INTRODUCTION
The ethnographer's first research instrument is fieldwork.
Nevertheless, when ethnographers focus on verbal cultures and face-to-face
communication in past times and are concerned with how these things worked
in communities long ago, what the living flow of speaking was like and
what effects it produced, what were the ways of speaking, the genres, the
speech acts and events, how the people managed their verbal resources,
moods of interaction, and politics of language – that is, when
scholars deal with historical ethnography and ethnopragmatics – they
are compelled to share the historian's, philologist's, and
literary scholar's knowledge and skills, since their source of
evidence cannot be other than written texts.
Malinowski 1923 opposed philological and
ethnographic research on language and communication. His assessment must
be understood in its context and in relation to his idea of what philology
was all about. His main argument was based on the opposition between the
study of “dead” vs. “spoken” languages, of written
text vs. living, situated communication. To begin with, I know of no
natural human language that was never an oral language. In this article,
Malinowski seems not to be acquainted with the development of modern
linguistics at the time. As a matter of principle, at least, this
addressed oral language. Moreover, asserting when a language should be
considered “dead” is a question on the current agenda of
linguistics and anthropology.1
See
Dalby's discussion (2003:219–227).
Whichever “definition” you agree on, it is even possible to
talk about “the after-life of languages” (Dalby 2003:227 ff.) in reference to “dead”
language features surviving in living languages.
Malinowski's concern, however, was the production of meaning in
so-called primitive languages – a term that scholars at the time
were trying to expel from the vocabulary of linguistics: let us, then,
understand it as a metonym. Alternatively, his view on linguistic meaning
was a pragmatic one
avant la lettre – that is, indexical
meaning, since it linked language forms to the context in which they
occur, understood both as the cultural background and as the communicative
situation frame. All in all, Malinowski was right to disregard philology
– and linguistics – inasmuch as he highlighted human action
and situated discourse in a cultural context. Ethnography was a much
better approach to opt for. The question to be posed here, however, is
whether ancient communities, including those speaking now
“dead” (or just “old”) languages, developed a
particular organization of verbal culture meriting our interest, and
whether this is an accessible object of knowledge, even if in an imperfect
form – much as the reconstruction of a protolanguage imperfectly
tells us something relevant about the structure of a language people spoke
millennia ago, or the comparative analysis of formulaic expressions
somehow reveals “some of the things they talked about, and some of
the ways they talked about them in their traditional poetry” (
Watkins 1981:773).
Of course, current life and historical sources – oral and
written discourse – ought not to be confused, and one must not be
taken for the other. Occasionally, however, written records hint at bits
and pieces of life-immersed speaking from the distant past (Argenter 2005a). Research on the verbal past offers
not a transient object, as is the case in current fieldwork, but a bygone
people's vanished talk in a lost-for-ever social context.
Researchers, then, have to rely on documents to retrieve this talk and
context and to explain the sense its inhabitants made of them, but they
cannot elucidate that sense with the inhabitants' fresh information
and knowledge, nor can they go back to reexamine speaking practices or to
contrast their interpretations (Argenter 2001).
Nevertheless, “the ‘world out there’ … often
gives the distinct impression of active persons” (Pálsson 1995:81). That is, even if there is no
present space for fieldwork, agency and life are still there to be
grasped.
Assuming the meaningfulness of such a purpose, in this article I study
aspects of the verbal culture of a medieval society, to the extent that
these may be extrapolated from written records, specifically from a
medieval Catalan chronicle. Note that the historical ethnographer of
communication is not confronted with “historical truth” but
with a (plausible) way speaking worked in a social context at a real time.
Pálsson, who regards the Icelandic sagas as
“fieldnotes,” states:
Even if the events do not occur as written, nonetheless the
assumptions of how the social context ought to work (how it is
represented) is reflective of the writer's own history and reality.
Every saga contains echoes from a distant discourse…. If the
factual and the fictive go hand in hand and any text or utterance is
necessarily a collaboration of generations of writers and speakers, the
boundary between literary studies and linguistics, on the one hand, and
anthropology and history, on the other, is not as important as is often
implied. (1995:85)
I am concerned here not with the “events” narrated in the
chronicle as evidence for historiography, but with certain reported
“speech events” that are informative on the interactional
construction of a social order. The general issue I address is the
possibility of using the Catalan chronicles as a source of data to uncover
features of a verbal culture, including speakers' rights and
obligations, their metalinguistic and metapragmatic management of verbal
resources, and the link between this management and ideologies – in
a word, speakers' practices and agency. I specifically address the
relationship among evidence, knowledge and reporting of events, and the
production and reproduction of authority in Catalan medieval society, as
well as types of responsibility in discourse and their patterns of social
distribution. One type of responsibility has its source in the
speakers' participant-frame roles. Other types originate either from
social roles or from the manipulation of codes and rhetorical resources in
public performance. I concentrate on three types of discourse
events/resources: delegated discourse, mediated communication, and a
highly specific type of codeswitching embedded in political oratory
– quotation cum auctoritate. These may be reduced to
“talking on behalf of” and “quoting to the benefit
of” speech event types. In addition, these are cases of
communication in public arena, which in fact is the usual scenario in my
source data.
