Mirrors (23 page)

FORBIDDEN TO FEEL

“Oh feminine figure! How glorious you are!”

Hildegard of Bingen believed that “blood that stains is the blood of war, not the blood of menstruation,” and she openly invited all to celebrate the joy of being born a woman.

In her writings on medicine and natural sciences, she dared to stand up for female pleasure in terms that were remarkable for her church and unique in the Europe of her day. Surprisingly sagacious for a puritan abbess who lived in and by strict habits, a virgin among virgins, Hildegard declared that the pleasure of love that smolders in the blood is more subtle and profound in a woman than in a man:

“In women, it is comparable to the sun and its sweetness, which delicately warms the earth and makes it fertile.”

A century before Hildegard, the celebrated Persian physician Avicenna included in his
Canon of Medicine
a more detailed description of the female orgasm, “from the moment when the flesh around her eyes begins to redden, her breath quickens, and she begins to stammer.”

Since pleasure was man’s business, European translations of Avicenna’s works omitted that page.

AVICENNA

“Life is measured by its intensity, not by its duration,” he said, but he lived nearly seventy years, not bad for the eleventh century.

He was taken care of by the best doctor in Persia: himself.

For centuries his
Canon of Medicine
was the work to consult in the Arab world, in Europe, and in India.

This treatise on diseases and remedies not only collected the legacies of Hippocrates and Galen, it also drank from the springs of Greek philosophy and oriental knowledge.

At the age of seventeen, Avicenna had already set up a clinic.

Long after his death, he was still taking care of patients.

A FEUDAL LADY EXPLAINS HOW TO CARE FOR EARTHLY GOODS

When it comes to sex, every churchman, from the pope in Rome to the most humble parish priest, dictates lessons on good behavior. How can they know so much about an activity they are not allowed to pursue?

As early as 1074, Pope Gregory VII warned that only those married to the Church were worthy of practicing divine service:

“Priests ought to escape the clutches of their wives,” he decreed.

Soon thereafter, in 1123, the Letran Council imposed obligatory celibacy. The Catholic Church has warded off carnal temptation with a vow of chastity ever since, and it is the only enterprise run by single men in the entire religious world. The Church demands of its priests exclusive dedication, a 24/7 routine that protects the peace of their souls from conjugal strife and babies’ shrieks.

Perhaps, who knows, the Church also wished to preserve its earthly goods, and thus placed them safely beyond the reach of women’s and children’s claims to inheritance. A trifling detail, but nevertheless it is worth recalling that at the beginning of the twelfth century the Church owned one-third of all the lands of Europe.

A FEUDAL LORD EXPLAINS HOW TO CARE FOR THE PEASANTS

At the end of the twelfth century, Bertrand de Born, lord of Périgord, warrior and troubadour of violent verse and valiant curse, defined his peasants thus:

By reason of his species and his manners, the peasant comes below the pig. He finds moral life profoundly repugnant. If by chance he achieves great wealth, he loses all sense. So you see, his pockets must be kept empty. He who fails to dominate his peasants only augments their vileness.

FOUNT OF THE FOUNTAIN

Peasants did not tire of displeasing their lords.

The fountain of the city of Mainz offers artistic testimony to that fact.

“Don’t miss it,” the tourist guides insist. This German renaissance treasure, displayed in all its golden splendor in the market square, is the symbol of the city and the hub of its celebrations.

It was born of a celebration: the fountain, crowned by the Virgin and child, was a gift from the archbishop of Brandenburg to give thanks to heaven for the victory of the princes.

Desperate peasants had stormed the castles whose opulence they had paid for with their sweat, a multitude of pitchforks and hoes defying the power of cannon, spears, and swords.

Thousands of men hanged or beheaded gave mute testimony to the reestablishment of order. The fountain as well.

PLAGUES

In the medieval division of labor, priests prayed, knights killed, and peasants fed all and sundry. In times of famine, peasants abandoned ruined crops and fruitless harvests, too much rain or none at all, and took to the road, fighting over carcasses and roots. And when their skin turned yellow and their eyes bugged out, they took to assaulting castles or convents.

In normal times, the peasants worked and, moreover, they sinned. When plagues occurred, the peasants caught the blame. Misfortune did not strike because the priests prayed poorly, but because their faithful were unfaithful.

From the pulpits, God’s functionaries cursed them:

“Slaves to the flesh! You deserve divine punishment!”

Between 1348 and 1351, divine punishment liquidated one out of every four Europeans. The plague razed fields and cities, did in sinners and virtuous alike.

According to Boccaccio, the Florentines had breakfast with their relatives and supper with their ancestors.

WOMEN AGAINST THE PLAGUE

Because the land was offended, the plague spread across Russia, annihilating animals and humans. Men had forgotten to bring offerings in gratitude for the last harvest, or they had wounded the pregnant land by driving shovels or posts into it while it slept under the snow.

Then women enacted a ritual passed down from the dark night of time. The earth, origin and destiny of all who live upon it, received her daughters, fecund like her, and not a single man dared show his face.

A woman yoked herself to the plow, oxlike, and set off to make the furrow. Others followed, sowing seeds. All walked naked, barefoot, their hair down. They banged pots and pans and laughed great big belly laughs, scaring off fear and cold and the plague.

CURSED WATER

We know Nostradamus from his predictions, which are still hot tickets all over the world.

We may not know that Nostradamus was also a physician, an extraordinary one who did not believe in leeches. For the plague he prescribed air and water: ventilating air, cleansing water.