who was sealing a bond for thrice the amount of the loan. There, a party of choristers, attended by a troop of boys, were pursuing another gallant, who had ventured into the cathedral booted and spurred, and were demanding “spur-money” of him — an exaction which t
hey claimed as part of their perquisites.

  An admirable picture of this curious scene has been given by Bishop Earle, in his Microcosmographia, published in 1629. “Paul’s Walk,” he writes, “is the land’s epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of Great Britain. It is more than this — it is the whole world’s map, which you may here discern in its perfectest motion, jostling and turning. It is a heap of stones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and were the steeple not sanctified, nothing could be liker Babel. The noise in it is like that of bees, a strange humming, or buzzing, mixed of walking, tongues, and feet: it is a kind of still roar, or loud whisper. It is the great exchange of all discourse, and no business whatsoever, but is here stirring and afoot. It is the synod of all parts politic, jointed and laid together in most serious posture, and they are not half so busy at the Parliament. It is the market of young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of all famous lies, which are here, like the legends of Popery, first coined and stamped in the church. All inventions are emptied here, and not a few pockets. The best sign of the Temple in it is that it is the thieves’ sanctuary, who rob more safely in a crowd than a wilderness, while every pillar is a bush to hide them. It is the other expense of the day, after plays and taverns; and men have still some oaths to swear here. The visitants are all men without exceptions; but the principal inhabitants are stale knights and captains out of service, men of long rapiers and short purses, who after all turn merchants here, and traffic for news. Some make it a preface to their dinner, and travel for an appetite; but thirstier men make it their ordinary, and board here very cheap. Of all such places it is least haunted by hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walk here, he could not.”

  Decker, moreover, terms Paul’s Walk, or the “Mediterranean Isle,” in his “Gull’s Hornbook”— “the only gallery wherein the pictures of all your true fashionate and complimental gulls are, and ought to be, hung up.” After giving circumstantial directions for the manner of entering the walk, he proceeds thus: “Bend your course directly in the middle line that the whole body of the church may appear to be yours, where in view of all, you may publish your suit in what manner you affect most, either with the slide of your cloak from the one shoulder or the other.” He then recommends the gull, after four or five turns in the nave, to betake himself to some of the semsters’ shops the new tobacco office, or the booksellers’ stalls, “where, if you cannot read, exercise your smoke, and inquire who has written against the divine weed.” Such, or something like it, was Paul’s Walk at the period of this history.

  The grocer, who had not quitted his post, remained a silent and sorrowful spectator of the scene. Despite his anxiety, he could not help moralizing upon it, and it furnished him with abundant food for reflection. As to Rochester and his companions, they mingled with the crowd — though the earl kept a wary eye on the door — chatted with the prettiest damsels — listened to the newsmongers, and broke their fast at the stall of a vendor of provisions, who supplied them with tolerable viands, and a bottle of excellent Rhenish. Blaize was soon drawn away by one of the quacks, and, in spite of his master’s angry looks, he could not help purchasing one of the infallible antidotes offered for sale by the charlatan. Parravicin had no sooner finished his business with the usurer than he strolled along the nave, and was equally surprised and delighted at meeting with his friends, who briefly explained to him why they were there.

  “And how do you expect the adventure to terminate?” asked Parravicin, laughing heartily at the recital.

  “Heaven knows,” replied the earl. “But what are you doing here?”

  “I came partly to replenish my purse, for I have had a run of ill luck of late,” replied the knight; “and partly to see a most beautiful creature, whom I accidentally discovered here yesterday.”

  “A new beauty!” cried Rochester. “Who is she?”

  “Before I tell you, you must engage not to interfere with me,” replied

  Parravicin. “I have marked her for my own.”

  “Agreed,” replied Rochester. “Now, her name?”

  “She is the daughter of a blind piper, who haunts the cathedral,” replied Parravicin, “and her name is Nizza Macascree. Is it not charming? But you shall see her.”

  “We must not go too far from the door of Saint Faith’s,” rejoined

  Rochester. “Can you not contrive to bring her hither?”

  “That is more easily said than done,” replied Parravicin. “She is as coy as the grocer’s daughter. However, I will try to oblige you.”

  With this, he quitted his companions, and returning shortly afterwards, said, “My mistress has likewise disappeared. I found the old piper seated at the entrance of Bishop Kempe’s chapel, attended by his dog — but he missed his daughter when he awoke in the morning, and is in great trouble about her.”

  “Strange!” cried Etherege; “I begin to think the place is enchanted.”

