V.
Else's Chronicle.
EISENACH, _January_, 1510.
We have passed through a terrible time; if, indeed, we are through it!
The plague has been at Eisenach; and, alas! is here still.
Fritz came home to us as usual at Christmas. Just before he left Erfurtthe plague had broken out in the University. But he did not know it.When first he came to us he seemed quite well, and was full of spirits;but on the second day he complained of cold and shivering, with pain inthe head, which increased towards the evening. His eyes then began tohave a fixed, dim look, and he seemed unable to speak or think longconnectedly.
I noticed that the mother watched him anxiously that evening; and at itsclose, feeling his hands feverish, she said very quietly that she shouldsit up in his room that night. At first he made some resistance, but heseemed too faint to insist on anything; and as he rose to go to bed, hetottered a little, and said he felt giddy, so that my mother drew hisarm within hers and supported him to his room.
Still I did not feel anxious; but when Eva and I reached our room, shesaid, in that quiet, convincing manner which she had even as a child,fixing her large eyes on mine,--
"Cousin Else, Fritz is very ill."
"I think not, Eva," I said; "and no one would feel anxious about him assoon as I should. He caught a chill on his way from Erfurt. You know itwas late when he arrived, and snowing fast, and he was so pleased to seeus, and so eager in conversation that he would not change his things. Itis only a slight feverish cold. Besides, our mother's manner was so calmwhen she wished us good night. I do not think she is anxious. She isonly sitting up with him for an hour or two to see that he sleeps."
"Cousin Else," replied Eva, "did you not see the mother's lip quiverwhen she turned to wish us good night?"
"No, Eva," said I; "I was looking at Fritz."
And so we went to bed. But I thought it strange that Eva, a girl ofsixteen, should be more anxious than I was, and I his sister. Hope isgenerally so strong, and fear so weak, before one has seen many fearsrealized, and many hopes disappointed. Eva, however, had always a way ofseeing into the truth of things. I was very tired with the day's work(for I always rise earlier than usual when Fritz is here, to geteverything done before he is about), and I must very soon have fallenasleep. It was not midnight when I was roused by the mother's touch uponmy arm.
The light of the lamp she held showed me a paleness in her face and analarm in her eyes which awoke me thoroughly in an instant.
"Else," she said, "go into the boys' room and send Christopher for aphysician. I cannot leave Fritz. But do not alarm your father!" sheadded, as she crept again out of the room after lighting our lamp.
I called Christopher, and in five minutes he was dressed and out of thehouse. When I returned to our room Eva was sitting dressed on the bed.She had not been asleep, I saw. I think she had been praying, for sheheld the crucifix in her clasped hands, and there were traces of tearson her cheek, although when she raised her eyes to me, they were clearand tearless.
"What is it, Cousin Else?" she said. "When I went for a moment to thedoor of his room he was talking. It was his voice, but with such astrange, wild tone in it. I think he heard my step, although I thoughtno one would, I stepped so softly, for he called 'Eva, Eva!' but themother came to the door and silently motioned me away. But _you_ may go,Else," she added, with a passionate rapidity very unusual with her. "Goand see him."
I went instantly. He was talking very rapidly and vehemently, and in anincoherent way it was difficult to understand. My mother sat quitestill, holding his hand. His eyes were not bright as in fever, but dimand fixed. Yet he was in a raging fever. His hand, when I touched it,burned like fire, and his face was flushed crimson. I stood there quitesilently beside my mother until the physician came. At first Fritz'seyes followed me; then they seemed watching the door for some one else;but in a few minutes the dull vacancy came over them again, and heseemed conscious of nothing.
At last the physician came. He paused a moment at the door, and held abag of myrrh before him; then advancing to the bed, he drew aside theclothes and looked at Fritz's arm.
"Too plain!" he exclaimed, starting back as he perceived a blackswelling there. "It is the plague!"
My mother followed him to the door.
"Excuse me, madam," he said; "life is precious, and I might carry theinfection into the city."
"Can nothing be done?" she said.
"Not much!" he said bluntly; and then, after a moment's hesitation,touched by the distress in her face, he returned to the bed-side. "Ihave touched him," he murmured, as if apologizing to himself forincurring the risk; "the mischief is done, doubtless, already." Andtaking out his lancet he bled my brother's arm.
Then, after binding up the arm, he turned to me and said,--
"Get cypress and juniper wood, and burn them in a brazier in this room,with rosin and myrrh. Keep your brother as warm as possible--do not letin a breath of air!" And, he added, as I followed him to the door, "on noaccount suffer him to sleep for a moment,[4] and let no one come nearhim but you and your mother."
[Footnote 4: An approved method of treatment of the plague in thosetimes.]
