The Black Plague in Florence 1348

The Black Plague in Florence 1348

Western Civilization & the World 1

An Essay

Page 1.

I am a lawyer living in Florence. The year is 1348. I am writing this

chronicle for my friend, Marchione di Coppo Stefani, as a strange and mysterious

plague of unprecedented proportion leaves many of our citizens dead within a

matter of days. I want to leave this as a legacy for those who may survive, as

I have no assurance that this dreadful disease will not claim me as it has so

many other good citizens of our city.

I have only been able to survive so far by confining myself to my

home. My rations to sustain me are few, and I am afraid that the water

and air outside is poisoned with what our citizens are calling the

"Pestilence". Many from here have fled, only to find that the plague moved

behind them, almost as it was following in their footsteps. Those who fled to

the countryside have fallen victim to the disease, there is no place far

enough to run, and no place safe to hide. What is to become of us?

People beg me to come out and write wills for the dying, but there is

nothing left untainted that is of any value to those who survive. It is best

to burn and destroy what they have, than to leave this plague as a testament.

So quick is this plague to destroy, that my friend in a letter to me

stated that many of his acquaintances: "ate lunch with their friends and

had dinner with their ancestors in paradise."

No natural disaster to date has rivaled this pestilence in death

toll- no earthquake, nor lightening, nor strong winds - there seems no

way to stop it and I am concerned that the end of humanity is near.

The Medici family, the richest of the founding families, who for

centuries wrested control away from the papacy is convinced that this

is retribution for challenging the church. Our God could not be so

cruel, many see this as a work of the devil himself. Caesar and his army

would not have been able to drive this plague from our midst, so

ruthless in it's taking of entire families, not pausing to differentiate

rich from poor.

Our wonderful city of Florence, so rich in the best that art and

architecture has to offer, stands eerily silent. For the last hundred

years, Florence has flourished. It's reputation attracted many artists,

doctors, apothecaries, judges, lawyers and bankers who built lavish

homes and enjoyed a lifestyle of wealth. Many great undertakings grew

out of this wealth, great churches, palaces, the transformation of the

watch towers into tower houses- all indicate the commitment to

Florence made by its citizenry. Citizens resided in resplendent

buildings on city streets with regal names like Borgo degli Albizi,

Santi Apostoli, and Via dei Cimatori.

Rumor had it that this pestilence came to Florence via Messina in

Sicily. Boats docking at the harbor there carried passengers and crew who

were sick or dying. Anyone who came near the boats or passengers would

become sick within a day. A physician friend of mine described the

symptoms of the sick to me as follows: coughing, followed by severe

vomiting, and in the later stages, blood spewed from buboes behind the

knee caps and under the armpits, and dried blood under the skin turned black.

He confided that he was helpless to stop the progression of this

illness, although he was offered many times his worth to cure desperately

ill victims.

As this plague spread, many cities and towns were left empty. To stem

the spread, the sick were often buried alive in mass trenches along with

the rotting corpses of the dead. Slowly, this disease crept along the

roads of Italy towards Florence.

The fury of this tempestuous plague has left no home in Florence

undisturbed. There is great fear since no one seems to know what to do.

Entire households are silenced, the dead lay inside undisturbed. Their

domestic animals faired no better. Dogs, cats, cattle, oxen and sheep have

had the same fate befall them.

No one will enter the homes to retrieve the dead. Many people were

abandoned in their beds, and could only watch from their windows as their

mothers and fathers, or husband and wives fled into the streets never to

return. During the night, the beccamorti, who are paid handsomely to bury

the