Orosius states that in the consulship of Marcus Plautius Hypsæus and Marcus Fulvius Flaccus, A.R. 628, Africa was desolated by a swarm of these insects, which for a while were supported in the air, but were ultimately cast into the sea. “After this,” he adds, “the surf threw up upon that long extended coast such numerous heaps of their dead and corrupted bodies, that there ensued from putrefaction a most unsupportable and poisonous stench. This soon brought on a pestilence, which affected every species of animals, so that all birds, and sheep, and cattle, also the wild beasts of the field died, and their carcases being soon rendered putrid by the foulness of the air, added greatly to the general corruption. In respect to men, it is impossible, without horror, to describe the shocking devastation. In Numidia, where at the time Micipsa was king, eighty thousand persons perished. Upon that part of the sea-coast which bordered upon the regions of Carthage and Utica, the number of those carried off by this pestilence is said to have been two hundred thousand.”
Now when man in all his proud ignorance dares to assume the power of canvassing the acts of the Almighty, and to attribute to his inscrutable will human motives, which generally arise from mortal frailty, he might as well endeavour to account for similar casualties which visited other nations than the Egyptians, and seek for the causes of the scourges of Carthage, Ethiopia, and Tartary. It is grievous to see the intellectual faculties of man perverted in such idle, one might venture to say, in such impious researches. It is strange that the learned Bryant did not associate the death of the first-born with ideas of primogeniture!
The ninth plague of darkness he attributes to the prevalence of the worship of the sun, under the title of Osiris, Ammon, Orus, Isis, and the like. Because the Egyptians, the Ethiopians, Persians, Phœnicians, Syrians, Rhodians, and various other nations, considered themselves Heliadæ, or descendants of the sun. “What, then, can be more reasonable,” continues our antiquary, “than for a people who thus abused their faculties, who raised to themselves a god of Day, their Osiris, and instead of that intellectual light, the wisdom of the Almighty, substituted a created and inanimate element as a just object of worship,—what could be more apposite than for people of this cast to be doomed to a judicial and temporary darkness?” Unfortunately, in the very next paragraph we are told that the Egyptians showed an equal reverence to night and darkness: obscurity, therefore, was only replacing one false god by another. They paid a religious regard to the mugall, a kind of mole, on account of its supposed blindness; and night was conceived more sacred than day, from its greater antiquity, since, according to the Phœnician theology, the wind Copias and his wife Baan were esteemed the same as night, and were the authors of the first beings. In the poems of Orpheus, Night is considered as the creative principle; and in the Orphic hymns we find Night invoked as “the parent of gods and men, and the origin of all things.”
This attempt to show an analogy between the crimes and sins of the Egyptians and the punishment they received, is too curious to be overlooked. The mania of seeking for the cause of every thing, reminds one of a singular character in Trinity College, Dublin, formerly well known, who invariably gave a reason for every direction he thought proper to issue; and he was once heard to address a servant in the following words: “Pat, put a cover upon that mutton. It is not for the purpose of keeping it hot, because it is cold, but it is because I do not wish the flies to get at it, because fly-blown meat is both unpleasant to the taste and injurious to the health.”
It appears probable that the plague originated in Egypt. From time immemorial to the present day the lower provinces have been subject to this cruel scourge. Wars, intestine commotions, and misrule have too frequently prevented the local authorities from paying proper attention to measures of public salubrity. Herodotus tells us, that when he was at Memphis, Egypt was just liberated from a long-protracted war, during which political economy had been neglected, canals had been abandoned and choked up, and the frontiers of the land were infested with banditti, while the interior was desolated by pestilential disorders. My much esteemed friend Baron Larrey, in his valuable work upon Egypt, has given a topographical description of the country; and the influence that the seasons exercise upon it, must be evident. He informs us that after the spring equinox, and especially towards the beginning of June, the southerly winds are prevalent for about fifty days. Their scorching influence is experienced for upwards of four hours, while they waft with fatal rapidity putrid emanations exhaled by animal and vegetable bodies decomposed in the lakes formed by the receding waters of the Nile. From various observations it has been concluded that the plague is both an endemic and contagious disease in Lower Egypt, but simply contagious in Upper Egypt, Syria, the other Turkish provinces, and Europe. No account of the plague in Abyssinia, Sennaar, or the interior of Africa, is given by any traveller.
