concern themselves for the regulation of the city, by the shutting up
of houses. Examiners were appointed in every parish to order the house
to be shut up wherever any person sick of the infection was found. A
night watchman and a day watchman were appointed to each infected house
to prevent any person from coming out or going into the same. Women
searchers were appointed in each parish to examine the bodies of such
as were dead, to see if they had died of the infection, and over these
were appointed physicians and chirurgeons. Other orders were made with
regard to giving notice of sickness, sequestration of the sick, airing
the goods and bedding of the infected, burial of the dead, cleansing
of the streets, forbidding wandering beggars, loose persons, and idle
assemblages, and the like. One of these orders was--"That every house
visited be marked with a red cross of a foot long, in the middle of the
door, with these words, 'LORD HAVE MERCY UPON US,' to be set close over
the same cross." Many got out of their houses by stratagem after they
were shut up, and thus spread the plague; in one place they blowed up
their watchman with gunpowder and burnt the poor fellow dreadfully, and
while he made hideous cries, the whole family got out at the windows;
others got out by bribing the watchman, and I have seen three watchmen
publicly whipped through the streets for suffering people to go out.
_II.--How the Dead Were Buried_
I went all the first part of the time freely about the streets, and
when they dug the great pit in the churchyard of Aldgate I could not
resist going to see it. A terrible pit it was, forty feet long, about
sixteen wide, and in one part they dug it to near twenty feet deep,
until they could go no deeper for the water. It was filled in just two
weeks, when they had thrown into it 1,114 bodies from our own parish.
I got admittance into the churchyard by the sexton, who at first
refused me, but at last said: "Name of God, go in; depend upon it,
'twill be a sermon to you, it may be the best that ever you heard. It
is a speaking sight," says he; and with that he opened the door and
said, "Go, if you will." I stood wavering for a good while, but just at
that interval I saw two links come over from the end of the Minories,
and heard the bellman, and then appeared a dead-cart coming over the
streets, so I went in.
The scene was awful and full of terror. The cart had in it sixteen or
seventeen bodies; some were wrapped in sheets or rugs, some little
other than naked, or so loose that what covering they had fell from
them in the shooting out of the cart, and they fell quite naked among
the rest. But the matter was not much to them, seeing they were all
dead, and were to be huddled together into the common grave of mankind,
as we may call it; for here was no difference made, but poor and rich
went together. The cart was turned round, and the bodies shot into the
pit promiscuously.
There was following the cart a poor unhappy gentleman who fell down in
a swoon when the bodies were shot into the pit. The buriers ran to him
and took him up, and after he had come to himself, they led him away to
the Pye tavern, over against the end of Houndsditch. His case lay so
heavy on my mind that after I had gone home I must go out again into
the street and go to the Pye tavern, to inquire what became of him.
It was by this time one in the morning, and yet the poor gentleman was
there. The people of the house were civil and obliging, but there was a
dreadful set of fellows that used their house, and who, in the middle
of all this horror, met there every night, and behaved with revelling
and roaring extravagances, so that the master and mistress of the
house were terrified at them. They sat in a room next the street, and
as often as the dead-cart came along, they would open the windows and
make impudent mocks and jeers at the sad lamentations of the people,
especially if they heard the poor people call upon God to have mercy
upon them.
They were at this vile work when I came to the house, ridiculing the
unfortunate man, and his sorrow for his wife and children, taunting him
with want of courage to leap into the pit and go to Heaven with them,
and adding profane and blasphemous expressions.
I gently reproved them, being not unknown to two of them. But I cannot
call to mind the abominable raillery which they returned to me, making
a jest of my calling the plague the Hand of God. They continued this
wretched course three or four days; but they were, every one of them,
carried into the great pit before it was quite filled up.
In my walks I had daily many dismal scenes before my eyes, as of
persons falling dead in the streets, terrible shrieks and screechings
of women, and the like. Passing through Tokenhouse Yard, in Lothbury,
of a sudden a casement violently opened just over my head, and a woman
gave three frightful screeches, and then cried: "Oh Death! Death!