THE BOOK OF DEEDS OF KING
JAMES
Medieval European chronicles are a well-known institutionalized
written literary genre whose aim was to record selectively the
achievements and the events that occurred during a king's reign.
Often these texts were cultural and political products that emanated from
the royal chancellery and were written down by illustrious men, usually
officials, clergymen, or scribes whose skills in reading and writing gave
them key positions in the higher ranks of society.
The functional antecedent of this written genre was the oral epic,
composed to be either sung or recited. Occasionally fragments of these
long poems were written down later – often as a performer's
auxiliary technique rather than an intended literary work – and
these texts became immediate sources for the chronicles. In this process,
verse compositions were partially converted into prose.2
This is a particularly sensitive point in medieval Catalan
literary scholarship, since, unlike with French or Spanish epics, no
Catalan heroic songs have been preserved as such in manuscript. Thus, the
only traces of Catalan epics are allegedly verse-like fragments in
chronicle prose. Given the importance that “making a heroic
past” had in the birth of modern nations in the 19th century, i.e.
in “making the present,” to exhibit ancient heroic songs
alongside lyric poetry turned out to be of great importance. In the
absence of direct evidence, Catalan scholars emphasized indirect evidence
from the chronicles. Verse-into-prose conversion is well known in French
and Spanish literatures, but in both cases the evidence is direct: heroic
poems and their occasional conversion into chronicle prose may be checked
against extant manuscripts.
The Libre dels feyts del rei En Jaume (Book of deeds of
King James),3
Here I maintain the
medieval Catalan spelling. The difference from the modern orthographic
form is in the first part of the title: Llibre dels fets del rei En
Jaume. This title is commonly used.
commonly known as the
Crònica de Jaume I (
Chronicle of James I), was
written around 1274, though our knowledge of it is largely based on a
later copy of 1343, usually referred to as “the manuscript from
Poblet,” the monastery in whose scriptorium it was copied.
4 This is the oldest surviving copy, held at the
University Library, Barcelona. A facsimile was published by the University
of Barcelona (Riquer 1971). The monastery of
Poblet also keeps King James's mortal remains.
The
Book narrates the life and deeds of James the Conqueror,
5 Jaume I, or James I, was one of the most
important Catalan kings in the Middle Ages. He conquered the Balearic
Isles and the kingdoms of Valencia and Murcia from the Muslims, hence his
honorific epithet. During his life the king of Aragon and count of
Barcelona dominated an extended zone of the eastern Iberian Peninsula and
a part of the Occitan country in southern France.
king of
Catalonia-Aragon, Majorca and Valencia, count of Barcelona and Urgell, and
lord of Montpellier (born at Montpellier, 1208; died at Valencia, 1276).
The king himself is alleged to be the author of the
Book,
6 I do not enter into the specifics of the
controversial issue around the authorship of the Book. See a
brief summary of it in Pujol 2001, with
reference to different authors' views.
and the narrative is
written in the first person plural of royalty.
7 From time to time first person singular leaks out. This has
been offered as evidence for the king's authorship.
This
feature alone discursively indexes a monologic narrative (
Bakhtin 1981).
The implication that the king himself was the author of the
Book merits an explanation. Philological internal evidence in the
Book evidences a mixture of styles and registers, which usually
has been interpreted as reflecting coauthorship by one or more chancellery
officials – or, more probably, a clergyman – and the king
himself. It is recognized, moreover, that the time gap between the
original text and our oldest copy partially accounts for the co-occurrence
of linguistic features from two language states, an earlier one
corresponding to composition, and a later one corresponding to copying. An
alternative view attributes the mixture of curial prose and fresh
narrative – including dialogues, proverbs, codeswitching, and so
forth – to oral production of the text, which would have been
dictated by James at different periods of his life, helped by different
scribes/coauthors. The Castilian king Alfonso x, James's
son-in-law and himself the author of a Castilian chronicle, wrote:
“[T]he king makes a book, not because he writes it with
his hands, but because he composes its subject matter, and corrects,
rectifies and improves it, and he shows how must this be done, and thus
this is written by he who is ordered by the king, but for this reason we
say that the king makes the book.”8
My
translation. Original text: “El rey faze un libro, non
porquél el escriva con sus manos, mas porque compone las razones
dél, e las emienda e yegua e endereça, e muestra la manera
de cómo se deven fazer, e desí escrívelas qui
él manda, pero dezimos por esta razón que el rey faze el
libro” (quoted from Riquer 1964:399).