The most fatal European plagues were probably those that desolated London in 1664, and Marseilles in 1720. The accounts of these fearful visitations are as curious as they are appalling. In London it broke out in the beginning of December, when two foreigners (Frenchmen it was reported) died of this disorder in Long-Acre, near Drury Lane. The cold weather and frost that followed, seemed to check its progress, until the month of April, when it appeared with intensity in the parishes of St. Andrew, Holborn, and St. Clement Danes. In May, the parish of St. Giles buried a great number. Wood Street, Fenchurch Street, and Crooked Lane, were soon visited, until terror was so general, that crowds of inhabitants panic-struck, on foot, on horse, in coaches, waggons, and carts, were thronging Broad Street and Whitechapel, fleeing from the calamity. To such an extent was migration carried, that not a horse could be bought or hired. Many fugitives, fearful of stopping at inns, carried tents to lie in the fields, and people moved in the centre of the streets, in dread of coming into contact with others sallying forth from their houses. During this state of universal panic, it may be easily imagined that hypocrisy and roguery were busily employed in increasing the evil, at the expense of the credulous. Pretended wizards and cunning people affirmed that a comet had appeared several months previous to the increase of the malady, as a similar meteor had visited London before the great fire; only the fire comet was bright and sparkling, and the plague comet was dull, and of a languid colour. Lilly’s Almanac and Gadbury’s Astrological Predictions were in general demand; while pamphlets, entitled “Come out of her, my people, lest you be partakers of her plagues,” “Fair Warning,” and “Britain’s Remembrancer,” were eagerly circulated, as they denounced the utter ruin of the city. One of these prophets ran about the streets, without the encumbrance of any garment, roaring out, “Yet forty days, and London shall be destroyed;” while another, equally divested of raiment, bellowed out, “Oh! the great and the dreadful God!” Some asserted that they had seen a hand with a flaming sword coming out of the clouds, while others beheld hearses and coffins floating in the air.
The following is a quaint narrative of these absurdities: “One time before the plague was begun, I think it was in March, seeing a crowd of people in the street, I joined with them to satisfy my curiosity, and I found them all staring up in the air to see what a woman told them appeared plain to her, which was an angel clothed in white, with a fiery sword in his hand, waving it and brandishing it over his head. She described every part of the figure to the life, showed them the motions and the form; and the poor people came into it readily. ‘Yes, I see it all plainly,’ says one; ‘there’s the sword as plain as can be.’ Another saw his very face, and cried out, ‘What a glorious creature he was!’ One saw one thing, and one another. I looked as earnestly as the rest, and said I could see nothing but a cloud. However, the woman turned from me; called me a profane fellow and a scoffer; told me that it was a time of God’s anger, and dreadful judgments were approaching, and that despisers such as I should wonder and perish. Another encounter I had in the open day also, in going through a narrow passage from Petty-France into Bishopsgate churchyard. In this narrow passage stands a man looking through between the palisadoes into the burying-place, and he was pointing now to one place, then to another, and affirming that he saw a ghost walking upon such a grave-stone; he described the shape, the posture, and the movement of it so exactly, crying on a sudden, ‘There it is—now it comes this way—now ’tis turned back!’ till at length he persuaded the people into so firm a belief of it, that they fancied they saw it; and thus he came every day, making a strange hubbub, till Bishopsgate clock struck eleven, and then the ghost would start and disappear on a sudden.”
Such sanctimonious tricks are historical. Don Bernal Dias del Castello tells us, in his account of the Mexican conquest, that St. Jago appeared in the van of the army, mounted on a white horse, and leading the troops on to victory. He frankly owns that he did not see this blessed vision; nay, that a cavalier, by name Francisco de Morla, mounted on a chestnut steed, was fighting in the very place where the patron of Spain was said to have appeared; but, instead of drawing the natural conclusion, that the whole business was got up as an illusion, he devoutly exclaims, “Sinner that I was, what am I that I should have been permitted to behold the blessed apostle!”
These impostures remind us of the story of the wag who, fixing his eyes upon the lion over Northumberland House, exclaimed, “By heaven! it wags—it wags!” and contrived by these means to collect an immense mob in the street, many of whom swore that they did absolutely see the lion wagging his tail.
Crowds of pretended fortune-tellers, and astrologers and cunning men, were soon in good business, and their trade became so generally practised, that they had signs denoting their profession over their doors, with inscriptions announcing, “Here lives a fortune-teller,”—“Here you may have your nativity cast;” and the head of Friar Bacon, Mother Shipton, or Merlin, were their usual signs: and if any unfortunate man of grave appearance, and wearing a black cloak, went abroad, he was immediately assailed by the mob as a necromancer, and supplicated to reveal futurity. At such a period, it may be easily imagined that quacks were not satisfied with mere gleanings; and infallible pills, never-failing preservatives, sovereign cordials, and incomparable drinks, against the plague, were announced in every possible manner; and universal remedies, the only true plague-water, and the royal antidote, became themes of universal discourse. An eminent High Dutch physician, newly come over from Holland, where he resided during all the time of the plague,—an Italian gentlewoman, having a choice secret to prevent infection, and that did wonders in a plague that destroyed twenty thousand people a-day, were announced by bills at every corner.