They
had not been there many days when the plague broke out at Athens for the first
time. A similar disorder is said to have previously smitten many places,
particularly Lemnos, but there is no record of such a pestilence occurring
elsewhere, or of so great a destruction of human life. For a while
physicians, in ignorance of the nature of the disease, sought to apply
remedies; but it was in vain, and they themselves were among the first
victims, because they oftenest came into contact with it. No human art was
of any avail, and as to supplications in temples, enquiries of oracles, and the
like, they were utterly useless, and at last men were overpowered by the
calamity and gave them all up.
The
disease is said to have begun south of Egypt in Aethiopia; thence it descended
into Egypt and Libya, and after spreading over the greater part of the
Persian empire, suddenly fell upon Athens. It first attacked the
inhabitants of the Piraeus, and it was supposed that the Peloponnesians had
poisoned the cisterns, no conduits having as yet been made there. It
afterwards reached the upper city, and then the mortality became far greater. As
to its probable origin or the causes which might or could have produced such a
disturbance of nature, every man, whether a physician or not, will give his own
opinion. But I shall describe its actual course, and the symptoms by which
any one who knows them beforehand may recognize the disorder should it ever
reappear. For I was myself attacked, and witnessed the sufferings of others.
The
season was admitted to have been remarkably free from ordinary sickness; and if
anybody was already ill of any other disease, it was absorbed in this. Many
who were in perfect health, all in a moment, and without any apparent reason,
were seized with violent heats in the head and with redness and inflammation of
the eyes. Internally the throat and the tongue were quickly suffused with
blood, and the breath became unnatural and fetid. There followed sneezing
and hoarseness; in a short time the disorder, accompanied by a violent
cough, reached the chest; then fastening lower down, it would move the stomach
and bring on all the vomits of bile to which physicians have ever given names;
and they were very distressing. An ineffectual retching producing violent
convulsions attacked most of the sufferers; some as soon as the previous
symptoms had abated, others not until long afterwards. The body externally
was not so very hot to the touch, nor yet pale; it was of a livid colour
inclining to red, and breaking out in pustules and ulcers. But the
internal fever was intense; the sufferers could not bear to have on them even
the finest linen garment; they insisted on being naked, and there was nothing
which they longed for more eagerly than to throw themselves into cold
water. And many of those who had no one to look after them actually
plunged into the cisterns, for they were tormented by unceasing thirst, which
was not in the least assuaged whether they drank little or much. They
could not sleep; a restlessness which was intolerable never left
them. While the disease was at its height the body, instead of wasting
away, held out amid these sufferings in a marvellous manner, and either they
died on the seventh or ninth day, not of weakness, for their strength was not
exhausted, but of internal fever, which was the end of most; or, if they
survived, then the disease descended into the bowels and there produced violent
ulceration; severe diarrhoea at the same time set in, and at a later stage
caused exhaustion, which finally with few exceptions carried them off. For
the disorder which had originally settled in the head passed gradually through
the whole body, and, if a person got over the worst, would often seize the
extremities and leave its mark, attacking the privy parts and the fingers and
the toes; and some escaped with the loss of these, some with the loss of
their eyes. Some again had no sooner recovered than they were seized with
a forgetfulness of all things and knew neither themselves nor their friends.
The
general character of the malady no words can describe, and the fury with which
it fastened upon each sufferer was too much for human nature to
endure. There was one circumstance in particular which distinguished it
from ordinary diseases. The birds and animals which feed on human flesh,
although so many bodies were lying unburied, either never came near them, or
died if they touched them. This was proved by a remarkable disappearance
of the birds of prey, which were not to be seen either about the bodies or
anywhere else; while in the case of the dogs the result was even more obvious,
because they live with man.
Such was
the general nature of the disease: I omit many strange peculiarities which
characterised individual cases. None of the ordinary sicknesses
attacked any one while it lasted, or, if they did, they ended in the
plague. Some of the sufferers died from want of care, others equally who
were receiving the greatest attention. No single remedy could be
deemed a specific; for that which did good to one did harm to another. No
constitution was of itself strong enough to resist or weak enough to escape the
attacks; the disease carried off all alike and defied every mode of
treatment. Most appalling was the despondency which seized upon any one who
felt himself sickening; for he instantly abandoned his mind to despair
and, instead of holding out, absolutely threw away his chance of
life. Appalling too was the rapidity with which men caught the
infection; dying like sheep if they attended on one another; and this was the
principal cause of mortality. When they were afraid to visit one another,
the sufferers died in their solitude, so that many houses were empty because
there had been no one left to take care of the sick; or if they ventured
they perished, especially those who aspired to heroism. For they went to
see their friends without thought of themselves and were ashamed to leave them,
at a time when the very relations of the dying were at last growing weary and
ceased even to make lamentations, overwhelmed by the vastness of the
calamity. But whatever instances there may have been of such
devotion, more often the sick and the dying were tended by the pitying care of
those who had recovered, because they knew the course of the disease and were themselves
free from apprehension. For no one was ever attacked a second time, or not
with a fatal result. All men congratulated them, and they themselves, in
the excess of their joy at the moment, had an innocent fancy that they could
not die of any other sickness.
The
crowding of the people out of the country into the city aggravated the misery;
and the newly-arrived
suffered most. For, having no houses of their own, but inhabiting in the
height of summer stifling huts, the mortality among them was dreadful, and they
perished in wild disorder. The dead lay as they had died, one upon
another, while others hardly alive wallowed in the streets and crawled
about every fountain craving for water. The temples in which they lodged
were full of the corpses of those who died in them; for the violence of
the calamity was such that men, not knowing where to turn, grew reckless of all
law, human and divine. The customs which had hitherto been observed
at funerals were universally violated, and they buried their dead each one as
best he could. Many, having no proper appliances, because the deaths
in their household had been so numerous already, lost all shame in the burial
of the dead. When one man had raised a funeral pile, others would come,
and throwing on their dead first, set fire to it; or when some other corpse was
already burning, before they could be stopped, would throw their own dead upon
it and depart.
There
were other and worse forms of lawlessness which the plague introduced at
Athens. Men who had hitherto concealed what they took pleasure in, now
grew bolder. For, seeing the sudden change,—how the rich died in a moment,
and those who had nothing immediately inherited their property,—they reflected
that life and riches were alike transitory, and they resolved to enjoy
themselves while they could, and to think only of pleasure. Who would be
willing to sacrifice himself to the law of honour when he knew not whether he
would ever live to be held in honour? The pleasure of the moment and any
sort of thing which conduced to it took the place both of honour and of
expediency. No fear of Gods or law of man deterred a criminal. Those
who saw all perishing alike, thought that the worship or neglect of the Gods
made no difference. For offences against human law no punishment was to be
feared; no one would live long enough to be called to account. Already a
far heavier sentence had been passed and was hanging over a man's head; before
that fell, why should he not take a little pleasure?
[1] Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian Wars, ed. Benjamin Jowett. Perseus
Digital Library. Tufts University. Book II, 47-53.
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