When I returned to the bed-side, after obeying these directions, Fritz'smind was wandering; and although we could understand little that hesaid, he was evidently in great distress. He seemed to have comprehendedthe physician's words, for he frequently repeated, "The plague! theplague! I have brought a curse upon my house!" and then he would wander,strangely calling on Martin Luther and Eva to intercede and obtainpardon for him, as if he were invoking saints in heaven; andoccasionally he would repeat fragments of Latin hymns.
It was dreadful to have to keep him awake; to have to rouse him,whenever he showed the least symptom of slumber, to thoughts which soperplexed and troubled his poor brain. But on the second night themother fainted away, and I had to carry her to her room. Her dear thinframe was no heavy weight to bear. I laid her on the bed in our room,which was the nearest. Eva appeared at the door as I stood beside ourmother. Her face was as pale as death. Before I could prevent it, shecame up to me, and taking my hands said,--
"Cousin Else, only promise me one thing;--if he is to die, let me seehim once more."
"I dare not promise anything, Eva," I said; "consider the infection!"
"What will the infection matter to me if he dies?" she said; "I am notafraid to die."
"Think of the father and the children, Eva," I said; "If our mother andI should be seized next, what would they do?"
"Chriemhild will soon be old enough to take care of them," she said verycalmly; "promise me, promise me, Else, or I will see him at once."
And I promised her, and she threw her arms around me, and kissed me.Then I went back to Fritz, leaving Eva chafing my mother's hands. It wasof no avail, I thought, to try to keep her from contagion, now that shehad held my hands in hers.
When I came again to Fritz's bed-side he was asleep! Bitterly Ireproached myself; but what could I have done? He was asleep--sleepingquietly, with soft, even breathing. I had not courage to awake him; butI knelt down and implored the blessed Virgin and all the saints to havemercy on me and spare him. And they must have heard me; for, in spite ofmy failure in keeping the physician's orders, Fritz began to recoverfrom that very sleep.
Our grandmother says it was a miracle; "unless," she added, "the doctorwas wrong!"
He awoke from that sleep refreshed and calm, but weak as an infant.
It was delightful to meet his eyes when first he awoke, with the look ofquiet recognition in them, instead of that wild, fixed stare, or thatrestless wandering; to look once more into his heart through his eyes.He looked at me a long time with a quiet content, without speaking, andthen he said, holding out his hand to me,--
"Else, you have been watching long here. You look tired; go and rest."
"It rests me best to look at you," I said, "and see you better."
r /> He seemed too weak to persist, and after taking some food and coolingdrinks, he fell asleep again, and so did I; for the next thing I wasconscious of was our mother gently placing a pillow underneath my head,which had sunk on the bed where I had been kneeling, watching Fritz. Iwas ashamed of being such a bad nurse; but our mother insisted on mygoing to our room to seek rest and refreshment. And for the next fewdays we took it in turns to sit beside him, until he began to regainstrength. Then we thought he might like to see Eva; but when she came tothe door, he eagerly motioned her away, and said,--
"Do not let her venture near me. Think if I were to bring this judgmentof God on her!"
Eva turned away, and was out of sight in an instant; but the troubled,perplexed expression came back into my brother's eyes, and the feverishflush into his face, and it was long before he seemed calm again.
I followed Eva. She was sitting with clasped hands in our room.
"Oh, Else," she said, "how altered he is! Are you sure he will live,even now?"
I tried to comfort her with the hope which was naturally so muchstronger in me, because I had seen him in the depths from which he wasnow slowly rising again to life. But something in that glimpse of himseemed to weigh on her very life; and as Fritz recovered, Eva seemed togrow paler and weaker, until the same feverish symptoms came over herwhich he had learned so to dread, and then the terrible tokens, theplague-spots, which could not be doubted, appeared on the fair, softarms, and Eva was lying with those dim, fixed, pestilence-veiled eyes,and the wandering brain.
For a day we were able to conceal it from Fritz, but no longer.
On the second evening after Eva was stricken, I found him standing bythe window of his room, looking into the street. I shall never forgetthe expression of horror in his eyes as he turned from the window to me.
"Else," he said, "how long have those fires been burning in the streets?"
"For a week," I said. "They are fires of cypress-wood and juniper, andmyrrh and pine gums. The physicians say they purify the air."
"I know too well what they are," he said. "And, Else," he said, "why isMaster Buerer's house opposite closed?"
"He has lost two children," I said.
"And why are those other windows closed all down the street?" herejoined.
"The people have left, brother," I said; "but the doctors hope the worstis over now."
"O just God!" he exclaimed, sinking on a chair and covering his face; "Iwas flying from thee, and I have brought the curse on my people!"
Then, after a minute's pause, before I could think of any words tocomfort him, he looked up, and suddenly demanded,--
"Who are dead in _this_ house, Else?"
