The Antiquarian (34 page)

All is chaos, and on a grand scale; the irony of being in such disorder when the aim of our project is to erect the edifice which must necessarily praise the order of Creation worries me, and can sometimes even make me doubt my own capacity.

All of it, a host of woes that should trouble me, and which I should be taking special measures to solve, has been relegated to a lesser station, and now appears unsubstantial.

I was returning from work when Anna, the governess, told me of my daughter's condition. She had a fever: not much at first, more in the evening, and a great deal by nightfall. I went to see her in her chamber and asked about her day. She had little to say, as she had spent most of the day in bed and did not feel well at all. I begged her to rest as I examined her. There were no marks or wounds on her body, but when I felt her neck, I found the outlines of inflammations on either side of her throat. God forbid it be that disease so hated, but above all, so feared by all! I could not bear the loss of Eulàlia. I could not stand to see her pass, as I have her mother and siblings. I am worried in the extreme, and I cannot imagine what it would be for our Barcelona to find itself scourged by another Black Death. I do not even think of my obligations to the Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Eulàlia, whose martyrdom my daughter was christened after. My daughter, the last of my lineage.

Tonight I will keep vigil. I will pray the Memorare and ask the Blessed Virgin Mary for her intercession.

Day of our Lord November 29, 1393

Yesterday, at six in the evening,
Honorata
was raised to the cheers of a great multitude.

Our beloved bishop Ramon D'Escaldes blessed the bell before the enraptured assemblage; how adroitly he employs that deep, ponderous voice! The procession left the bishop's palace flanked by palm bearers and in a much-festive atmosphere that the bishop soon tempered with his oratorical gifts, so that such jubilant spirit was replaced by sincere devotion; so great is his influence on those persons over whom he wields a severe but loving command. I was unable to elude the maneuvers to raise
Honorata
up to the tower, technically no more difficult than those of any
other components of the cathedral; the only difference is that in the latter, only the laborers of the works are present, and on this occasion, the maneuver was done from the outside, surrounded by a crowd that numbered at least two or three thousand onlookers, with all of the risks and dangers that this entailed. I will not describe the difficulties of the raising, as it neither pleases nor preoccupies me, though I will say that, though my body was present and I did give the necessary orders, my mind was absent; it was home with my daughter.

The day before, I scarcely left her side. Her fever had gone down, enough to be considered a good sign, perhaps a grace of Our Lady, who, having heard the Memorare I devoted to her over the long vigil, was gentle and merciful enough to relieve her condition. I have sent for a physician—a real one, not one of those second-rate barbers who the monks taught only to cut and bleed the ill with their razors, and are more impostors than anything else. Old Aimeric is a man of experience. After all, he was a barber in his youth, a
rasor et minutor
who went from convent to convent shaving the friars' tonsures and bleeding them when necessary. By the whims of destiny, he ended up becoming one of the few surgeons who entered the College of Saint Cosmas to study medicine in Paris. We have known each other for many years, from before the time his good fortune allowed him to rise and provide services to nobles. Although now his skills are dispensed among the nobility and “honorable citizens” of Barcelona, by virtue of my association with the archbishopric, but especially thanks to the modest friendship that existed between us years ago, I have been able to reach him and he has honored us by coming to see Eulàlia in our home. After listening to her breathe by placing his ear over my daughter's girlish chest, Aimeric recommended I remain calm, and rest. He does not favor, for now, bleedings or purgatives. He insists that she remain wrapped up, protected from air currents, to avoid any worsening. I could hardly stand to speak to him of my fears, but he must have read them on my countenance, when with a simple gesture I motioned to the lumps on her throat and whispered, “Could it be—”

“It is early yet,” he interrupted. “That the malady affects the lungs is obvious. Inflammation is not extraordinary in such cases. And lastly, have you confessed of late? Remember many ailments befall us because of sins, and once we have cleansed the stains with tears of remorse, they are cured by the Supreme Physician, so says the Gospel.”