In contrast to James, Alfonso wrote on distant events. His
“history” or chronicle has not the flesh-and-blood flavor of
James's.
A split responsibility for a written narrative was
clear to the “author” – though it needed to be explained
to his contemporary audience.
Nonetheless, the Book of Deeds partakes of a memoir-like
character. The double role of the king as both the hero and the author,
and his personal involvement in the narrated events, confer on the
Book a subjective quality. A sense of modernity emanates from the
Book because it narrates recent events rather than a distant
past. This might have been the reason why its content aroused the
curiosity and interest of ordinary people. Indeed, the Book was
destined to be either read privately or listened to by a reader's
audience (Riquer 1964:399).9
On the way literary works were diffused and transmitted in the
European Middle Ages, see Auerbach 1965. The thirteenth century represents
a turning point in the circulation of manuscripts among European elites.
However, literacy at the time must be understood as a matter of degree
– from the ability to recognize letters, to sign, or to recognize
certain formulae (e.g. in notarial documents) up to real mastery of the
art of reading. Moreover, this new “market of manuscripts” did
not necessarily imply the emergence of silent reading as we understand
it.
Thus, we read in it, “And so that those who
see this book may know how many regions there are in
Majorca” (72:1–2;
Smith & Buffery
2003:96), as well as “And so that those who
hear
this book may know what happened at Majorca was a singular deed of arms,
we will tell you another example” (69:49–51; Smith &
Buffery
2003:94; emphasis added).
10 Original text: “E, per tal que
sàpien aquels qui aquest libre. veuran cantes
partides ha en Maylorques …” (72:1–2).
“E, per tal que sàpien aquels qui hoiran
aquest libre que cara cosa fo d'armes ço que feyt fo en
Maylorques …” (69:49–51).
Furthermore, the Book has a dramatic dimension because of the
great number of dialogues it contains preceding and following action, in
such a way that they eventually appear to be either a forecast or a
consequence of the events. This crucial use of dialogue –
represented face-to-face verbal interaction – opens a window into
features of the verbal culture of the time and these features' social
meaning.
SOURCES OF EVIDENCE AND ITS CODIFICATION IN
LANGUAGE
In the analysis of the relationship among evidence, knowledge, and
reporting of events in language, it is relevant to uncover how the
experience and awareness of facts are linguistically codified and what the
culturally recognized sources of evidence are. The analysis of the raw
material dealt with here “takes into account three events – a
narrated event, a speech event, and a narrated speech event …
namely the alleged source of information about a narrated event,” in
Jakobson's (1957 [1971]:135)
statement of what “evidentials,” as a verbal category, codify.
To our purpose, this description holds even though evidentials are lacking
as overt morphological categories in Catalan, where their functions are
taken on by syntactic or discursive means.
In addition, the range of “alleged sources of information”
that are explicitly acknowledged – that is, the forms of the verbal
expression of knowledge and evidence – are not necessarily the same
in all languages and verbal cultures: they may include direct experience
from the senses (seeing, hearing, etc.), report by another person,
hearsay, quotation, dream, supernatural inspiration, and so on. Sources of
evidence, moreover, entail specific qualitative and quantitative support
to competing arguments in controversial discourse, for example in the
negotiation of political advantage. In fact, they do not equally authorize
political discourses. The “politics of evidence” aims at
selecting sources able to maximize authority and power in discourse. Let
us consider an instance from the Book that will lead us to pose
relevant questions in a natural way.
There is a case in the Book in which evidence is based on
dream and vision (chapter 389). A friar reports another friar's dream
vision: An angel of the Lord appeared to him and announced that a king was
about to come who would prevent the Christians from being overcome by the
Muslims in Spain. This is “the king of Aragon whose name is
James.” Two circumstances countenance this evidence: (i) the dreamer
was a friar from Navarra, and thus apparently unconcerned about
James's intentions (actually, he was disappointed because the king
referred to by the angel was not his country's king); and (ii) he had
revealed his dream vision in confession, and thus in a trustworthy speech
act. Both factors allegedly strengthen the reliability of the story. To
gain reliability was extremely relevant, since the dream story was brought
up to lend support to King James's argument with the Aragonese
noblemen to get their help in a military campaign to support the king of
Castile against the Muslims. While King James's reasoning appeals, as
a matter of principle, to their lord-vassal relationship, and in a very
pragmatic way to cost-benefit considerations as well as military and
political strategy,11
Cost-benefits: King
James grants an investment:revenue ratio of 1:10. Military strategy: It is
better to wage war against a common enemy in an alien land than to wait to
fight this enemy alone in one's homeland.
