Authors: RENÉ GIRARD
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