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

by William Harrison Ainsworth

While they were thus occupied, Judith, who had fixed her greedy eyes upon the plate, observed, in an under-tone, to Chowles, "There will be fine plunder for us. We must manage to carry off all that plate while they are engaged in the masque."

"You must do it yourself, then," returned Chowles, in the same tone—"for I shall have to play a principal part in the entertainment, and as the king himself will be present, I cannot give up such an opportunity of distinguishing myself."

"You can have no share in the prize, if you lend no assistance," replied Judith, with a dissatisfied look.

"Of course not," rejoined Chowles; "on this occasion it is all yours. The Dance of Death is too much to my taste to be given up."

Perceiving they were noticed, Chowles and Judith then left the Convocation House, and returned to the vault in Saint Faith's, nor did they emerge from it until late on the following day.

Some rumour of the masque having gone abroad, towards evening a crowd, chiefly composed of the most worthless order of society, collected under the portico at the western entrance, and the great doors being opened by Chowles, they entered the cathedral. Thus was this sacred building once more invaded—once again a scene of noise, riot, and confusion—its vaulted roofs instead of echoing the voice of prayer, or the choral hymn, resounded with loud laughter, imprecations, and licentious discourse. This disorder, however, was kept in some bounds by a strong body of the royal guard, who soon afterwards arrived, and stationing themselves in parties of three or four at each of the massive columns flanking the aisles, maintained some show of decorum. Besides these, there were others of the royal attendants, bearing torches, who walked from place to place, and compelled all loiterers in dark corners to proceed to the nave.

A little before midnight, the great doors were again thrown open, and a large troop of richly-attired personages, all wearing masks, were admitted. For a short time they paced to and fro between its shafted pillars gazing at the spectators grouped around, and evidently, from their jests and laughter, not a little entertained by the scene. As the clock struck twelve, however, all sounds were hushed, and the courtly party stationed themselves on the steps leading to the choir. At the same moment, also, the torches were extinguished, and the whole of the building buried in profound darkness. Presently after, a sound was heard of footsteps approaching the nave, but nothing could be discerned. Expectation was kept on the rack for some minutes, during which many a stifled cry was heard from those whose courage failed them at this trying juncture. All at once, a blue light illumined the nave, and partially revealed the lofty pillars by which it was surrounded. By this light the whole of the ghostly company could be seen drawn up near the western door. They were arranged two and two, a skeleton standing as before on the right of each character. The procession next marched slowly and silently towards the choir, and drew up at the foot of the steps, to give the royal party an opportunity of examining them. After pausing there for a few minutes, Rochester, in the dress of the larger skeleton, started off, and, beating his drum, was followed by the pope and his attendant skeleton. This couple having danced together for some minutes, to the infinite diversion of the spectators, disappeared behind a pillar, and were succeeded by the monarch and a second skeleton. These, in their turn, gave way to the cardinal and his companion, and so on till the whole of the masquers had exhibited themselves, when at a signal from the earl the party re-appeared, and formed a ring round him. The dance was executed with great spirit, and elicited tumultuous applause from all the beholders. The earl now retired, and Chowles took his place. He was clothed in an elastic dress painted of a leaden and cadaverous colour, which fitted closely to his fleshless figure, and defined all his angularities. He carried an hour-glass in one hand and a dart in the other, and in the course of the dance kept continually pointing the latter at those who moved around him. His feats of the previous evening were nothing to his present achievements. His joints creaked, and his eyes flamed like burning coals. As he continued, his excitement increased. He bounded higher, and his countenance assumed so hideous an expression, that those near him recoiled in terror, crying, "Death himself had broke loose among them." The consternation soon became general. The masquers fled in dismay, and scampered along the aisles scarcely knowing whither they were going. Delighted with the alarm he occasioned, Chowles chased a large party along the northern aisle, and was pursuing them across the transept upon which it opened, when he was arrested in his turn by another equally formidable figure, who suddenly placed himself in his path.

"Hold!" exclaimed Solomon Eagle—for it was the enthusiast—in a voice of thunder, "it is time this scandalous exhibition should cease. Know all ye who make a mockery of death, that his power will be speedily and fearfully approved upon you. Thine not to escape the vengeance of the Great Being whose temple you have profaned. And you, O king! who have sanctioned these evil doings by your presence, and who by your own dissolute life set a pernicious example to all your subjects, know that your city shall be utterly laid waste, first by plague and then by fire. Tremble! my warning is as terrible and true as the handwriting on the wall."

"Who art thou who holdest this language towards me?" demanded Charles.

"I am called Solomon Eagle," replied the enthusiast, "and am charged with a mission from on high to warn your doomed people of their fate. Be warned yourself, sire! Your end will be sudden. You will be snatched away in the midst of your guilty pleasure, and with little time for repentance. Be warned, I say again."