the
churchman's argument appeals straightforwardly to a suprarational and
close-to-sacred source – an angel is after all a messenger of God,
hence God's voice, and this voice justifies King James's
intention and argument. Moreover, confession itself is another source of
evidence alongside dreaming, vision, or report. While dream and vision,
then, was the dreamer-friar's source of knowledge, confession was the
reporter-friar's. Additionally, the latter's report was the
source of evidence for the Aragonese noblemen. Finally, the author's
narrative in the
Book is the source of evidence supporting the
whole story for the reader, medieval or modern,
12 Insofar as evidence and knowledge pertain to the realm of
cognition, this chain of evidence – dream, confession, public verbal
report, written record – whether true or untrue, may be construed as
a series of mental spaces (Fauconnier 1994)
including dream, belief, report,
reality, which get conceptually blended into a complex
integration network, in the terms of Fauconnier & Turner 2002. I will not pursue this line of inquiry here. My
concern is with the social and verbal dimension of facts.
though
this narrative is not properly speaking a “speech event.”
The reported dream, however, is not just a source of evidence. It
legitimizes a political choice in a political discourse. We are faced here
with the politics of dreams and the politics in dreams, dealt with by
Friedrich 1986, for whom “it is the
underlying relations of power that organize and drive the dreams.”
The dream reported is a political dream, since its content is political
– it is a dream about war, ethnic conflict, and power – and so
is its interpretation and use, since it becomes “the input to
politics: as the basis for motivation in leaders … or as part of
political speech.” In summary, the friar's dream is reported
precisely because allegedly it has the force to cause others to take up,
induce, or justify specific political acts and strategies – not
general principles. Biblical tradition, indeed, held dreams to be “a
subfield of the art of government” (Friedrich 1986:81–82). To historical ethnography, the
relevant point is that reporting a dream in order to strengthen
someone's argument or to reinforce someone's authority appears
to be within the logical, social, and pragmatic order of things at the
time – as it is in certain communities today.13
Burns 1978 points out the episode
of the friar's dream as one of the only two “miracles”
contained in James's narrative. This is to be highlighted in an age
that was fond of wonders. Both cases, Burns notes, are reported
“cautiously, and at second hand.” An exception to this caution
should be made, as we shall see, for James's providential
interpretation of his deeds.
Some interesting questions may be raised at this point: Who was
entitled to argue on the matter at hand? What kind of evidence or
reasoning was relevant to be adduced, and by whom? Could this evidence and
these reasons be challenged by the audience, and to what extent? If so,
whose evidence and reasons could be challenged? Was anybody entitled to
report another's talk? If so, under what conditions? Although I will
not respond to these specific questions here, I will address similar
ones.
This piece of verbal interaction, the conflict between James and the
Aragonese noblemen, speaks of a particular relationship in the power
structure of the Arago-Catalan polity at that time, hence the underlying
historical logic of the event. The political relationship between the two
territories was a confederation: each one had its own laws and customs and
was ruled according to them. They had a common ruler, though. Partly
because of the feudal structure prevailing in Aragon as against an
emerging urban mercantile society in Catalonia, the Aragonese noblemen saw
the king not as a monarch but rather as a war leader, eventually
“one of us.” James's difficult relationship with the
noblemen and knights led him to rely on the emerging Catalan bourgeoisie
and the region's Jews to strengthen his power and authority.
ASSUMING COLLECTIVE RESPONSIBILITY: THE CASE
OF DELEGATED DISCOURSE
In this section I consider what I term “delegated
discourse”: discourse in which an individual speaker assumes the
re-presentation of a collective actor, whether he is an informally
designated spokesman or a formal spokesman of a group of people whose
statement has been previously agreed on. These roles are exemplified in
excerpts (1) and (2), respectively. In both cases, co-presence of
re-presenter and re-presented is implied. The first comes from the chapter
in which the king learns of Sir Bernat Guillem
d'Entença's death14
I
follow Bruguera's 1991 edition of the
Llibre dels Fets for the original Catalan text. Riquer's
1971 facsimile edition of the manuscript from
Poblet may also be consulted. The English texts are taken from Smith &
Buffery's English translation, which was unpublished at the time I
wrote: The Book of deeds of James I of Aragon (Smith & Buffery 2003). I thank the translators for
making these passages accessible to me.
:
(1) They all came before me grief-stricken; and all the
nobles said to Don Ferdinand15
As to proper
names, I include in the text the choices the translators made between
English and Romance forms (which occasionally reflect varying points of
view) for the sake of consistency, coherence, and the reader's
convenience. Obviously, the original texts in notes maintain the original
form.
that he should show us the message and inform us of the
death of Don Bernat Guillem.