“Eulàlia goes to mass every Sunday and holy day, and fulfills her every obligation with the Church, as could be no other way.”

“Then do as I say: send for me if her condition worsens.”

I put my hand in my purse, but Aimeric refused again. “Pere, you are a man of the Church. Pray for her. That is enough for me. If she requires any medicines in the future, then we can speak of money.”

A man such as I has frugal needs. I have nothing to spend on, and few debts: the house has been ours for years, and except for the governess and food we eat, I tend not to squander. I always saw to it that Eulàlia wanted for nothing. Such were Leonor's wishes. And so I have been able to save part of my wages as master builder, and I know I can cover any expense Aimeric demands, up to a certain limit. He is the physician of the nobles, and his treatments are dear. But I would give anything for my daughter to be well!

One week. It has been one week since my last entry into this makeshift diary, where I can vent my conscience and relieve my torment. Eulàlia has worsened. Aimeric's visits are daily, and I cannot conceal my concern with his observant care. He says, on arriving, that I have nothing to fear, that the humors are evolving normally, but I observe his face and see concentration, and worse, I perceive doubt behind the mask of calm beatitude with which he tries to soothe my fears. The girl coughs frequently, and her sputum is a dark color which ceased to be yellow and turned to green several days ago. It is so thick she cannot expel it and throttles herself when she tries to do
so. She sleeps fitfully and eats little, as the inflammation in her throat is now so large it prevents her from taking any sustenance but for thin soup, and even that she eats reluctantly and with great difficulty.

I remember thirteen years ago, in Narbonne, where we had traveled after receiving a petition to collaborate in the works of the cloister, Leonor was the first to feel symptoms much like those of Eulàlia. In those days we lived near the district of the Canons, a short walk from the cathedral, in a small, simple wooden house, with a garden behind it, furnished to us by the Cathedral Chapter. The Saints Justus and Pastor Cathedral was in the middle of bitter contention between the civil and ecclesiastic forces of the city. The former wished to conserve the Visigothic wall that crossed partly in front of the cathedral to better the wall's defenses; to the contrary, the latter chiefly sought to demolish the walls and complete the project of Master D'Arrás. While deliberations were ongoing, which as such degenerated into fierce dispute, the works of the cloister continued their normal course. It was there that my art began to fully develop and my joy at adorning the house of our Lord rivaled that of the joy of seeing my loved ones, my family, growing in number. To see them grow up healthy and happy was my sole recompense, received each evening on returning home to find in its inner order the perfect balance for my mind.

But all was changed that spring night. Leonor lay in the bed, covered with blankets, feverish. Josep, who was seven years old, had given his sister Lluisa her supper. The children appeared in good health in every way, except for Eulàlia, our six-month-old baby, who cried inconsolably. Leonor was too weak to nurse her, and after some brief words, I brought the baby near for her to be nourished with her mother's milk. Once the babe was asleep, I took her to her crib, and later, put the other two children to bed. Early the next morning, I went to ask an old neighbor woman, Marie, for help, imploring her to care for my family until Leonor recovered from her ailment, to which I attached no special significance then.

I returned from work as always, fatigued but pleased. The works progressed on schedule, there was no scarcity of materials, and payments were timely: everything was functioning with precision. But at the threshold of our house, the worst surprise imaginable awaited. Now, not only Leonor but the little ones Josep and Lluisa were feverish, and they were lying as they customarily slept, together in the same bed. Marie had prepared me a light repast, and proposed I take Eulàlia to a wet nurse who could suckle her regularly. I could care for the other two at night, and she would during the day. I acquiesced, and Marie took Eulàlia to the house of the nurse, a young woman named Anne whose one-year-old daughter had died days before.