"None, none," I said.
"Who are stricken?" he asked.
"All the children and the father are well," I said, "and the mother."
"Then Eva is stricken!" he exclaimed--"the innocent for the guilty! Shewill die and be a saint in heaven, and I, who have murdered her, shalllive, and shall see her no more, for ever and for ever."
I could not comfort him. The strength of his agony utterly stunned me. Icould only burst into tears, so that he had to try to comfort me. But hedid not speak; he only took my hands in his kindly, as of old, withoutsaying another word. At length I said--
"It is not you who brought the plague, dear Fritz; it is God who sentit!"
"I know it is God!" he replied, with such an intense bitterness in histone that I did not attempt another sentence.
That night Eva wandered much as I watched beside her; but her deliriumwas quite different from that of Fritz. Her spirit seemed floating awayon a quiet stream into some happy land we could not see. She spoke of apalace, of a home, of fields of fragrant lilies, of white-robed saintswalking among them with harps and songs, and of One who welcomed her.Occasionally, too, she murmured snatches of the same Latin hymns thatFritz had repeated in his delirium, but in a tone so different, sochild-like and happy! If ever she appeared troubled, it was when sheseemed to miss some one, and be searching here and there for them; butthen she often ended with, "Yes, I know they will come; I must wait tillthey come." And so at last she fell asleep, as if the thought hadquieted her.
I could not hinder her sleeping, whatever the physician said; she lookedso placid, and had such a happy smile on her lips. Only once, when shehad lain thus an hour quite still, while her chest seemed scarcely toheave with her soft, tranquil breathing, I grew alarmed lest she shouldglide thus from us into the arms of the holy angels; and I whisperedsoftly, "Eva, dear Eva!"
Her lips parted slightly, and she murmured--
"Not yet; wait till _they_ can come."
And then she turned her head again on the pillow, and slept on.
She awoke quite collected and calm, and then she said quietly--
"Where is the mother?"
"She is resting, darling Eva."
She gave a little contented smile, and then, in broken words atintervals, she said--
"Now, I should like to see Fritz. You promised I should see him again;and now if I die, I think he would like to see me once more."
I went to fetch my brother. He was pacing up and down his room, with thecrucifix clasped to his breast. At first, to my surprise, he seemed veryreluctant to come; but when I said how much she wished it, he followedme quite meekly into her room. Eva was resuming her old command over usall. She held out her hand, with a look of such peace and rest on herface.
"Cousin Fritz," she said at intervals, as she had strength, "you havetaught me so many things; you have done so much for me! Now I wish youto learn my sentence, that if I go, it may make you happy, as it doesme." Then very slowly and distinctly she repeated the words--"'_God soloved the world, that he gave his only Son._' Cousin Fritz," she added,"I do not know the end of the sentence. I have not been able to find it;but you must find it. I am sure it comes from a good book, it makes melove God so much to think of it. Promise me you will find it, if Ishould die."
He promised, and she was quite satisfied. Her strength seemed exhausted,and in a few moments, with my arms round her as I sat beside her, andwith her hand in Fritz's, she fell into a deep, quiet sleep.
I felt from that time she would not die, and I whispered very softly toFritz--
"She will not die; she will recover, and you will not have killed her;you will have saved her!"
But when I looked into his face, expecting to meet a thankful, happyresponse, I was appalled by the expression there.
He stood immovable, not venturing to withdraw his hand, but with arigid, hopeless look in his worn, pale face, which contrasted terriblywith the smile of deep repose on the sleeping face on which his eyeswere fixed.
And so he remained until she awoke, when his whole countenance changedfor an instant to return her smile.
Then he said softly, "God bless you, Eva!" and pressing her hand to hislips, he left the room.
When I saw him again that day, I said--
"Fritz, you have saved Eva's life! She rallied from the time she sawyou."
"Yes," he replied, very gently, but with a strange impassiveness in hisface; "I think that may be true. I have saved her."
But he did not go in her room again; and the next day, to our surpriseand disappointment, he said suddenly that he must leave us.
He said few words of farewell to any of us, and would not see Eva totake leave of her. He said it might disturb her.
But when he kissed me before he went, his hands and his lips were ascold as death. Yet as I watched him go down the street, he did not onceturn to wave a last good-bye, as he always used to do; but slowly andsteadily he went on till he was out of sight.
I turned back into the house with a very heavy heart; but when I went totell Eva Fritz was gone, and tried to account for his not coming to takeleave of her, because I thought it would give her pain (and it does seemto me rather strange of Fritz), she looked up with her quiet, trustful,contented smile, and said,--
"I am not at all pained, Cousin Else. I know Frit
z had good reasons forit--some good, kind reasons--because he always has; and we shall see himagain as soon as he feels it right to come."