The Girard Reader (20 page)

destroyed by lightning. Men die in great numbers in the city where Guillaume lives (he

doesn't tell us its name). Some of these deaths are the result of the wickedness of the Jews

and their Christian accomplices. How did these people cause such huge losses among the

local population? They poisoned the rivers that provided the drinking water. Heaven-sent

justice righted these wrongs by making the evildoers known to the population, who

massacred them all. People continued to die in ever greater numbers, however, until one day

in spring when Guillaume heard music in the street and men and women laughing. All was

over, and courtly poetry could begin again.

Modern criticism, since its origin in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, has not relied

blindly on texts. Many scholars today believe their critical insight develops in proportion to

increasing skepticism. Texts that were formerly thought to contain real information are now

suspect because they have been constantly reinterpreted by successive generations of

historians. On the other hand, epistemologists and philosophers are experiencing an extreme

crisis, which is undermining what was once called historical science. Scholars who used to

sustain themselves on their texts now doubt the certainty of any interpretation.

At first glance, Guillaume de Machaut's text may seem susceptible to the prevailing

skepticism concerning historical certainty. But after some moments' reflection even

contemporary readers will find some real events among the unlikely occurrences of the story.

They will not believe in the signs in the sky or in the accusations against the Jews, but neither

will they treat all the unlikely themes in the same way, or put them on the same level.

Guillaume did not invent a single thing. He is credulous, admittedly, and he reflects the

hysteria of public opinion. The innumerable deaths he tallies are nonetheless real, caused

presumably by the famous Black Death, which ravaged the north of France in 1349 and 1350.

Similarly, the massacre of the Jews was real. In the eyes of the massacrers the deed was

justified by the rumors of poisoning in circulation everywhere. The universal fear of disease

gives sufficient weight to the rumors to unleash the massacres described. The following is the

passage from the
Judgment of the King of Navarre
that deals with the Jews:

After that came a false, treacherous and contemptible swine: this was shameful Israel, the

wicked and disloyal who hated good and loved everything evil, who gave so much gold and

silver and prom-

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ises to Christians, who then poisoned several rivers and fountains that had been clear and

pure so that many lost their lives; for whoever used them died suddenly. Certainly ten times

one hundred thousand died from it, in country and in city. Then finally this mortal calamity

was noticed.

He who sits on high and sees far, who governs and provides for everything did not want this

treachery to remain hidden; he revealed it and made it so generally known that they lost their

lives and possessions. Then every Jew was destroyed, some hanged, others burned; some

were drowned, others beheaded with an ax or sword. And many Christians died together with

them in shame
. 1.

Medieval communities were so afraid of the plague that the word alone was enough to

frighten them. They avoided mentioning it as long as possible and even avoided taking the

necessary precautions at the risk of aggravating the effects of the epidemic. So helpless were

they that telling the truth did not mean facing the situation but rather giving in to its

destructive consequences and relinquishing all semblance of normal life. The entire

population shared in this type of blindness. Their desperate desire to deny the evidence

contributed to their search for "scapegoats."
 2. L
a Fontaine, in
Animals Sickened by the
Plague
, gives an excellent description of this almost religious reluctance to articulate the

terrifying term and thereby unleash some sort of evil power on the community: The plague

(since it must be called by its name)
. . . . 3.

La Fontaine introduces us to the process of collective bad faith which recognizes the plague

as a divine punishment. The angry god is annoyed by a guilt that is not equally shared. To

avert the plague the guilty must be identified and punished, or rather, as La Fontaine writes,

"dedicated" to the god. The first to be interrogated in the fable are the beasts of prey, who describe their bestial behavior, which is immediately excused. Last comes the ass, the least

bloodthirsty of them all, and therefore the weakest and least protected. It is the ass that is

finally designated.

According to historians, in some cities Jews were massacred at the mere mention of the

plague being in the area, even before it had actually arrived. Guillaume's account could fit

this sort of phenomenon, because the massacre occurred well before the height of the

epidemic. But the number of deaths the author attributes to the Jews' poisoning suggests

another explanation. If the deaths are real -- and there is no reason to

____________________

1. Guillaume de Machaut,
Oeuvres
, "
Société des anciens textes français
", vol. 1,
Le jugement
du Roy de Navarre
( Paris: Ernest Hoeppfner, 1908), 144-45.

2. J.-N. Biraben,
Les Hommes et la peste en France et dans les pays européens et

mediterranéens
, 2 vols. ( Paris, The Hague: Mouton, 1975-76); Jean Delumeau,
La Peur

en Occident
( Paris: Fayard, 1978).

3. Jean La Fontaine,
Les Animaux malades de la peste
( Paris: Libraire Larousse, n.d.), book

7, no.1.

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think they are imagined -- they might well be the first victims of that same plague. But

Guillaume does not think so even in retrospect. In his eyes the traditional scapegoats remain

the cause of
the first stages of the epidemic
. Only in the later stages does the author recognize the presence of a properly pathological phenomenon. Ultimately, the disaster is so great that

it casts doubt on the likelihood of a single explanation of a conspiracy of poisoners, though

Guillaume does not then reinterpret the whole chain of events from a rational perspective.