And so we continued for several days. The fever had gone down. It was less during the day, but by nightfall it drove them to delirium. On that fourth day, while washing their bodies with water to relieve their heat, I found boils around their throats and other parts of the body. The three looked the same, not very large the first night; but then they gradually increased in size. Anxious, I went for help at first light: the Chapter recommended a competent surgeon; I returned home with him to see my indisposed family. The surgeon's name was Jacques. Once he had examined them after donning a pair of strange fiber gloves, he confirmed my worst fears. The boils were clear symptoms of the Black Death, the very one that seventeen years before had claimed so many lives not only in Narbonne, but in all of France.

“How do you feel?” he asked, looking me in the eyes, next to the door, as he had left the beds, truly hasting away from them.

“I have no symptoms, neither fever nor pain,” I answered.

“You must leave the house at once. You are not safe here. No one is. And I must obey the prince's orders and alert to any possibly infected place.”

“But, how do you expect me to leave my family here? Who will care for them? Who will feed them? And most important, are you sure of what you say? The Black Death?”

“The Black Death, in effect. Those boils fraught with pus are irrefutable proof.”

“But then … is there no hope?”

“We can only cut open the buboes, drain the humors, and wait. In some very rare cases the patients have survived. I myself, when the Black Death laid waste to Narbonne in 1365, suffered the furuncles.” And as he said it he pulled up his sleeve to reveal a number of scars on his arms. “And I survived. I cared for all those I could before I finally fell ill. But, Master Casadevall, I must tell you that very few of us continued alive after that time. There were many more who died. Now you should leave. The patients must be left alone.”

From the threshold I made a movement as to enter and remain close to my family, but Jacques's hand restrained me forcefully.

“Think before you enter. I am going to inform the authorities. If the prince's men find you here, they will not let you out. And you feel well as yet. You are healthy. And remember, you have another daughter. Think! Think well, man!”

I vividly recall the anguish his words caused me. Should I go in? Should I not? My Leonor, Josep, and Lluisa, wasting away inside, dying little by little, and I, safely outside, far from their bodies.

“And will you let them die in this manner? Can you not save them?”

“I will do my duty. The prince allows the sick to be attended, but they must be isolated. As for treating them, it can be done from afar. We have special knives that allow us to cut the boils open from a distance. This I can and will do.”

“But they suffer so! There must be something to relieve their pain!”

Jacques looked at me gravely before answering. “I can make them sleep, but that has a price. There is a medicine that will give them rest, but the cost of its components is high: red bryony, mandrake, opium, and resin spurge are not easily attained.”

“I will pay anything!”

“I will only charge you its fair price. And now, go. Go before I return with the soldiers!”

Jacques departed for Narbonne to report the sick to the prince's constable. I had but an hour before he returned with the drug. There I stood, at the threshold, unable to decide whether to enter, with the convulsed bodies of the children writhing in their bed, while Leonor, agitated, tightened and loosed her fists in a feverish delirium. For an hour I stood, weeping before the house, immersed in despair, not daring to enter to console my loved ones. An hour of doubt, and worse, an hour of cowardice. For truly, is not the husband charged to care for his wife, as he vows in the nuptial rites? Yes, cowardice! I conducted myself as a coward! I was unable to enter my own house, for fear. The boils of the Black Death on my family's clammy bodies confirmed with all clarity the most terrible ailment known to man, the most mortal malady ever in history.

And so was I meditating when Jacques returned, and not alone. Six guards marched with him, and an assistant carrying a long leather-bound parcel. The physician beheld me with an expression of understanding, and, with a simple order, had the guards move me away from the door.

“You have been wise not to enter. If you had, these men would not have let you leave the house. Now you must go. Go back with your other daughter, or go to the cathedral to pray.”

“I would like to watch the remedies.”

“It is a morbid request. Only an experienced person could witness them.”

“I beg you allow it. One never knows what could happen, and thus, I could also tend to them should I revoke my decision.”

The soldiers held me, perhaps in foresight of an impetuous action on my part. Jacques shook his head, but his voice contradicted the refusal.

“Go no further than the doorway. I will but barely cross the threshold.”

I obeyed. The soldiers loosened their hold and let me observe the physician's progress.