Thursday, 24 October 2024

Looking Death in the Face

                                                              Jeune homme

De vingt ans

Qui as vu des choses si affreuses

Que penses-tu des hommes de ton enfance

Tu connais la bravoure et la ruse

Tu as vu la mort en face plus de cent fois

Tu ne sais pas ce que c’est que la vie

Transmets ton intrépidité

À ceux qui viendront

Après toi

--- Bleuet (Guillaume Apollinaire)

 

Young man

Of twenty

You, who have seen such terrible things

What do you think of the men from your childhood?

            You know what bravery is and cunning

You have looked death in the face more

than a hundred times and you don’t

know what life is

Hand down your fearlessness

To those who shall come

After you

Despite a serious head injury that forced him to wear a metal band around his head, he had survived fighting in the war. He was the inventor of the word surrealism and, already, one of the finest French poets. But on November 9, 1918, he lay on his deathbed, his skin covered with a dark blue tint. Overcome by fever, suffocating and gasping like an asphyxiated, Guillaume Apollinaire died that day in his apartment in the 7th arrondissement of Paris. German bullets and shells had left him alive. The Spanish flu did not spare him.

Two days later, his friend Blaise Cendrars, another celebrated poet, attended Apollinaire’s funeral. As they followed Apollinaire’s coffin towards Père-Lachaise, an exuberant crowd surrounded them, uttering howls of joy: it was November 11, the day of the armistice. The streets of Paris resounded with the cries of ‘À bas Guillaume!’(Down with Guillaume!)  An ironic coincidence since the shouts was in response to the abdication of the German emperor Wilhelm II, the hated Kaiser (Guillaume II in French).

Cendrars was shocked, no doubt so. The people were celebrating a victory at the end of the massacre but another terribly destructive force was already at work of which people spoke little, even as the number of dead continued to rise. It was a destruction perpetrated by an invisible enemy, even more deadly than the German troops. It would eventually leave behind more casualties than the battles of the Great War.

The brilliant poet, who had survived a shrapnel and a trepanation, had just succumbed, at the age of thirty-eight, to the Spanish flu. While he lay cloistered at the top floor of 202 boulevard Saint-Germain, looking on the rue Saint-Guillaume, he perhaps thought, in his delirium, that the people on the streets were demanding his head! It was a cruel end at the young age of thirty-eight, for one who had fought so furiously, and whose skull still housed a German bullet when he died.

The 1918 flu, wrongly named the Spanish flu, was caused by a particularly virulent and contagious strain of H1N1 that spread during that pandemic. The flu killed 20 to 40 million people, 30 million according to the Institut Pasteur, or even 100 million according to certain recent reassessments. It was the deadliest pandemic in history.

The inaccurate name of Spanish flu seems to come from the fact that only Spain — which had not engaged in World War I — freely published information relating to this epidemic and in particular that concerning the disease of King Alphonse XIII. French newspapers therefore spoke of the Spanish flu which was ravaging Spain without mentioning the French cases which were kept secret so as not to let the enemy know that the army was weakened. Sounds familiar?

In 1918, the war ended in Europe. The belligerent governments censored the press. Only in Spain, which did not take part in the conflict, there was talk of the pandemic which made people believe that the flu only affected the Spanish. In fact, in two successive waves, one banal in the spring, the second disastrous in the fall, most countries on the planet suffered from the scourge.

Faced with that ordeal, science appeared disarmed. It was known since Louis Pasteur that the culprit is a microbe. But no one could identify, even less isolate, the virus, which microscopes of the time could not detect because of its size, which is much smaller than that of a bacterium. We don't even know, for the most part, what a virus is, yet we know that the flu is an immortal disease.

Its first known occurrence can be traced back to antiquity, when the inhabitants of Périnthe, at the edge of the sea of ​​Marmara, were coughing and sneezing and some of whom died of fever. It is a Greek doctor who gave a brilliantly precise description of it. His name thus gathered a certain notoriety. He was Hippocrates. While the ancients attributed epidemics to the vengeance of the gods (sounds familiar again?), Hippocrates was convinced that the source of the scourge was something earthly, and he tried to fathom it. Yet, he made the mistake of creating the ‘theory of humours’, the origin of so many medical aberrations (remember Molière's physicians?). We had to wait till the 19th century for the discovery of the microbes.

 The flu had existed since the dawn of mankind. But the hunter-gatherer societies, fewer and detached from each other, easily survived. It was the invention of agriculture and animal husbandry, and the multiplication of human-animal contacts, that favoured the epidemics. Over the centuries, such outbreaks have struck all human societies through the same mechanism: transmission of the virus from certain animal species (birds, bats, etc.) to farm animals and then to humans. Sometimes the consumption of certain wild animals caused direct transmission. It is believed that this is the case with the coronavirus, although one can not be sure until it is proved.

I began this article with a vision of Guillaume Apollinaire in his deathbed. Edmond Rostand, the author of Cyrano de Bergerac, returned to Paris for the Armistice and died in December of the same disease. Strangely, there are few traces of that pandemic in literature. Perhaps the flu was too common a disease and attention was deflected to the war that had just ended. Dying from the flu was not heroic; it did not attain the status of tuberculosis celebrated by the Romantics! There is no artistic memorial to this pandemic. In France, there are over 36,000 monuments to the dead of World War I, but not a single one that recalls the devastation caused by the Spanish flu.

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