A Journal of the Plague Year: Being Observations or Memorials of the Most Remarkable Occurrences, as Well Public as Private, Which Happened in London During the Last Great Visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen Who Continued All the While in London — John Shaqi
A Journal of the Plague Year: Being Observations or Memorials of the Most Remarkable Occurrences, as Well Public as Private, Which Happened in London During the Last Great Visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen Who Continued All the While in LondonDefoe, Daniel
History
A Journal of the Plague Year: Being Observations or Memorials of the Most Remarkable Occurrences, as Well Public as Private, Which Happened in London During the Last Great Visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen Who Continued All the While in London
Defoe, Daniel
Great Fire, London, England, 1666 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; London (England) -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Plague -- Fiction
The face of London was—now indeed strangely altered: I mean the
whole mass of buildings, city, liberties, suburbs, Westminster,
Southwark, and altogether; for as to the particular part called
the city, or within the walls, that was not yet much infected.
But in the whole the face of things, I say, was much altered;
sorrow and sadness sat upon every face; and though some parts
were not yet overwhelmed, yet all looked deeply concerned; and,
as we saw it apparently coming on, so every one looked on himself
and his family as in the utmost danger. Were it possible to
represent those times exactly to those that did not see them, and
give the reader due ideas of the horror ‘that everywhere
presented itself, it must make just impressions upon their minds
and fill them with surprise. London might well be said to be all
in tears; the mourners did not go about the streets indeed, for
nobody put on black or made a formal dress of mourning for their
nearest friends; but the voice of mourners was truly heard in the
streets. The shrieks of women and children at the windows and
doors of their houses, where their dearest relations were perhaps
dying, or just dead, were so frequent to be heard as we passed
the streets, that it was enough to pierce the stoutest heart in
the world to hear them. Tears and lamentations were seen almost
in every house, especially in the first part of the visitation;
for towards the latter end men’s hearts were hardened, and death
was so always before their eyes, that they did not so much
concern themselves for the loss of their friends, expecting that
themselves should be summoned the next hour.
Business led me out sometimes to the other end of the town, even
when the sickness was chiefly there; and as the thing was new to
me, as well as to everybody else, it was a most surprising thing
to see those streets which were usually so thronged now grown
desolate, and so few people to be seen in them, that if I had
been a stranger and at a loss for my way, I might sometimes have
gone the length of a whole street (I mean of the by-streets), and
seen nobody to direct me except watchmen set at the doors of such
houses as were shut up, of which I shall speak presently.
One day, being at that part of the town on some special business,
curiosity led me to observe things more than usually, and indeed
I walked a great way where I had no business. I went up Holborn,
and there the street was full of people, but they walked in the
middle of the great street, neither on one side or other,
because, as I suppose, they would not mingle with anybody that
came out of houses, or meet with smells and scent from houses
that might be infected.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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