Death!" in a most inimitable tone, which struck me with horror and a
chillness in my very blood. There was nobody to be seen in the whole
street, neither did any other window open; for people had no curiosity
now, nor could anybody help another. I went on into Bell Alley.
Just in Bell Alley, at the right hand of the passage, there was a
more terrible cry than that, and I could hear women and children run
screaming about the rooms distracted. A garret window opened, and
somebody from a window on the other side of the alley called and
asked, "What is the matter?" upon which, from the first window it was
answered: "O Lord, my old master has hanged himself!" The other asked
again: "Is he quite dead?" And the first answered, "Ay, ay, quite
dead--quite dead and cold."
It is scarce credible what dreadful things happened every day, people
in the rage of the distemper, or in the torment of their swellings,
which was indeed intolerable, oftentimes laying violent hands on
themselves, throwing themselves out at their windows, etc.; mothers
murdering their own children in their lunacy; some dying of mere
fright, without any infection; others frightened into despair, idiocy,
or madness.
There were a great many robberies and wicked practices committed even
in this dreadful time. The power of avarice was so strong in some that
they would run any hazard to steal and to plunder; and in houses where
all the inhabitants had died and been carried out, they would break in
without regard to the danger of infection, and take even the bedclothes.
_III.--Universal Desolation_
For about a month together, I believe there did not die less than 1,500
or 1,700 a day, one day with another; and in the beginning of September
good people began to think that God was resolved to make a full end of
the people in this miserable city. Whole families, and, indeed, whole
streets of families were swept away together, and the infection was so
increased that at length they shut up no houses at all. People gave
themselves up to their fears, and thought that nothing was to be hoped
for but an universal desolation. It was even in the height of this
despair that it pleased God to stay His hand, and to slacken the fury
of the contagion.
When the people despaired of life and abandoned themselves, it had a
very strange effect for three or four weeks; it made them bold and
venturous; they were no more shy of one another, nor restrained within
doors, but went anywhere and everywhere, and ran desperately into
any company. It brought them to crowd into the churches; looking on
themselves as all so many dead corpses, they behaved as if their lives
were of no consequence, compared to the work which they came about
there.
The conduct of the lord mayor and magistrates was all the time
admirable, so that bread was always to be had in plenty, and cheap
as usual; provisions were never wanting in the markets; the streets
were kept free from all manner of frightful objects--dead bodies, or
anything unpleasant; and for a time fires were kept burning in the
streets to cleanse the air of infection.
Many remedies were tried; but it is my opinion, and I must leave it as
a prescription, that the best physic against the plague is to run away
from it. I know people encourage themselves by saying, "God is able to
keep us in the midst of danger," and this kept thousands in the town,
whose carcasses went into the great pits by cart-loads. Yet of the
pious ladies who went about distributing alms to the poor, and visiting
infected families, though I will not undertake to say that none of
those charitable people were suffered to fall under the calamity, yet I
may say this, that I never knew any of them to fall under it.
Such is the precipitant disposition of our people, that no sooner had
they observed that the distemper was not so catching as formerly, and
that if it was catched it was not so mortal, and that abundance of
people who really fell sick recovered again daily, than they made no
more of the plague than of an ordinary fever, nor indeed so much. They
went into the very chambers where others lay sick. This rash conduct
cost a great many their lives, who had been preserved all through the
heat of the infection, and the bills of mortality increased again four
hundred in the first week of November.
But it pleased God, by the continuing of wintry weather, so to restore
the health of the city that by February following we reckoned the
distemper quite ceased. The time was not far off when the city was to
be purged with fire, for within nine months more I saw it all lying in
ashes.
I shall conclude the account of this calamitous year with a stanza of
my own:
A dreadful plague in London was
In the year sixty-five,
Which swept an hundred thousand souls
Away; yet I alive!
DEMOSTHENES
The Philippics
Demosthenes, by universal consensus of opinion the greatest
orator the world has known, was born at Athens 385 B.C. and
died 322 B.C. His birth took place just nineteen years after
the conclusion of the Peloponnesian War. Losing his father when
he was yet a child, his wealth was frittered away by three
faithless guardians, whom he prosecuted when he came of age.
