It is fifty years to the day since the flood of Florence destroyed thousands, many thousands of works of art. The river Arno was not responsible, we were.
The cellars of Florence in particular where inundated, where the little shops of all things dear were, and treasures were be be found.
Dr George Venturini’s memories of Florence are captured in “MIRRORS – Stories of almost everyone” by Eduardo Galeano (Nation Books, New York 2009). A book of mini-lessons, observations, and pearls. All of them and more, wrapped in one. 5.000 years of history in less than 400 pages.
“One of them” writes Dr Venturini, “is sculpted in my mind”:
ARNO
Nature had not yet been committed to the insane asylum, but it already suffered from periodic nervous breakdowns that warned of things to come.
At the end of 1966, the Arno River’s dream of having a flood all its own came true, and the city of Florence faced the worst inundation in its entire history. In a single day, Florence lost more than it had in all the bombing of the Second World War.
Soon after, Florentines knee-deep in mud set to rescuing whatever mght have survived the shipwreck. There they were, men and women, dripping wet, working, cursing the Arno and all its relatives, when a long truck came barreling past.
The truck carried an enormous body mortally wounded by the flood: the head bounced along over the rear wheels and a broken arm hung over the side.
As the wooden giant passed, men and women put aside their shovels and pails, uncovered their heads, crossed themselves. And in silence they watched it disappear from view.
He too was a son of the city of Florence.
The Jesus crucified, Jesus broken, had been born here seven centuries ago from the hand of Giovanni Cimabue, teacher of Giotto.