  “It would seem so, indeed,” replied Rochester.

  While they were thus conversing, Pillichody, who was leaning against a column, with his eye fixed upon the door leading to Saint Faith’s, observed it open, and the apprentice issue from it accompanied by two masked females. All three attempted to dart across the transept and gain the northern entrance, but they were Intercepted. Mr. Bloundel caught hold of Leonard’s arm, and Rochester seized her whom he judged by the garb to be Amabel, while Parravicin, recognising Nizza Macascree, as he thought, by her dress, detained her.

  “What is the meaning of all this, Leonard?” demanded the grocer, angrily.

  “You shall have an explanation instantly,” replied the apprentice; “but think not of me — think only of your daughter.”

  “My father! — my father!” cried the damsel, who had been detained by

  Parravicin, taking off her mask, and rushing towards the grocer.

  “Who then have I got?” cried Rochester.

  “The piper’s daughter, I’ll be sworn,” replied Etherege.

  “You are right,” replied Nizza, unmasking. “I changed dresses with Amabel, and hoped by so doing to accomplish her escape, but we have been baffled. However, as her father is here, it is of little consequence.”

  “Amabel,” said the grocer, repulsing her, “before I receive you again, I must be assured that you have not been alone with the Earl of Rochester.”

  “She has not, sir,” replied the apprentice. “Visit your displeasure on my head. I carried her off and would have wedded her.”

  “What motive had you for this strange conduct?” asked Bloundel, incredulously.

  Before Leonard could answer, Pillichody stepped forward, and said to the grocer, “Mr. Bloundel, you are deceived — on the faith of a soldier you are.”

  “Peace, fool!” said Rochester, “I will not be outdone in generosity by an apprentice. Leonard Holt speaks the truth.”

  “If so,” replied Bloundel, “he shall never enter my house again. Send for your indentures to-night,” he continued sharply, to Leonard, “but never venture to approach me more.”

  “Father, you are mistaken,” cried Amabel. “Leonard Holt is not to blame.

  I alone deserve your displeasure.”

  “Be silent!” whispered the apprentice; “you destroy yourself. I care not what happens to me, provided you escape the earl.”

  “Come home, mistress,” cried the grocer, dragging her through the crowd which had gathered round them.

  “Here is a pretty conclusion to the adventure!” cried Parravicin; “but where is the apprentice — and where is the pretty Nizza Macascree? ‘Fore heaven,” he added, as he looked around for them in vain, “I should not wonder if they have eloped together.”

  “Nor I,” replied Rochester. “I admire the youth’s spirit, and trust he may be more fortunate with his second mistress than with his first.”

  “It shall be my business to prevent that,” rejoined Parravicin. “Help me to search for her.”

  * * * * *r />
  VIII.

  THE AMULET.

  As the grocer disappeared with his daughter, Nizza Macascree, who had anxiously watched the apprentice, observed him turn deadly pale, and stagger; and instantly springing to his side, she supported him to a neighbouring column, against which he leaned till he had in some degree recovered from the shock. He then accompanied her to Bishop Kempe’s beautiful chapel in the northern aisle, where she expected to find her father; but it was empty.

  “He will be back presently,” said Nizza. “He is no doubt making the rounds of the cathedral. Bell will take care of him. Sit down on that bench while I procure you some refreshment. You appear much in need of it.”

  And without waiting for a reply, she ran off, and presently afterwards returned with a small loaf of bread and a bottle of beer.

  “I cannot eat,” said Leonard, faintly. But seeing that his kind provider looked greatly disappointed, he swallowed a few mouthfuls, and raised the bottle to his lips. As he did so, a sudden feeling of sickness seized him, and he set it down untasted.

  “What ails you?” asked Nizza, noticing his altered looks with uneasiness.

  “I know not,” he replied. “I have never felt so ill before.”

  “I thought you were suffering from agitation,” she rejoined, as a fearful foreboding crossed her.

  “I shall be speedily released from further trouble,” replied the apprentice. “I am sure I am attacked by the plague.”

  “Oh! say not so!” she rejoined. “You may be mistaken.”

  But though she tried to persuade herself she spoke the truth, her heart could not be deceived.

  “I scarcely desire to live,” replied the apprentice, in a melancholy tone, “for life has lost all charms for me. But do not remain here, or you may be infected by the distemper.”

  “I will never leave you,” she hastily rejoined; “that is,” she added, checking herself, “till I have placed you in charge of some one who will watch over you.”