This dispute, and some other struggles, led him into public
life, and by indomitable perseverance he overcame the difficulty
constituted by certain physical disqualifications. Identifying
himself for life entirely with the interests of Athens, he became
the foremost administrator in the state, as well as its most
eloquent orator. His stainless character, his matchless powers
of advocacy, his fervent patriotism, and his fine diplomacy,
render him altogether one of the noblest figures of antiquity.
His fame rests mainly on "The Philippics"; those magnificent
orations delivered during a series of several years against the
aggressions of Philip of Macedon; though the three "Olynthiacs,"
and the oration "De Coronâ," and several other speeches are
monumental of the genius of Demosthenes, more especially the "De
Coronâ." He continued to resist the Macedonian domination during
the career of Alexander the Great, and was exiled, dying, it is
supposed, by poison administered by himself, at Calauria. (Cf.
also p. 273 of this volume.) This epitome has been prepared from
the original Greek.
_I.--"Men of Athens, Arouse Yourselves!"_
The subject under discussion on this occasion, men of Athens, is not
new, and there would be no need to speak further on it if other orators
deliberated wisely. First, I advise you not to regard the present
aspect of affairs, miserable though it truly is, as entirely hopeless.
For the primary cause of the failure is your own mismanagement. If any
consider it difficult to overcome Philip because of the power that he
has attained, and because of our disastrous loss of many fortresses,
they should remember how much he has gained by achieving alliances.
If, now, you will emulate his policy, if every citizen will devote
himself assiduously to the service of his country, you will assuredly
recover all that has been lost, and punish Philip. For he has his
enemies, even among his pretended friends. All dread him because your
inertia has prevented you from providing any refuge for them. Hence the
height of arrogance which he now displays and the constantly expanding
area of his conquests.
When, men of Athens, will you realise that your attitude is the cause
of this situation? For you idle about, indulging in gossip over
circumstances, instead of grappling with the actualities. Were this
antagonist to pass away, another enemy like him would speedily be
produced by your policy, for Philip is what he is not so much through
his own prowess as through your own indifference.
As to the plan of action to be initiated, I say that we must inaugurate
it by providing fifty triremes, also the cavalry and transports and
boats needed for the fleet. Thus we should be fully prepared to cope
with the sudden excursions of Philip to Thermopylæ or any other point.
Besides this naval force, you should equip an army of 2,000 foot
soldiers, of whom 500 should be Athenians, the remainder mercenaries,
together with 250 cavalry, including 50 Athenians. Lastly, we should
have an auxiliary naval contingent of ten swift galleys.
We are now conducting affairs farcically. For we act neither as if
we were at peace, nor as if we had entered on a war. You enlist your
soldiers not for warfare, but for religious pageants, and for parades
and processions in the market-place. We must consolidate our resources,
embody permanent forces, not temporary levies hastily enlisted, and
we must secure winter quarters for our troops in those islands which
possess harbours and granaries for the corn.
No longer, men of Athens, must you continue the mere discussion of
measures without ever executing any of your projects. Remember that
Philip sustains his power by drawing on the resources of your own
allies.
But by adopting my plan you will at one and the same time deprive him
of his chief sources of supply, and place yourselves out of the reach
of danger. The policy he has hitherto pursued will be effectually
thwarted. No longer will he be able to capture your citizens, as he did
by attacking Lemnos and Imbros, or to seize your Paralus, as he did on
his descent at Marathon.
But, men of Athens, you spend far larger sums of money on the splendid
Panathenaic and Dionysian festivals than on your naval and military
armaments. Moreover, those festivals are always punctually celebrated,
while your preparations for war are always behindhand. Then, when a
critical juncture arrives, we find our forces are totally inadequate to
the emergency.
Having larger resources than any other state, you, Athenians, have
never adequately availed yourselves of them. You never anticipate the
movements of Philip, but simply drift after him, sending forces to
Thermopylæ if you hear he is there, or to any other quarter where he
may happen to be. Such policy might formerly be excused, but now it
is as disgraceful as it is intolerable. Are we to wait for Philip's
aggressiveness to cease? It never will do so unless we resist it. Shall
we not assume the offensive and descend on his coast with some of our
forces?
