What if a seemingly ordinary wooden tray could tell the story of a society’s rebirth after one of the deadliest epidemics in history? “In the year of our Lord 1348, there happened at Florence, the finest city in all Italy, a most terrible plague…” So starts Boccaccio’s Decameron, one of the most celebrated texts in medieval literature. The Decameron tells us much about the plague, which came to be known as the Black Death. It’s hard to estimate how many people died, but the epidemic is believed to have killed between 30 to 50% of the entire population of Europe, so between 75 and 200 million people in just a few years. In the Italian peninsula, around half of the population died. The city of Florence was particularly hit – the disease was even known as ‘the plague of Florence’. According to Boccaccio, 100,000 people died, leaving the city devastated. The Decameron is many things, including a fabulous read and the basis for Netflix’s very creative series, but it is also a story of renewal, recreation, and resilience. It’s full of life. And, following the catastrophic plague, that’s just what was needed in Europe, and especially in Tuscany. Families and communities needed to rebuild themselves and what better way than by creating new life? Let’s talk about one of the ways motherhood was encouraged, through the art of childbirth.
(This text was largely inspired by the incredible ‘The Art and Ritual of Childbirth in Renaissance Italy’ by Jacqueline Marie Musacchio – if you’re interested in the history of childbirth, I highly recommend it! Make sure to check out the references below for this and other reading recommendations.)
Part 1: The Black Death and the Dangers of Childbirth
It’s hard to imagine just how frightening the plague must have been for those experiencing it in the 14th century. Boccaccio wrote: “And against this pestilence, no human wisdom or foresight was of any avail… This pestilence was so powerful that it was communicated to the healthy by contact with the sick…” Yet according to him, the plague had been caused either by malignant celestial influences – the astrological explanation – or by God himself, as divine punishment for society’s immorality. In any case, the plague caused a demographic crisis. In the late 1330s, Florence had around 120,000 inhabitants. A century later, that number was closer to 37,000.
Unsurprisingly, post-plague society, especially in the hard-hit areas of Tuscany, needed to rebuild itself. There was this civic sense that the community needed to be renewed. At a personal and familial level, there was a sense that the lineage should be continued. Childbirth in particular needed to be encouraged. In an ideal world, both mother and child would survive the birth and thrive afterwards. But, of course, in reality, childbirth was dangerous, and it was seen as women’s burden. In a 1427 sermon, San Bernardino told husbands they needed to help their wives:
‘When she is pregnant, she has toil in her pregnancy; she has toil in giving birth to the children; she has toil in governing them, in rearing them, and also she has toil in governing the husband, when he is in need and ill: she endures toil in governing all the house. And therefore, as you see that in every way she endures toil, so you, husband… make sure that you help her bear her toil. When she is pregnant or in childbirth, help her in whatever you can, since that is your child.’
But what could husbands do, really? Between unsanitary conditions, poor health and nutrition, and less-than-ideal medical knowledge (even if many midwives were highly skilled), childbirth was a very dangerous time for women. And, because there were virtually no reliable contraceptives (and even if there had been their use would have been very problematic), and because many families employed wet nurses, meaning that wives’ fertility could return quickly after giving birth, that all made pregnancies very frequent for women in their childbearing years. But maternal mortality was high, and infant mortality, even more so. Being wealthy might afford you better treatment, but you were still in danger. Lucrezia Borgia, Giovanna de’ Medici, Beatrice d’Este, Maddalena de’ Medici all died giving birth or quickly thereafter.
