It could be a whole lot worse. Coronavirus is not
the same as the bubonic plague. In these times of economic and social misery, I
understand that is little comfort, but we do know one encouraging thing about
past plagues: people survived them. Unfortunately, not everybody healed, but
civilization ultimately recovered—in several cases, more rapidly than anyone
might have predicted, given that the havoc was assumed to be caused by God's
hand rather than a microbe. Individuals are stronger than they realise. Samuel
Pepys, who lived through the Great Plague of London in 1665, was a careful man
who did not take any more health risks than he wanted to. (He did have an
abrasive procedure to extract a bladder stone, which, considering the risks of
surgery, could have easily killed him.) However, the stone, which was about the
size of a tennis ball, was a source of pain in and of itself. Pepys had it
stored in a special case after it was removed.) He did, however, manage to have
a nice time. “I've never had such a happy life...” On December 31, 1665, he
wrote, "As I have done this plague-time."
He decamped to Greenwich, a few miles downstream,
when the mortality rate in the square mile of the City of London, where he
lived on Seething Lane, hit a thousand per week. Greenwich was well-known among
Londoners; it was a popular tourist destination. There was a royal palace—which
was pretty much destroyed during the English Civil War, but Charles I's widow,
Queen Henrietta Maria, continued to live in the Queen's House, built by Inigo
Jones—and a park where the public could walk; you could also get there by boat.
Pepys used to go on a lot of trips. In May 1665, he writes, "Away back
home," "and not being fit for company, I took my wife and Mercer [a
servant] down by water to Greenwich at 8 o'clock at night, it being very fine
and cold, and moonshine afterward—mighty pleasant passage it was." There,
I eat a cake or two, and then I'm home by 10 or 11 p.m., and then I'm off to
bed... “I've never had such a good time... as I've had this plague-season.”
Deptford, which had a shipyard, was located on the
other side of a small creek from Greenwich. Pepys also visited the Navy Board
as clerk, inspecting wire, lumber, and canvas, digging about in stores,
examining fire hazards, and arranging contracts, leases, and surveys. The City
of London, the courts of Charles II and his admiral brother, the Duke of York,
and the scientific culture of the Royal Society must have seemed a world away
from this setting. With the clamour of hammers on wood or anvil, the killed-pig
squeal of saws, the endless yells of men, and the mingled smells of sweat,
pitch, raw wood, and baked cordage, there was a pandemonium of movement. Teams
of smiths, carpenters, sailmakers, ropemakers, gunfounders, powder makers, and
other skilled workers were led by skilled men. Then there were the victualers,
who brought in food, beer, and other necessities. A demi-world of parasites and
thieves moved around the purlieus of the dockyard. Pepys could also find his
mistress, whom he invariably refers to as “Bagwell's wife,” William Bagwell
being a ship's carpenter for whom he had received preferment; the Bagwells had
put on a dinner for the great man, as best they could, after which Pepys sent
Bagwell off on an errand and... The rest, however, is not suitable for the
#MeToo generation's consumption. Pepys was infertile but not impotent, possibly
as a result of the bladder stone procedure.
It was just a short distance from Deptford or
Woolwich yard to Greenwich for Pepys, or vice versa. He would go there for a
particular purpose, such as when a warship or, more often, one of the King's
yachts is moored there. However, he seems to have simply enjoyed the stroll. timber merchants kent
He found it “very nice along the green corne and peas” in the spring of 1663.
On one occasion (on April 22, 1664) he rose at 4 a.m., left Seething Lane,
travelled by river to Greenwich, and “walked with great pleasure to Woolwich,
in my way staying many times to listen to the nightingales,” in the cool and
mist of the early morning. It wasn't just fun and games all the time. He'd
always take a stout companion with him at night, who would bear a blazing link
or a lantern. In May 1663, when returning to Greenwich after inspecting the
Royal James, he was “set upon by a great dog, who got hold of my garters and
would have done me harm”; he had been too flustered to use the sword he was
carrying.
Greenwich provided Pepys with music in different
formats, which he enjoyed. On August 21, 1663, “we had paltry musique before
the Maister Organist came... And he did give me a fine voluntary or two,”
according to the “Musique-house.” During his stay in Greenwich during the
Plague, he went to St Alfege church, hoping to be near those members of the
congregation who had a reputation for having strong voices. (When he was
prevented from doing so on December 3 by being invited into Colonel Cleggatt's
pew, he was compensated by being able to ogle a "rich merchant's lady, a
very noble woman" whom he describes as "my fat brown beauty of our
parish.") And his barber in Greenwich, who played the violin and was in
high demand for dancing, was a violinist. Mrs. Pepys's fondness for dancing had
bothered Pepys when it first appeared, but he was willing to indulge in it for
the sake of "mirth"—at his own expense. Though it must be said that
one of the benefits of Greenwich during the Plague for Pepys was that his
jealous wife Elizabeth was not present, as she had retired to Woolwich rather than
Greenwich. Pepys's need for hilarity was unrestricted.
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