16 Bernat
Guillem de Montpeller was King James's uncle and counselor. He served
him loyally and was holding el Puig de Santa Maria at the time of his
death, a key position in the southern frontier near Valencia, in the
campaign for the conquest of the town. His death, then, posed a political
and military issue, which is in fact the point raised by Don Ferdinand.
Bernat Guillem also was known as Bernat Guillem d'Entença
after the Catalan lineage of his wife. This is actually the name he
receives in the Book.
And we knew from their faces that
they had received terrible news…. And afterwards Don Ferdinand
began to speak, for himself and for the others, and he spoke in this
manner: “My lord, Our Lord has made all the things in the world, and
He undoes them when it pleases Him. Now, we are obliged to do anything
that may be to your profit, and that would please us greatly; whilst we
would lament any misfortune that were to befall you. For we have received
some news through which you could suffer harm, unless you take counsel on
it rapidly. And we are greatly saddened by the news, both for him, who was
so worthy, and for you: for we have to inform you that Don Bernat Guillem
d'Entença is dead; and we know this for certain. Moreover, as
he held so great and honourable a position through you, on the frontier,
it is important that you take counsel.” (231: 7–23; Smith
& Buffery
2003:202–3)
17 Original text: “E vengren tots
trists denant nós, e dixeren tots los richs hòmens a don
Fferrando que·ns mostràs la paraula e que·ns
dixés la mort de Don Bernat Guillem. E nós coneguem en les
cares d'éls que àvols noves havien hoïdes….
e puys Don Fferrando començà la paraula per él e per
los altres e dix-nos axí: ‘Seyor, totes les coses del
món ha feites nostre Seyor e les desfà quant a ell plau. Ara
nós som tenguts a vós de tota re que vostre prou sia, e
plauria'ns molt; e de tot embarch que a vós vingués nos
pesaria. Perquè havem unes noves hoïdes en què
vós poríets menyscabar, si tost no y preníets
conseyl. E les noves nos pesen molt, per él, qui ho valia, e per
vós: fem-vos saber que Don Bernat Guillem d'Entença
és mort, e açò sabem nós per cert. E per
ço quan él tenia de vós tan gran cosa e tan honrada e
en frontera, mester és que y prengats conseyl’”
(231: 7–23).
Although these noblemen are all bearers of the sad news, they
designate Don Ferdinand to be the spokesman on this unfortunate occasion:
He is appointed as the man who will “show the message,” and he
is indeed the one who begins to speak, on the understanding that he
presumes to speak “for himself and for the others.” Precisely
because of this, “delegated discourse” cannot be equated with
“surrogated discourse” in the sense of Yankah 1995. Surrogated discourse is defined as “the
exercise of performance through an agent, instrument or
intermediary” (i.e. “performance for or on behalf of
another”) and is occasionally referred to as “delegated
discourse.” This resembles the case in our material, but the
“re-presenters” in Yankah's study do not talk on behalf
of themselves. In contrast, in (1) the speaker re-presents not
“another” but “others,” and the individual
re-presenter is included among the collective re-presented. Moreover,
co-presence of re-presenter and re-presented is implied. There is a
distribution of discursive responsibilities, but these appear to be
interactionally rather than socially constituted, even though social
status is not completely absent. Nonetheless, “delegated
discourse” implies, as “surrogated performance” does, an
engagement in the art of public display and verbal indirectness.
In terms of the participation frame and the analytic decomposition of
participants in socio-communicative roles, Don Ferdinand becomes both the
“animator” and the “author” of the discourse, but
he is not its “principal” (Goffman
1981). Don Ferdinand's discourse begins with a sententious
expression whose source is to be found in the Bible, the liturgy, or
homiletics, and he introduces a codeswitch, whose limits are at the
beginning and the end of the sentence18
See
Argenter 2004 for discussion of these issues
related to the recourse to scriptural, homiletic or folk wisdom quotations
in the construction of discourse, as well as for issues related to
codeswitching. Contrary to the general approach of those who have dealt
with this topic in the Book, codeswitching is not restricted to
language alternation. Indeed, the latter does not accompany the former in
this case.
: “Our Lord has made all the things in the world,
and He undoes them when it pleases Him.” The king has guessed by the
look of the noblemen “that they had received terrible news.”
Don Ferdinand's words ratify this premonition. He bases his message
on the fact that “we have received some news.” These words
attempt both to mitigate the responsibility for the information –
whose source is hearsay, hence a distributed and unsure knowledge –
and to mitigate the communication of bad news by delaying its
delivery.