And yet, in the Italian Renaissance, large families were seen as critical for financial and dynastic security, especially after the first outbreaks of the plague. Having children was the main goal of marriage, it was a marital and familial expectation, but people were also aware of the high risks that came with it. So, many husbands offered their wives objects related to childbirth, as an assurance that everything would work out well. So did family members and female friends, who would be highly involved in the process. There were many ways to reassure women and help facilitate childbirth, from herbal remedies to experienced midwives, using relics or amulets, and, of course, praying. But that’s not all. During this period, childbirth was encouraged, it was celebrated, and that included many objects, such as birth trays. These objects could act as mediators between the real and risky world of childbirth and the ideal world, in which mother and baby were celebrated, and society regained balance. Remember, after the initial outbreak in 1348, the plague returned more than a dozen times in the next two centuries – it was an ever-present threat looming over people. No wonder then that family and procreation were so central to Renaissance Italy. Enter these fascinating birth trays, a humble-sounding everyday object that played a key role in portraying childbirth as something positive and festive, and confinement as a time when mothers were pampered and taken care of, recovering in beautiful and luxurious surroundings.
Part 2: Birth Trays Everywhere
Birth trays were made of wood, measuring around 50 or 60 cm in diameter. They came in all kinds of shapes: squares or circles, with 8, 12 or 16 sides, and they were usually painted with egg tempera and sometimes, if your budget allowed it, gilded with silver or gold – and most of these trays can be attributed to Tuscan artists. They were usually painted both in the front and the back, often with birth or confinement scenes, which I’ll talk more about in a bit. Besides being decorative, they were utilitarian objects, and they were used to bring food to the newly-delivered mother and her attendants. But that’s not all. Some of them even had game boards on the back, so they could be useful for entertaining the new mother and her guests during the lying-in period – and, afterwards too. Of course, none of that was strictly needed. You could use any tray to carry nourishment, and you could serve food and drinks in any bowls. But most women would have been provided with objects specific for this occasion, celebrating childbirth. I mean, nearly half of the households in this period would have had at least one tray like this – so it’s no wonder that so many of them have survived to our days. These wooden trays could be kept in the antecamera, the chamber next to the bedroom, the camera, so that they were ready for use. Ceramic wares depicting childbirth were also popular, but let’s stick with the trays for today.
So, when women married, their property was usually absorbed into their husbands’ estate, so virtually all objects belonged to him. But these trays, even if they were the men’s property, kept their close association with the all-female world of childbirth. Some of these trays were permanent accessories in the house, others were bought and resold when there was a birth. They were mentioned in private writings – things like letters and household inventories – and they appear in paintings of the time, usually when the birth of the Virgin of St John the Baptist was depicted. Plus the trays themselves depict birth trays, highlighting how widespread their use was. These trays appear in Renaissance documents as ‘deschi da parto’, literally trays for childbirth, and they were especially popular in northern and central Italy, areas like Tuscany, from the late 14th century until the early 17th century.
This was a time in which population numbers started to shift, growing slowly but steadily, since the decimation caused by the plague. City-states in Italy saw an expansion of artisanal industries, an increase in income among urban middle-classes and a rise in the demand for domestic and imported goods. Not everyone was living comfortably, but for many this was a wealthy society with some social mobility, and people placed a lot of importance on appearances. This was a time for patronage, and there was a big market for art – not just monumental or religious art – but ‘domestic’ art. Renaissance people wouldn’t necessarily have made a distinction here, and functional domestic objects should be aesthetically pleasing, too. Coming back to birth trays, many of which survive to this day, they combined utility and beauty with the hopeful message that everything would be ok. These trays invoked good health and successful childbirth. And they are arguably the best-known objects associated with childbirth in this period.
Of course, not everyone had the same budget. But these trays were common to families across the social spectrum, from the wonderfully ornamented trays the Medici family had to less elaborate ones accessible to less well-off people. These trays were available in a variety of prices, making them accessible to most people. Plus, they could be borrowed or bought second-hand, gifted by husbands, family or friends. In fact, many of these trays were made in workshops as ready-to-buy objects. Once you made your purchase, you could always personalise the tray with your family’s name or coat of arms. You could add detachable legs to the trays, making them similar to butler’s tables and adding another way to use them. Plus, once the lying-in or confinement period was finished, you could hang the trays on the walls to decorate your house – the backs were usually not as elaborate as the front of the trays and they sometimes had hooks precisely for hanging them. So, these birth trays symbolised hope, recovery, comfort, and the continuation of the family. They embodied societal values, art, and function. And, because of how varied they could be, they were a collective cultural practice, from the Medici family to your average washerwoman. And I think that’s fascinating.
