tions of herself. So the matter was compromised. Bessie would go on with us; but on the next day she was to be allowed to visit Madame Richard, who was then to entertain the mother and daughter for the few days of their stay in the Port. Of course it will be understood that in such a spot as this, so secluded from the great world, and of such scanty Frank population, every individual was well known, so that there was nothing rash in committing themselves to the hospitality of a stranger. So was it settled, and we incontinently pursued our ride, our party being increased by the adhesion of an old gentleman well versed in the ways of the islanders, and the topography.
Much did we see that was beautiful and worthy of mention, but which for the moment I pass by unmentioned. Perhaps I may some day recur to the description. But one feature of that reminiscence stands out far otherwise than beautiful. It is hideous, dark, loathsome, and, I hope, unique. Its presence casts a shadow on what would otherwise be accepted as the most beautiful shore of that lovely region.
I am speaking of the leper village. Now elsewhere you may find lazar-houses—houses whither afflicted individuals are sent for treatment. These are isolated by a sanitary cordon, and, inasmuch as these establishments are tenanted by incurables, they may be said, in a certain sense, to be the abodes of despair. Still the patients are men and women who have had their portion, more or less, of interest in the doings of the great family of man. They have had their season of health, and must be able to find some consolation in the recollection of how it has been with them once upon a time. Moreover, they are every one marked out for seclusion by disease, actually incapacitated for active life before they are withdrawn from it. Their case is, therefore, so far not essentially different from that of certain other incurables.
But the leper village of Rhodes is not a therapeutic establishment. It is not a friendly asylum opening its gates to receive those whom all other mortals shun, save the devoted members of religious orders especially dedicated to this service. It is rather a horrible conservatory of the disease, a storehouse wherein are garnered the seeds of infection. Into it are received, not men and women who actually are lepers, but such as, without actual disease, have the taint upon them. Its population, dreadful to say, is maintained by births within the precincts. Thus, with few exceptions, it is tenanted by those who have had no intercourse with the human family, and who know of the outer world nothing more than they can gather by exercise of their senses, as from their walls they gaze on passers by.
It was a dreadful story to hear from our companion—too dreadful almost to be true. He told it quite in a matter-of-fact tone, as one who had long been used to the idea, and had ceased to regard it as remarkable.
It was enough to stop our appetite for sightseeing, and I do not think that any of us cared much about anything after that.
Mrs. Quillet was so overcome that she wept. Little Bessie did not understand the state of the case, but she looked very grave, and I could feel my face decidedly assuming an unwonted expression.
Our conversation had been carried on in French, so that Bessie could not understand what it was that made her mamma cry.
“What’s the matter, mamma? Why do you cry?” she asked.
“Oh, Bessie! I have been listening to a dreadful story—too sad almost to think about.”
“Mamma, dear mamma, are you afraid? Is anybody going to hurt you? Is anything going to happen to us?”
“No, darling, no; it is all about the poor people who live in that place up there. They are all miserable, and many of them very sick. They must never go out to see anybody. They are shut up all day and all night, and all their life long, and there must stay till they die.”
“Poor people!” said Bessie; “how glad they must be to die, and go to heaven!”
I thought so too; but, on second thoughts, I must confess that I doubt whether such would be the predisposing influence of the circumstances at work in their instance. One would fear their liability to fall into a state of desperation and universal hatred.
“What have they done,” asked little Bessie, “to be treated so cruelly?”
I put the question on my own account. “What, in good sooth, was the justification of such an incarceration? What was the degree of affinity to the infected in which one must stand in order to come under this deadly penalty? What was the danger to the community contingent on the permitting persons of hereditary taint to mingle with society, until at least the tokens of actual disease should have been developed in them?”
Mr. shrugged his shoulders, and took my last question first. Not being a medical man, he could not speak authoritatively; but he was inclined to believe that there would be no danger whatever in such permission, if the due limits of the permission were observed—if the patient were actually to be surrendered on the first indication of disease. But such conscientious action was not to be expected from mortal infirmity. Relations would never make the denunciation while concealment remained possible. Then hope was a great deceiver. Symptoms must be something more than threatening before the persons concerned would make up their minds as to the stern reality. Perhaps this defect of sanitary police might act to the detriment of the community, by keeping a certain number of diseased persons in only partial seclusion. But if so, the evil appeared to be unavoidable. He could only say that when the leprosy became indisputably apparent, the patient was handed over to the authorities, and that under severe penalties.
“But,” I said, “this does not touch the question of suspected consanguinity. What degree of consanguinity is held to justify forcible incarceration?”
“Only that of child to parent,” replied Mr. , “at least, so I believe. But you must understand that regulations of this sort would scarcely be of practical application, since all the known lepers are shut up, and of course, with