Nothing will result from mere oratory and from mutual recrimination
among ourselves. My own conviction is that Philip is encouraged by our
inertia, and that he is carried away by his own successes, but that he
has no fixed plan of action that can be guessed by foolish chatterers.
Men of Athens, let us for the future abandon such an attitude, and let
us bear in mind that we must depend not on the help of others, but on
ourselves alone. Unless we go to attack Philip where he is, Philip will
come to attack us where we are.
_II.--Beware the Guile of Philip_
Nothing, men of Athens, is done as a sequel to the speeches which
are delivered and approved concerning the outrageous proceedings of
Philip. You are earnest in discussion; he is earnest in action. If we
are to be complacently content because we employ the better arguments,
well and good; but if we are successfully to resist this formidable
and increasing power, we must be prepared to entertain advice that is
salutary, however unpalatable, rather than counsel which is easy and
pleasant.
If you give me any credit for clear perception, I beg you to attend
to what I plead. After subduing Thermopylæ and the Phocians, Philip
quickly apprehended that you could not be induced by any selfish
considerations to abandon other Greek states to him. The Thebans,
Messenians, and Argives he lured by bribes. But he knew how, in
the past, your predecessors scorned the overtures of his ancestor,
Alexander of Macedon, sent by Mardonius the Persian to induce the
Athenians to betray the rest of the Greeks. It was not so with the
Argives and the Thebans, and thus Philip calculates that their
successors will care nothing for the interests of the Greeks generally.
So he favours them, but not you.
Everything demonstrates Philip's animosity against Athens. He is
instinctively aware that you are conscious of his plots against
you, and ascribes to you a feeling of hatred against him. Eager to
be beforehand with us, he continues to negotiate with Thebans and
Peloponnesians, assuming that they may be beguiled with ease.
I call to mind how I addressed the Messenians and the Argives,
reminding them how Philip had dishonourably given certain of their
territories to the Olynthians. Would the Olynthians then have listened
to any disparagements of Philip? Assuredly not. Yet they were soon
shamefully betrayed and cheated by him. It is unsafe for commonwealths
to place confidence in despots. In like manner were the Thessalians
deceived when he had ejected their tyrants and had restored to
them Nicasa and Magnesia, for he instituted the new tyranny of the
Decemvirate. Philip is equally ready with gifts and promises on the one
hand, and with fraud and deceit on the other.
"By Jupiter," said I to those auditors, "the only infallible defence of
democracies against despots is the absolute refusal of all confidence
in them. Always to mistrust them is the only safeguard. What is it that
you seek to secure? Liberty? Then do you not perceive that the very
titles worn by Philip prove him to be adverse to this? For every king
and tyrant is an enemy to freedom and an opponent to laws."
But though my speeches and those of other emissaries were received
with vociferous applause, all the same those who thus manifested
profound approbation will never be able to resist the blandishments and
overtures of Philip. It may well be so with those other Greeks. But
you, O Athenians, surely should understand your own interests better.
For otherwise irreparable disaster must ensue.
In justice, men of Athens, you should summon the men who communicated
to you the promises which induced you to consent to peace. Their
statements misled us; otherwise, neither would I have gone as
ambassador, nor would you have ceased hostilities. Also, you should
call those who, after my return from my second embassy, contradicted my
report. I then protested against the abandonment of Thermopylæ and of
the Phocians.
They ridiculed me as a water-drinker, and they persuaded you that
Philip would cede to you Oropus and Eubœa in exchange for Amphipolis,
and also that he would humble the Thebans and at his own charges cut
through the Chersonese. Your anger will be excited in due time when
you realise what you have hitherto disregarded, namely, that these
projects on the part of Philip are devised against Athens.
Though all know it only too well, let me remind you who it was,
even Æschines himself, who induced you by his persuasion to abandon
Thermopylæ and Phocis. By possessing control over these, Philip now
commands also the road to Attica and Peloponnesus.
Hence the present situation is this, that you must now consider,
not distant affairs, but the means of defending your homes and of
conducting a war in Attica, that war having become inevitable through
those events, grievous though it will be to every citizen when it
begins. May the gods grant that the worst fears be not fully confirmed!
