Amongst the illustrious victims of this universal sacrifice were the celebrated Laura of Avignon and the historian Giovanni Villani of Florence. The latter, says Sismondi (and his words will suit all subsequent, as they are the echo of all antecedent writers), “was the most expert, faithful, elegant, and animated historian that Italy had yet produced: we have made habitual use of his history during more than half a century with that confidence which is due to a judicious contemporary author who had himself taken part in public affairs.” Villani was in fact much more than a mere historian, and like almost all Florentines became both merchant and politician; he travelled into France and the Netherlands, was several times in the seigniory, superintended the building of the present walls, directed the mint, and filled other high offices in the commonwealth. He served also against Castruccio, was one of the hostages delivered to Mastino della Scala, and spent a long life in public and private activity; but finally, ruined by the failure of the Bonaccorsi with whom he was in partnership, his latter days were apparently unhappy and he died amidst the misfortunes of his country. Sickness gave way before the August sun, and all that remained of the Florentine people were free from disease at the new seigniory’s inauguration on the 1st of September, but what the remnant was we are not told; so small however that poverty disappeared, and riches abounded in consequence of accumulated inheritances. Yet instead, as some expected, of men’s hearts being softened and subdued and penitent, and turned to religion and virtue and moderation by so awful a catastrophe, Florence immediately became a theatre of luxury, riot, and debauchery. As if the hand of God were tired, and death was swallowed up in victory, feasting, taverns, and every kind of licentious revel occupied the people; both sexes, high and low, with new and fanciful attire, but more especially the latter, flaunted through the streets bedizened like players in the rich garments of illustrious families, all now extirpated. And as if these saturnalia were to be everlasting, few labourers would return to agriculture, fewer still to trade, and those few insisted on exorbitant remuneration. Unbounded pride and heartless prodigality were everywhere triumphant; the hand of death had removed the burden of poverty; the departure of death had removed the weight of terror, and the rebound was startling. With feelings numbed, and passions free, no wish was too vicious to indulge, no idea too strange for belief.