Cherry & Violet: A Tale of the Great Plague

by Anne Manning

And so I did; while, indeed, I was hardly strong enough for so long a Walk; for I had a Notion he would tell me where to find my Father; or comfort me, maybe, if he thought he could not be found. It was now late in September.—His Parish was one of the worst in Whitechapel,—he lived in a roomy, gloomy old Parsonage-house, too large for a single Man, in a Street that was now deserted and grass-grown. The first Thing I saw was a Watchman asleep on the Steps, which gave me a Pang; for, having heard Master Blower was so active in his Parish, I somehow had never reckoned on his being among the Sick, though that was a very just Reason why he should be. I had thought so good a Man would lead a charmed Life, forgetful that in this World there is often one Event to the Righteous and to the Wicked, and that if the Good always escaped, no Harm would have befallen my Father. However, this sudden Shock, for such it was, brought Tears into my Eyes, and I began to be at my Wits’ End, who should tell me now where to find my Father, and to lament over the Illness of my good and dear Friend, Master Blower. Then I bethought me,—Perhaps he is not in the House, but may have left it in Charge of some Woman, who is ill,—if I waken the Watchman, he certainly will not let me in; the Key is grasped firmly in his Hand, so firmly that I dare not try to take it, but yet I must and will get in.—

Then I observed that, in carelessly locking the Door, the Lock had overshot it, so that, in Fact, the Door, instead of being locked, would not even shut. So I stept lightly past the Watchman and into the House; and the first Thing within the Threshold was a Can of Milk, turned quite sour, which shewed how long it must have stood without any Body’s being able to fetch it. I closed the Door softly after me, and went into all the ground-floor Rooms; they were empty and close shuttered: the Motes dancing in the Sunbeams that came through the round Holes in the Shutters. Then I went softly up Stairs, and looked timidly into one or two Chambers, not knowing what ghastly Sight I might chance upon; but they were tenantless. As I stood at pause in the Midst of one of them, which was a Sitting-room, and had one or two Chairs out of their Places, as if it had been never set to rights since it was last in Occupation, I was startled by hearing a Man in the Room beyond giving a loud, prolonged Yawn, as though he were saying, “Ho, ho, ho, ho, hum!” Then all was silent again: I thought it must be Master Blower, and went forward, but paused, with my Hand on the Lock. Then I thought I heard a murmuring Voice within; and, softly opening the Door and looking in, perceived a great four-post Bed with dark green Curtains drawn close all round it, standing in the Midst of a dark oaken Floor that had not been bees-waxed recently enough to be slippery. Two or three tall, straight-backed Chairs stood about; a Hat upon one, a Boot upon another, quite in the Style of Master Blower; and close to the Bed was a Table with Jugs, Cups, and Phials, and a Night-lamp still burning, though ’twas broad Day. The Shutters also were partially shut, admitting only one long Stream of slanting Light over-against the Bed; but whether any one were in the Bed, I could not at first make out, for all was as still as Death. Presently, however, from within the Curtains came a somewhat thick Voice, exclaiming, “Oh Lord, my Heart is ready, my Heart is ready! I will sing and give Praise with the best Member that I have! Awake, Lute and Harp! I myself will awake right early!”

Here the dear good Man fell a-coughing, as if Something stuck in his Throat; and I tip-toeing up to the Bedside, withdrew the Curtains and softly said, “Master Blower!”

Never shall I forget my first Sight of him! There he lay on his Back, with Everything quite clean and fresh about him, not routed and tumbled as most Men’s would have been, but as smooth as if just mangled:—his Head, without e’er a Nightcap, lying straight on his Pillow, his Face the Mirror of Composedness and Peaceification, and his great, brown Eyes, glowing with some steady, not feverish Light, turned slowly round upon me, as if fresh from beholding some beatific, solemnifying Sight.

“Why, Cherry,” says he, looking much pleased, “are you come to look on me before I die? I thought I had taken my last Sight of all below,”—and reaching out his Hand to me from under the Bedclothes, I was shocked to perceive how it was wasted: every Knuckle a perfect Knob.

“Don’t touch me!” cries he, plucking it away again, and burying it out of Sight,—“I forgot you hadn’t had the Plague. What a selfish Fellow I am!—How’s your dear Father, Cherry?”

I could not withhold myself from weeping, and was unable to answer.

“Ah, I see how it is,” says he kindly; “poor Cherry! poor Cherry! ‘the Righteous perish and no Man layeth it to Heart,’—I heard a Voice say, ‘Write: Blessed are the Dead which die in the Lord. Yea, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their Labours.’... I shall see him before you will, Cherry. Go Home, Child, go Home, ... this Air is fraught with Danger.”

I said, “I am not afraid of it, Sir,—I would rather stay a While with you.”