In fact, we might well ask to what extent the poet recognizes the existence of the plague,

since he avoids writing the fatal word until the very end. At the climactic moment he

solemnly introduces the word of Greek origin,
epydimie
, which was uncommon at the time.

The word obviously does not function in his text in the same way as it would in ours; it is not

really a synonym for the dreaded word but rather a sort of euphemism, a new way of not

calling the plague by its name. It is in fact a new but purely linguistic scapegoat. Guillaume

tells us it was never possible to determine the nature and the cause of the disease from which

so many people died in such a short time:

Nor was there any physician or doctor who really knew the cause or origin, or what it was

(nor was there any remedy), yet this malady was so great that it was called an epidemic.

On this score Guillaume prefers to refer to public opinion rather than to think for himself.

The word
epydimie
in the fourteenth century had a certain scientific flavor which helped to

ward off anxiety, somewhat like the vapors of the fumigation carried out at street corners to

reduce the wave of pestilence. A disease with a name seems on the way to a cure, so

uncontrollable phenomena are frequently renamed to create the impression of control. Such

verbal exorcisms continue to appeal wherever science remains illusory or ineffective. By the

refusal to name it, the plague itself becomes "dedicated" to the god. This linguistic sacrifice is innocent compared with the human sacrifices that accompany or precede it, but its essential

structure is the same.

Even in retrospect, all the real and imaginary collective scapegoats, the Jews and the

flagellants, the rain of stones and the epydimie, continue to play such an effective role in

Guillaume's story that he never perceives in them the single entity that we call the "Black

Death." The author continues to see a number of more or less independent disasters, linked only by their religious significance, similar in a way to the ten plagues of Egypt.

Almost everything I have said so far is obvious. We all understand Guillaume's text in the

same way and my readers have no need of me. It is not useless, however, to insist on this

reading, of which the boldness and forcefulness elude us, precisely because it is accepted by

everyone

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and is uncontroversial. There has been agreement about it literally for centuries, all the more

remarkable in that it involves a radical reinterpretation. We reject without question the

meaning the author gives his text. We declare that he does not know what he is saying. From

our several centuries' distance we know better than he and can correct what he has written.

We even believe that we have discovered a truth not seen by the author and, with still greater

audacity, do not hesitate to state that he provides us with this truth even though he does not

perceive it himself.

What is the source of our amazing confidence in the statement that Jews were really

massacred? An answer comes immediately to mind. We are not reading this text in a vacuum.

Other texts exist from the same period; they deal with the same subjects; some of them are

more valuable than Guillaume's. Their authors are less credulous. They provide a tight

framework of historical knowledge in which Guillaume's text can be placed. Thanks to this

context, we can distinguish true from false in the passage quoted.

It is true that the facts about the anti-Semitic persecutions during the plague are quite well

known. There is an already recognized body of knowledge that arouses certain expectations

in us. Guillaume's text is responding to those expectations. This perspective is not wrong

from the point of view of our individual experience and our immediate contact with the text,

but it does not justify us from the theoretical point of view.

Although the framework of historical knowledge does exist, it consists of documents that are

no more reliable than Guillaume's text, for similar or different reasons. And we cannot place

Guillaume exactly in this context because we lack knowledge of where exactly the events he

describes took place. It may have been in Paris or Reims or even another city. In any case the

context is not significant; even without that information the modern reader would end up with

the reading I have given. He would conclude that there were probably victims who were

unjustly massacred. He would therefore think the text is false, since it claims that the victims

were guilty, but true insofar as there really were victims. He would, in the end, distinguish the

true from the false exactly as we do. What gives us this ability? Would it not be wise to be

guided systematically by the principle of discarding the whole basket of apples because of the

few rotten ones among them? Should we not suspect a certain lapse of caution or remnant of

naïveté that, given the opportunity, will be attacked by overzealous contemporary critics?

Should we not admit that all historical knowledge is uncertain and that nothing can be taken

from a text such as ours, not even the reality of a persecution?

All these questions must be answered categorically in the negative. Out-and-out skepticism

does not take into account the real nature of the text. There is a particular relationship

between the likely and the unlikely characteristics of this text. In the beginning the reader

cannot

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of course distinguish between true and false. He sees only themes that are incredible as well

as others that are quite credible. He can believe in the increasing number of deaths; it could

be an epidemic. But the massive scale of the poisonings described by Guillaume is scarcely

credible. There were no substances in the fourteenth century capable of producing such

harmful effects. The author's hatred for the supposedly guilty people is explicit and makes his

thesis extremely suspect.

These two types of characteristics cannot be recognized without at least implicitly

acknowledging that they interact with each other. If there really is an epidemic, then it might

well stir up latent prejudices. The appetite for persecution readily focuses on religious

minorities, especially during a time of crisis. On the other hand a real persecution might well

be justified by the sort of accusation that Guillaume credulously echoes. Such a poet is not

expected to be particularly sanguinary. If he believes in the stories he tells us, no doubt they

are believed by the people around him. The text suggests that public opinion is overexcited

and ready to accept the most absurd rumors. In short it suggests a propitious climate for

massacres which the author confirms actually took place.

In a context of improbable events, those that are possible become probable. The reverse is

also true. In a context of probable events, the unlikely ones cannot be ascribed to an

imagination operating freely for the pleasure of inventing fiction. We are aware of the