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
But the visitation reconciled them again, at least for a time,
and many of the best and most valuable ministers and preachers of
the Dissenters were suffered to go into the churches where the
incumbents were fled away, as many were, not being able to stand
it; and the people flocked without distinction to hear them
preach, not much inquiring who or what opinion they were of. But
after the sickness was over, that spirit of charity abated; and
every church being again supplied with their own ministers, or
others presented where the minister was dead, things returned to
their old channel again.
One mischief always introduces another. These terrors and
apprehensions of the people led them into a thousand weak,
foolish, and wicked things, which they wanted not a sort of
people really wicked to encourage them to: and this was running
about to fortune-tellers, cunning-men, and astrologers to know
their fortune, or, as it is vulgarly expressed, to have their
fortunes told them, their nativities calculated, and the like;
and this folly presently made the town swarm with a wicked
generation of pretenders to magic, to the black art, as they
called it, and I know not what; nay, to a thousand worse dealings
with the devil than they were really guilty of. And this trade
grew so open and so generally practised that it became common to
have signs and inscriptions set up at doors: ‘Here lives a
fortune-teller’, ‘Here lives an astrologer’, ‘Here you may have
your nativity calculated’, and the like; and Friar Bacon’s
brazen-head, which was the usual sign of these people’s
dwellings, was to be seen almost in every street, or else the
sign of Mother Shipton, or of Merlin’s head, and the like.
With what blind, absurd, and ridiculous stuff these oracles of
the devil pleased and satisfied the people I really know not, but
certain it is that innumerable attendants crowded about their
doors every day. And if but a grave fellow in a velvet jacket, a
band, and a black coat, which was the habit those quack-conjurers
generally went in, was but seen in the streets the people would
follow them in crowds, and ask them questions as they went along.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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