19 The whole discourse is an
example of a figure known as “suspension.” This has a
grammatical correlate in the use of “cataphoric” (or
anticipated anaphoric) pronominal reference, which is preserved in the
English translation: “And we are greatly saddened by the news,
both for him, who was so worthy, and for you: for we
have to inform you that Don Bernat Guillem
d'Entença is dead …” (Cat.
“E les noves nos pesen molt, per el qui ho
valia, e per vós: fem-vos saber que Don Bernat Guillem
d'Entença és mort.”)
It is
a persistent discursive strategy in similar communicative contexts –
namely, bad news communication, a particular verbal genre.
From the narrator's perspective, either the notification of a
mournful event or a detailed description of the nobleman's death are
beside the point. In fact, the chapter begins with this sentence:
“When we had been at Zaragoza for eight days or more, a message
reached us saying that Don Bernat Guillem d'Entença was
dead”20
Original text: “E,
nós, que havíem estat en Saragoça bé per
.VIII. dies o per més, vench-nos missatge que Don Bernat Guillem
d'Entença era mort” (231:1–2).
(231:1–2;
Smith & Buffery 2003:202),
and indeed it could have been finished at this point.
21 The character's suspensive discourse strategy, noted
above, ostensibly contrasts with the narrator's anticipatory
technique noted here. This contrast might be understood as a switch in
point of view from on-line discursive performance to a posteriori
narrative.
What actually is at stake is the way in which the
business will be explained to the king.
From the participants' perspective, on the other hand, the issue
is neither the bare notification nor an accurate relating of an experience
close to the fact, since both would presuppose the noblemen's having
witnessed the death, which they did not. Rather, they only “heard
some news” – a hearsay experience. What is at stake is who is
going to be (i) entitled to reproduce these facts verbally, (ii)
designated to talk on behalf of the others, (iii) able to manage a
specific verbal genre, (iv) authorized to address the king, and (v)
successful in adequately exercising these responsibilities, as well as
(vi) performing well verbally. Don Ferdinand's discourse implies that
felicity conditions (i)–(iv) are met. As a matter of fact, Don
Ferdinand will be held responsible not only for his performative act and
his preface, but also for his discourse's perlocutionary effect,
since the point is indeed a political and strategic one.22
For the concepts “felicity
conditions” of speech acts, “performative” utterance,
“perlocutionary force,” see Austin 1966.
Bernat Guillem's death is, of
course, a mournful event, but first and foremost it turns out to be a
matter of war politics. Don Ferdinand, himself a counselor, twice urges
the king to take counsel on it. Mitigation and delay do not bar pressure
on political urgency. Entitlement to speak is related to procedures of
representation, designation, and identification of interlocutors, but also
to the distribution of knowledge, rights, and obligations within
society.
The second case of delegated discourse appears when this responds to a
demand by the king, when he asks for counsel. The answer arises from a
formal agreement-building process and a formal designation of the
re-presenter by the represented. Moreover, it also implies a different
speech act event, as we see in excerpt (2):
(2) So they deliberated, and when they returned to our
presence, Don Ferdinand explained, on behalf of all the others, what they
had agreed. And he said: “Lord, in this matter that you speak of, we
see a great difficulty, for reasons we shall now explain. Because it would
not be fitting for you to begin an enterprise and not complete it, and in
the entire army there is not food for five days. Moreover, Valencia is not
yours but rather is held by the Saracens. (195:3–9; Smith & Buffery 2003:179)23
Original text: “E acordaren-se; e, quant foren
tornats denant nós parlà Don Ferrando per tots los altres
ço que havien acordat e dix: “Senyor, en esta cosa que
vós nos havets dita veem gran enbarch per aquestes raons que
nós vos direm: car no seria mester que vós
comensàssets nulla res, si no la acabàvets bé, e en
tota la ost no ha de menjar per .v. dies. E
València no és vostra, ans la tenen los
sarrahins.” (195:3–9).
In this case, Don Ferdinand has been urged to be the first to speak.
He asks for consultation with the other noblemen before speaking, in order
to reach mutual agreement. Only after the noblemen, gathered in council,
agree about what they would answer to the king (i.e. what advice they were
about to give him) does Don Ferdinand take his turn and participate in the
communicative event by delegation: He expresses “what they had
agreed.” Even though the responsibility for the content of the
advice is collective, it is incumbent upon Don Ferdinand to speak before
the king; then he is also accountable for overt and fair performance
before both the source and the target participants (Bauman 2004:131–33),24
Bauman's terms refer to participants in so-called
mediational routines. Though I distinguish “delegated” from
“mediated discourse” here, these terms are general enough to
describe more complex forms of participant structure than a dyadic view of
it does.
as well as for the effectiveness of his speech. His
entitlement to speak derives both from the counselors' delegation and
from his role and position as a previously ratified participant, and it
emerges in ongoing verbal interaction. The procedure that creates
entitlement to speak is more formal and complex than in excerpt (1), in
which there is nothing to agree about.
