I n the midst of the epidemic and in flagrant defiance of public health decrees, armed men, women, and children from several rural towns gathered with a priest to worship in their church. These events could have taken place almost anywhere in the United States in the spring of 2020, as I wrote this essay, but I drew this particular account from Carlo Cipolla's description of the 1630-1633 outbreak of plague in the village of Montelupo, a fortressed town in the Tuscan hills less than twenty miles east of Florence. The collision of the past I study and the present I am living has been resounding. 1 Rereading Cipolla's classic accounts of plague and public health during the COVID-19 pandemic, I am struck by the repetition of plots and characters across the volumes. There are differences across these texts, and from these different emphases we can trace Cipolla's evolving interest in economics, charity, religion, and public health. 2 But structurally the books all follow the same formula, tracing the events of the 1630 plague epidemic in small cities and towns in the Tuscan countryside. The heroes, in Cipolla's eyes, are beleaguered bureaucrats, working to enforce public health measures-such as quarantines, curfews, and the removal of relatives to lazarettos-that no one in the civilian population ever seems to want. The main characters in Cipolla's books-Cristofano, Father Dragoni, and Signor Vettori-face a range of challenges particular to their communities, but the three men are cut from the same cloth-or, rather, drawn from the same archival material: account books, letters to magistrates, and public health decrees.The people Cipolla's heroes are set on controlling-or on saving, depending on one's perspective-also respond in ways that are similar both across his texts and even into our own moment. Whether from Prato, Montelupo, or Pistoia, when faced with plague and the measures to try to control it these citizens, the vast majority of whom lived hand to mouth, invariably