The Black Death in Medieval English Literature
Okay, so here's one of the more unpleasant episodes of the Medieval Period: the Black Plague. People back then also referred to it as the Great Mortality or, even more bluntly, the Pestilence. This horrific sickness first swept through England and other areas of Europe around 1348-1349, and it spread through the population faster than the Gangnam Style craze.
Since you can't WebMD it, we'll tell you a tiny bit of what the Plague did to its human hosts. People would get these huge lesions on their necks and groins, which would start out red and then darken to black. Pretty gross, right?
Then, well. They'd die. And quickly. Usually within about six days, in fact.
And since the medieval period wasn't particularly known for its high-tech medical advancements, people thought they were suffering the wrath of God for their sins. Lucky for us, medical science has advanced tremendously since then. But if you think that makes us modern folks smarter and more immune than our medieval counterparts to the fear that a fast-spreading disease might take us out, then you just haven't watched enough zombie movies.
The Black Plague didn't even have the decency to say bye-bye after it wiped out so much of Europe back in the 14th century. There were subsequent waves in later years. None were as devastating as the O.G. Pestilence, however. It was said that about 30,000 of London's 70,000 people died during the 1348-49 outbreak.
Not surprisingly, the death of so many people had long-lasting effects on society. One result was a greater feeling of anxiety among the people. Well, duh. Also, there was a sort of employment vacuum created by the disappearance of so many peasants.
Suddenly, the rich and powerful didn't have enough workers to grind their grain. Or make their bread. Or fluff their pillows. Or dress them in the latest frou frou fashions. (Single tear.)
As a result, workers were able to demand higher wages from landowners and noblemen. So some peasants started to make some serious bank, and the previously distinct lines between the classes started to blur a bit. As you might've guessed, the 1% didn't really care for that at all.
Enter: the Sumptuary Laws. These fun laws dictated just who was allowed to wear certain swank fabrics and even some particular colors, and who was not. The ruling class needed some way to make sure that the lady sauntering down the street clad in fine puce velvet was from the right family, and not just a commoner. (The horror.)
Man, those laws really took the idea of "the fashion police" to a whole new level.
Anyway, don't expect many medieval texts to jump up and down and tell you outright that they're talking about the plague. Most won't. And really, we hope your books don't jump up and down, because then we might have to seriously recommend that you see someone about that.
Instead, medieval authors deal with the Black Death in more subtle ways. Like by examining its effects, including an increase in social mobility (see Chaucer's Franklin, for example). Oh, and by delving head-long into a general anxiety about the frailty of the human body. Oh, mortality—that old friend.
Chew on This
Sometimes references to the plague pop up in the most unlikely of places. Take, for instance, Chaucer's Cook. While he can whip up a mean stewed chicken and a delicious spicy tart, he has a very unappetizingly oozy sore on his shin, called a "mormal." Its pus is reminiscent of the "buboes" of the Black Death. Why might Chaucer use a Cook as a scapegoat for spreading diseases or illness? You might want to take a look at the Cook's Prologue to get those wheels a-turnin'.
A lot of medieval texts take up the issue of the Black Death by tackling people's general anxiety relating to death. And by focusing on just how frail our human bodies are. Take a gander at our "Quotation 5" from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. How might fear of the Plague relate to Gawain's general discomfort in the natural world?