Whereas in (1) an item of factual information is transmitted that is
not at all controversial, in (2) an item of advice is transmitted that may
be subject to debate and may be accepted or rejected by the royal
authority.25
There are examples of both in
the Book.
Note that the speaker in (1) and (2) is the
same person, a relative and counselor of King James. However, the
illocutionary force of both discourses is not the same, inasmuch as the
speech acts are different too: a declarative (informative) vs. an advice.
Nonetheless, formal indirectness characterizes both. Obviously, the
speaker's attitude toward the discursive propositional contents is
identical. Different epistemic and pragmatic conditions of discourse then
affect the responsibility that is assumed by the actors in speaking. After
all, Don Ferdinand is playing his role as a spokesman and re-presenter of
the noblemen. Another sociopragmatic factor, however, is to be taken into
account: the hierarchical or interpersonal relations among participants in
the communicative event – certainly not a negligible factor, as will
now be shown.
MEDIATED COMMUNICATION: SOCIAL HIERARCHY,
ENTITLEMENT TO SPEAK AND EFFICACY OF DISCOURSE
In what follows, we examine a passage in the Book that will
permit us to identify how pragmatic and social structure combine in
speaking events. This passage (chapters 518–519) describes the
king's intention to make peace with his son, Prince Peter, with whom
he fell out because the prince had publicly insulted his own half-brother,
Ferran Sanxeç. The king sends as messengers to the prince men from
his court: noblemen, an archbishop, other bishops, and knights. They fail
to accomplish their mission twice.
After their first failure, the king gathers the messengers to agree on
a strategy. In this meeting, the archbishop explains the discussion they
held with the prince. Disappointed in them, the king dictates the words
that are to be transmitted to the prince, and he emphasizes these words
carefully: He writes the script and emerges as the “principal”
– even the “author” – of the message (ex. 3). The
messengers will be its “animators.” Seemingly, then, the king
questions his messengers' previous “copy” of his first
“original.” The asymmetry of their rank relationship with the
king demanded a rather strict replication of his words (Urban 1996).
(3) And the archbishop explained to us the discussion that he
had held with him. But we said to them that they should not have proceeded
in that way, between us and him, rather that he, who was an archbishop,
and the bishops and the nobles, and the citizens who were there, ought to
say to him: “Why have you fallen out with your father? For he says
to you that if he has wronged you, he will repair that, to your
satisfaction. And if you do not wish to do so, we must inform you that you
shall lose us and all the kingdom and we will go against you, as one who
is a rebel against his father.”And if you had said that, he would
not dare to have departed without abandoning his opposition to me. And how
could you leave here, where you are gathered together, without making any
progress against so great an evil as there is between him and us? When you
meet anybody on the road, and he asks you how it is that you have left the
King and his son at war and in conflict, you will have to turn away as
miserable wretches. (518: 5–17; Smith &
Buffery 2003:355)26
E dix-nos
l'arquibisbe les paraules que havia haüdes ab ell; e nós
dixem-los que no devien anar així, entre nós e ell, que ell,
qui era arquibisbe, e·lls bisbes e·lls richs hòmens
e·lls ciutadans que y eren, que li devien dir:
“¿Vós per què estats mal ab vostre pare? Car
diu-vos que, si tort vos té, que us ho adobarà a coneguda de
vós. E, si vós açó no volets fer, fem-vos
saber que perdrets a nós e tot lo regne; e irem contra vós,
així con contra aquel qui és rebel a som pare”.
¿E con vos partrets vosaltres d'aquí que sots justats,
que no·ns façats negun fruyt en tan gran mal con aquest
és de nós e d'ell? Cant trobarets nuyl hom al
camí, e us dirà con havets jaquit lo rey e son fill en
guerra ni en mal, anar-vos n'ets con a malastruchs” (518:
5–17).
King James manages to control the speech event completely, and he
nuances his discourse by means of a singular display of metapragmatic
regimes and personal deictics, entering into and exiting from the
discourse at his will. The king's script is contained inside the
king's reported speech, which is contained inside the king's
narrative. Note that the king's script is highlighted by a shift in
metapragmatic regime from indirect narrative (we [King
James] said to them [the messengers] that
…) to direct reported speech (he [the messenger
archbishop] … ought to say to him [the
prince]: “Why…). This shift underlines the
king-as-narrator's freedom to make a non-verbatim report in the
narrative, in contrast to the mediator's commitment to verbatim
replication of the king-as-protagonist's (the speaker's)
original. James's reported script, though immediately regimented by
his own speech and ultimately regimented by his narrative, is anchored
both in the “source dialogue” – insofar as it is framed
as direct discourse addressed to the messenger(s) – and in the
“target dialogue,” insofar as a sudden shift in personal
deictics frames it as if it were a nonmediated source-target dialogue
(we [the messenger(s)] must inform you
[Prince Peter] that you shall lose us [King
James] and all the kingdom and we [King James]
will go against you, as one who …). That is, the source
dialogue splits into two dialogue participant frames in an exercise of
reflexive intertextuality.27
See Bauman
2004:128–58 for the terms
“source,” “target,” “source dialogue,”
and “target dialogue,” as well as for an analysis of mediated
discourse.
