Allegories; Frame stories; Plague -- Europe -- History -- Fiction; Storytelling -- Fiction
As consecrated ground there was not in extent sufficient to provide tombs
for the vast multitude of corpses which day and night, and almost every
hour, were brought in eager haste to the churches for interment, least of
all, if ancient custom were to be observed and a separate resting-place
assigned to each, they dug, for each graveyard, as soon as it was full, a
huge trench, in which they laid the corpses as they arrived by hundreds at a
time, piling them up as merchandise is stowed in the hold of a ship, tier
upon tier, each covered with a little earth, until the trench would hold no
more. But I spare to rehearse with minute particularity each of the woes
that came upon our city, and say in brief, that, harsh as was the tenor of
her fortunes, the surrounding country knew no mitigation, for there--not to
speak of the castles, each, as it were, a little city in itself--in
sequestered village, or on the open champaign, by the wayside, on the farm,
in the homestead, the poor hapless husbandmen and their families, forlorn of
physicians' care or servants' tendance, perished day and night alike, not as
men, but rather as beasts. Wherefore, they too, like the citizens, abandoned
all rule of life, all habit of industry, all counsel of prudence; nay, one
and all, as if expecting each day to be their last, not merely ceased to aid
Nature to yield her fruit in due season of their beasts and their lands and
their past labours, but left no means unused, which ingenuity could devise,
to waste their accumulated store; denying shelter to their oxen, asses,
sheep, goats, pigs, fowls, nay, even to their dogs, man's most faithful
companions, and driving them out into the fields to roam at large amid the
unsheaved, nay, unreaped corn. Many of which, as if endowed with reason,
took their fill during the day, and returned home at night without any
guidance of herdsman. But enough of the country! What need we add, but
(reverting to the city) that such and so grievous was the harshness of
heaven, and perhaps in some degree of man, that, what with the fury of the
pestilence, the panic of those whom it spared, and their consequent neglect
or desertion of not a few of the stricken in their need, it is believed
without any manner of doubt, that between March and the ensuing July upwards
of a hundred thousand human beings lost their lives within the walls of the
city of Florence, which before the deadly visitation would not have been
supposed to contain so many people! How many grand palaces, how many stately
homes, how many splendid residences, once full of retainers, of lords, of
ladies, were now left desolate of all, even to the meanest servant! How many
families of historic fame, of vast ancestral domains, and wealth proverbial,
found now no scion to continue the succession! How many brave men, how many
fair ladies, how many gallant youths, whom any physician, were he Galen,
Hippocrates, or Aesculapius himself, would have pronounced in the soundest
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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