Part 3: A Female Community
We’re talking about a period in which childbirth was still very much a female-centred event. It was the domain of women, and it was more of a social than a medical event, conducted by the midwife and her assistants, but involving female friends and family members. And you can see that represented in these birth trays. There’s a sense of calm and kinship between women. One of them offers the new mother nourishment, another one warms the bands to swaddle the baby while yet another bathes it. There’s a feeling of kindness, of warmth, of women being patient and working together. Of course, I’m not saying that’s how childbirth always was! We know much less about what happened in birth chambers at the time than we would like, as women left few records. (By the way, if you’re interested in the history of childbirth, you should check out my video on this, though in that one I focus more on England, but it should work as a good introduction.)
It’s likely that most birth trays painters were men, and so they probably never witnessed the very scene they were depicting. That might explain why confinement, and post-partum scenes are more common than actual birth scenes. Plus, it’s a much more soothing image. The worst has passed and all is calm. Painters could have used images from popular books, such as midwifery manuals, but they would also have found inspiration in traditional religious art, especially the birth of Mary.
These biblical episodes tended to be depicted in churches in an aspirational, luxurious style – and very much following Renaissance fashion, bringing religion closer to what people knew yet keeping it aspirational. Someone seeing this kind of painting might have associated the familiarity of the furnishings with their own experiences, while also associating the ideas of affluence and comfort with calm, sacred scenes. And Mary was the ultimate model for mothers. In the domestic world, birth trays fulfilled that role; childbirth wasn’t just sacred, but it was festive – in one tray, there’s even a harpist playing music to the women. The confinement scenes are full of friends and even family pets. So birth trays fulfilled a didactic role, teaching women about their expected gender roles, all while making childbirth aspirational. It’s no coincidence that on many of these trays, healthy and chubby babies are depicted: they’re the ultimate goal. And, because they’re naked, we can tell they’re boys, fulfilling the promise of an heir. And, in case we didn’t know how precious they were, they were usually painted with coral necklaces and amulets – which were believed to ward off evil and, later, when the baby was older, they would be used as teethers.
There’s a lot of fantasy here in terms of what having children was really like. For instance, let’s take the lying-in period, when the woman would remain in bed recovering from birth. Her friends and family would visit her, bringing her gifts and special foods, such as sweetmeats. They would be served white wines, such as trebbiano, plus eggs and poultry (and you can see these foods painted in the trays). According to Michele Savonarola, a court physician in Ferrara, poultry was nutritious and easier to digest than red meats, making it ideal for new mothers. But, of course, you also needed plenty of food and drinks for your guests, and these trays give a sense of abundance – these were ‘necessary’ expenses. The new mother would receive gifts, such as goblets. Her friends and family would keep the new mother company, talk (that’s where the whole ‘gossip’ thing comes from, remember), and play games. The level of luxury would vary according to social class. You might be served a nourishing soup from a simple bowl on a humble tray, or you might have an elaborate maiolica bowl and a gilded tray painted by a well-known artist. In any case, the scenes in these trays depict a domestic, private, feminine sphere – this was the world of women. It’s the complete opposite of the public, masculine, male-centred ritual of baptism – and remember that mothers wouldn’t usually attend the baptism of their babies. They would remain at home, attended to by other women.
The idea behind these scenes is the same: you, as the mother, are comfortable and taken care of by other women. The reason why in these trays the interiors tend to be so luxurious and comfortable is perhaps to make the idea of giving birth more tempting. The richness of the material culture, of the objects associated with childbirth in this period highlights how important childbirth was for Renaissance families, many of which had been decimated by the plague I’m focusing on trays here, but there were also maiolica bowls to serve food, often painted with birth-related images, plus special sheets, pillows, tables, birthing chairs, and special clothing for mother (these were often designated as ‘da parto’ so, for the period of childbirth). The baby would also receive special clothing, and perhaps a coral necklace, to commemorate and celebrate the event – not to mention things like religious relics, amulets, and talismans, to encourage and protect the mother and honour the event. (By the way, I made a video recently about one of my favourite childbirth amulets, eaglestones – you should check it out if you’re interested in the history of childbirth!) In any case, sympathetic magic, prayer, and herbal remedies were a key part of giving birth.