_III.--Athens Must Head the War_
Various circumstances, men of Athens, have reduced our affairs to the
worst possible state, this lamentable crisis being due mainly to the
specious orators who seek rather to please you than wisely to guide
you. Flattery has generated perilous complacency, and now the position
is one of extreme danger. I am willing either to preserve silence,
or to speak frankly, according to your disposition. Yet all may be
repaired if you awaken to your duty, for Philip has not conquered you;
you have simply made no real effort against him.
Strange to say, while Philip is actually seizing cities and
appropriating various portions of our territory, some among us affirm
that there is really no war. Thus, caution is needed in speech, for
those who suggest defensive measures may afterwards be indicted for
causing hostilities. Now, let those who maintain that we are at peace
propose a resolution for suitable plans. But if you are invaded by an
armed aggressor, who pretends to be at peace with you, what can you do
but initiate measures of defence?
Both sides may profess to be at peace, and I do not demur; but it
is madness to style that a condition of peace which allows Philip
to subjugate all other states and then to assail you last of all.
His method of proceeding is to prepare to attack you, while securing
immunity from the danger of being attacked by you.
If we wait for him to declare war, we wait in vain. For he will treat
us as he did the Olynthians and the Phocians. Professing to be their
ally, he appropriated territories belonging to them. Do you imagine
he would declare war against you before commencing operations of
encroachment? Never, so long as he knows that you are willing to be
deceived.
By a series of operations he has been infringing the peace: by his
attempt to seize Megara, by his intervention in Eubœa, by his excursion
into Thrace. I reckon that the virtual beginnings of hostilities
must be dated from the day that he completed the subjugation of the
Thracians. From your other orators I differ in deeming any discussion
irrelevant respecting the Chersonese or Byzantium. Aid these, indeed;
but let the safety of all Greece alike be the subject of your
deliberations.
What I would emphasise is that to Philip have been conceded liberties
of encroachment and aggression, by you first of all, such as in former
days were always contested by war. He has attacked and enslaved city
after city of the Greeks. You Athenians were for seventy-three years
the supreme leaders in Hellas, as were the Spartans for twenty-nine
years. Then after the battle of Leuctra the Thebans acquired paramount
influence. But neither you nor these others ever arrogated the right to
act according to your pleasure.
If you appeared to act superciliously towards any state, all the other
states sided with that one which was aggrieved. Yet all the errors
committed by our predecessors and by those of the Spartans during the
whole of that century were trivial compared with the wrongs perpetrated
by Philip during these thirteen years. Cruel has been his destruction
of Olynthus, of Methone, of Apollonia, and of thirty-two cities on the
borders of Thrace, and also the extermination of the Phocians. And now
he domineers ruthlessly over Thessaly and Eubœa. Yet all we Greeks of
various nationalities are in so abjectly miserable a condition that,
instead of arranging embassies and declaring our indignation, we
entrench ourselves in isolation in our several cities.
It must be reflected that when wrongs were inflicted by other states,
by us or the Spartans, these faults were at any rate committed by
genuine sons of Greece. How much more hateful is the offence when
perpetrated against a household by a slave or an alien than by a son or
other member of the family! But Philip is not only no son of Hellas; he
is not even a reputable barbarian, but only a vile fellow of Macedon,
a country from which formerly even a respectable slave could not be
purchased!
What is lacking to his unspeakable arrogance? Does he not assemble the
Pythian games, command Thermopylæ, garrison the passes, secure prior
access to the oracle at Delphi, and dictate the form of government for
Thessaly? All this the Greeks look upon with toleration; they seem
to regard it as they would some tempest, each hoping it will fall on
someone else. We are all passive and despondent, mutually distrusting
each other instead of the common foe.
How different the noble spirit of former days! How different that old
passion for liberty which is now superseded by the love of servitude!
Then corruption was so deeply detested that there was no pardon for
the guilt of bribery. Now venality is laughed at and bribery goes
unpunished. In ships, men, equipment, and revenues our resources are
larger than ever before, but corruption neutralises them all.