The next year a terrible outbreak of the plague occurred in London,
1665, which spread throughout the kingdom (S244). All who could, fled
from the city. Hundreds of houses were left vacant, while on hundreds
more a cross marked on the doors in red chalk, with the words "Lord
have mercy on us," written underneath, told where the work of death
was going on.[1]
[1] Pepys writes in his "Diary," describing the beginning of the
plague: "The 7th of June, 1665, was the hottest day I ever felt in my
life. This day, much against my will, I did in Drury Lane see two or
three houses with a red cross upon the door, and `Lord have mercy upon
us' writ there, which was a sad sight."--Pepys, "Diary," 1660-1669.
Defoe wrote a journal of the plague in 1722, based, probably, on the
reports of eyewitnesses. It gives a vivid and truthful account of its
horrors.
The pestilence swept off over a hundred thousand victims within six
months. Among the few brave men who voluntarily remained in the
stricken city were the Puritan ministers, who stayed to comfort and
console the sick and dying. After the plague was over, they received
their reward through the enforcement of those acts of persecution
which drove them homeless and helpless from their parishes and friends
(S472).
The dead cart had hardly ceased to go its rounds, when a fire broke
out, 1666, of which Evelyn, a courtier who witnessed it, wrote that it
"was not to be outdone until the final conflagration of the world."[1]
By it the city of London proper was reduced to ruins, little more
being left than a fringe of houses on the northeast.
[1] Evelyn's "Diary," 1641-1705; also compare Dryden's poem "Annus
Mirabilis."
Great as the calamity was, yet from a sanitary point of view it did
immense good. Nothing short of fire could have effectually cleansed
the London of that day, and so put a stop to the periodical ravages of
the plague. By sweeping away miles of narrow streets crowded with
miserable buildings black with the encrusted filth of ages, the
conflagration in the end proved friendly to health and life.
A monument near London Bridge still marks the spot where the flames
first burst out. For many years it bore an inscription affirming that
the Catholics kindled them in order to be revenged on their
persecutors. The poet Pope, at a later period, exposed the falsehood
in the lines:
"Where London's column pointing toward the skies
Like a tall bully lifts its head and lies."[2]
[2] "Moral Essays," Epistle III.
Sir Christopher Wren, the most famous architect of the period, rebuilt
the city. The greater part of it had been of wood, but it rose from
the ashes brick and stone. One irreparable loss was the old Gothic
church of St. Paul. Wren erected the present cathedral on the
foundations of the ancient structure. On a tablet near the tomb of
the great master builder one reads the inscription in Latin, "Reader,
if you seek his monument, look around."[1]
[1] "Lector, si monumentum requiris, circumspice."