Again, all this makes sense when you think of the plague ever-present specter of death, and the social, cultural and psychological implications that would have had. Plus, people knew how risky childbirth was: at least a fifth of the recorded deaths of married women of childbearing age in early 15th-century Florence had to do with having children, whether as a result from a miscarriage, during birth itself, or in the postpartum period. Think of how different having objects like these birth trays would be compared to today. You’d probably wear maternity clothes, sure, and you’d buy clothes and other things for your baby, but most of us wouldn’t have special furniture and textiles for the occasion. Other than a maternity or breastfeeding pillows perhaps. We would just use what we already have. But not Renaissance women. And perhaps, at a time in which giving birth was much more dangerous, these objects played a role of offering protection, a sense of safety and security, real or imagined, and who wouldn’t want that?!
There’s also something else. Childbirth was central to the family, sure, but it was also crucial to female identity. Men had many potential social, political and economic roles to play. For women, the choice was much more limited. Being a wife and a mother was the main path for Renaissance women. And the transition from maid to wife and then to mother was marked by objects. Marriage chests celebrating weddings were incredibly popular, for instance. As for birth trays, they could be part of a woman’s dowry, they could be bought when she fell pregnant, or they could be lent or gifted by friends and family. They could also be family heirlooms. In any case, besides offering psychological comfort, birth trays reinforced women’s role as mothers and literally depicted the vital role female networks and support systems had during the process of having children.
Part 4: Childbirth Art
Take a look at this birth tray, by Masaccio one of the most influential Renaissance painters. You can see trumpeters celebrating the occasion – notice the Florentine lily and the classical surroundings. They’re announcing a group of richly dressed women arriving – matrons and nuns. Inside the room, female attendants care for the newly-delivered mother, who’s relaxing on a luxurious bed and wearing an expensive cap. The baby is swaddled tightly (and wearing a coral necklace), there are frescoes and expensive fabrics decorating the room. A servant brings a birth tray – so this is a birth tray depicting a birth tray, creating a meta-narrative. And, funnily enough, many birth trays did depict birth trays, indicating how popular they were. Again, many of these trays show postpartum confinement scenes rather than birth itself, which makes sense if you’re looking for a sense of calm. It’s implied that everything worked as it should. The birth went well, everyone is safe: the mother is happy and relaxed, and the baby is thriving. They’re cared for, the room is luxurious and comfortable. Notice how similar this scene is when you compare it to the birth of the Virgin or St John the Baptist. There’s little distinction in this period between monumental, public, religious art and domestic art, although that would change later. Many of these objects, associated with the feminine, domestic sphere, were later perceived as less prestigious, while monumental art only gained in terms of status. In Renaissance Italy though, things were not that clear. I made a video a while back about Isabella d’Este, one of my favourite people from this period, and how she basically used artists like Leonardo Da Vinci as her personal shoppers – so go check that out later. Plus, the tray I was just described was painted by Masaccio, the ‘inventor’ of linear perspective. But things change. his is one of the reasons why you might not have heard of these trays before – although many historians have been trying to counteract that. (As always, make sure you check out the reading recommendations if you’d like to learn more.)
Now, not all birth trays depicted this kind of scene. Many of them depicted mythological scenes or passages from literature. Which brings me to the Medici-Tornabuoni tray, which is probably the most extravagant one to survive. Just to give you an idea, ‘cheap’ birth trays costed around 10 soldi, which was roughly a day’s wages for a worker at the time. But expensive ones could be up to 3 florins or even more – and one florin was around 70 to 100 scudi, depending on the time. In the case of this tray, it was made to celebrate the birth of Lorenzo di Piero de’ Medici, who ruled Florence in the late 15th century, and it shows the Triumph of Fame, based on the popular works by Boccaccio and Petrarch. This tray is exquisitely painted with vibrant colours, plus gold and silver leaf. It’s bigger than most trays and the linear perspective was clearly very well done. When Lorenzo died, at 43 years old, the tray was still hanging in his bedroom. After his death, it remained in the family for future generations – and his estate included 3 other birth trays and 4 special vests for mothers to wear during their lying-in period. This was as luxurious as childbirth could get.
So, besides highlighting a sense of lineage and continuity, and showcasing the convivial aspect of childbirth, these trays showcased the family’s wealth and rank. In a patriarchal society that prized the continuation of lineage, there was without a doubt a civic interest in promoting motherhood. Religion only added to this. I mean, Fra Cherubino’s writings about the value of having children were often given as gifts to young wives, to encourage them to have children. In the case of birth trays, they conveyed hope, continuity and status.
Final Thoughts
In the late 16th and early 17th centuries, population levels finally began to climb again in Tuscany, after many recurrences of the plague. This is also the time when birth trays start losing popularity. Weirdly, they were briefly revived in the 1930s by Mussolini’s fascist regime. There was an idea of returning to Renaissance ideals in general, but I find it very telling that these objects would be revived as well to push this pro-natalist agenda.
Similarly to what had happened in the Renaissance, these objects were used as a symbol to encourage women to become mothers. But, despite the regime’s attempts at pro-natalist propaganda through these objects, it didn’t catch on. Today, there are many rituals and objects to celebrate giving birth across the globe, including things like ‘push presents’. Although, in the case of push presents, they seem to me to be very much about the mother as an individual, whereas birth trays focused on the family and the female networks surrounding the new mother. Birth trays reflected their context; they were a product of a society raged by the plague and a culture in which women’s roles were very limited. They were useful before, during and mainly after birth, and they were of course beautiful objects. Their popularity can be explained by an emphasis on family and lineage, combined with the enormous risks that came with having children, and the drastic drop in population due to the plague.
By encouraging and celebrating childbirth, these objects reflect how vitally important childbirth was while acknowledging its dangers. And how this was an event affecting the family and society at large. They symbolised hope, resilience, and even the collective effort to rebuild. These trays were key in building family identity and cementing communities. But they also remind us how resilient human beings can be. And, to me, the most moving thing about these objects is how they show women being supported by other women. They depict this intimate connection between women, celebrating their rituals and traditions. I think there’s much we can learn from these birth trays. Not least of which is – if you’re visiting someone who just gave birth, bring a gift fir the baby, sure, but don’t forget about the mum. Bring her something for herself. Extra points if it’s food. After giving birth, who wouldn’t want to be offered sweets on a beautiful tray?
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Primary Sources
Leon Battista Alberti, Della Famiglia (c. 1430).
Giovanni Boccaccio, Decameron (1353).
Cherubino da Siena, Regole della vita matrimoniale (1493).
Giovanni Dominici, Regola del governo di cura familiare (1403).
Scipione Mercurio, La comare o ricoglitrice (1597).
Michele Savonarola, Il trattato ginecologico-pediatrico in volgare (c. 1460).
Trotula, Sulle malattie delle donne (1547).
References
Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy (1989).
Peter Burke, The Historical Anthropology of Early Modern Italy (1987).
Ellen Callmann, Beyond Nobility: Art for the Private Citizen in the Early Renaissance (1980).
Cecilia de Carli, I deschi da parto e la pittura del primo rinascimento toscano (1997).
Mary Eileen Fitzgerald, Deschi da Parto: Florentine Birth Trays of the Quattrocento (1986).
Richard Goldthwaite, The Economy of Renaissance Florence (2009).
Lisa Jardine, Worldly Goods (1996).
Christiane Klapish-Zuber, Women, Family, and Ritual in Renaissance Florence (1985).
Jacqueline Marie Musacchio, The Art and Ritual of Childbirth in Renaissance Italy (1999).
Evelyn Welch, Shopping in the Renaissance (2005).