The split of participant frames underscores to what
extent the mediators substitute for the source speaker. After relaying his
script, the king returns to the earlier deictic structure (…
if
you [the messengers]
had said that, he
[Prince Peter]
would not dare to have departed without
abandoning his opposition to me …).
The noblemen agree to go to the prince again. When they are face to
face with the prince, a scene takes place that is not uncommon in the
chronicle, but in this case all its meaning, force, and consequences are
displayed. The incident has to do with the management and distribution of
responsibility in language:
(4) When they arrived there, they said to the archbishop that
he should explain the matter on behalf of them all, and he said that he
would not do so. And they said to the bishop of Barcelona and to the other
nobles that they should say it, and nobody wished to do it. Then they said
to Juan Gil that he should speak on behalf of them all; and Juan Gil said:
“And how should I explain this business, when an archbishop,
bishops, and the nobles are here? How should I do
it?”
And all said that they wished him to explain it. Then he
raised his hands towards Our Lord and said: “I thank God that they
have entrusted me to explain the business; and may God will that I can
explain it in such a manner that may be to the honour of the King and the
profit of the prince.”
And he explained the matter, but neither as fully nor as
forthrightly as we had told them to. And afterwards they returned to us
and told us that they could not resolve it. And they told us what the
prince wished to do, and that he would do something to our injury, but we
did not wish to believe it. Then the nobles said that as they were unable
to resolve anything and had already spent what they had, they would go
from there. And we said: “Now go, and bad luck go with you, as we
will finish what we had asked well enough without you.” And so they
left. (519; Smith & Buffery 2003:355–56)28
E, quan foren là, dixeren a l'arquibisbe que
dixés la rahó per tots, e ell dix que no la diria. E
dixeren-ho al bisbe de Barcelona e a altres richs hòmens, que ho
dixessen, e anch negú no ho volch dir. E dixeren a·N Johan
Gil que u dixés ell per tots; e dix En Johan Gil: “¿E
con diré jo la paraula, estan aquí arquibisbe e bisbes e
richs hòmens? ¿E con ho faré jo?” E dixeren
tots que volien que ell ho dixés. E levà les mans a nostre
Senyor e dix: “Jo graesch a Déu quan aquí comanen a mi
la paraula; e plàcia a Déu que jo la pusca dir en tal manera
que sia a honor del rey e a bé de l'infant”. E dix la
paraula, mas no tan complidament ne tan fort con nós los
havíem dit. E puys tornaren a nós e dixeren que no u podien
acabar. E dixeren-nos ço que volia fer l'infant, que faera
cosa qui fóra a escarn de nós; e nós no u volguem
creure. E·lls richs hòmens dixeren que, pus aquí no
podien res acabar e que havien despès ço que havien,
que·s n'irien. E nós dixem: “Ara anats-vos-en en
mala ventura, que nós acabarem ço que demanam, bé,
meyns de vosaltres”. E així anaren-se'n
(519).
Obviously, communication through messengers was usual at the time;
often, however, their role was not just that of message-bearers but also
of mediators. To know how to “pass the word” was, then,
extremely important. Mediated discourse was not only a way of overcoming
distance between the addresser and the addressee of the message. It was
also a way of exerting authority, at the same time concealing and
indirectly manifesting it through substitutes who were invested with
authority to display its performance in the absence of the king. This case
is closer to surrogated performance: The mediator is responsible for the
performance, not for the message itself. For this very reason, to refuse
the messengers'/mediators' word is to refuse the king's
word, hence a challenge to his power. The messengers/mediators
interpose between the royal addresser and his addressee, thus protecting
the king's public image from being diminished.
A similar observation on the manifestation of power in
“absence” was made by B. R. Anderson, as reported by Errington
in his study of Javanese Indonesian communities:
Anderson (1972) has drawn on
Javanese historiographic tradition to characterize this “higher
power” as being evident, so to speak, only in its absence.
Paradigmatic in this regard is the image of an unmoved, unmoving king,
whose oversight and will is manifested only mediately, beyond the more
obvious ambit of his detached seclusion. By this political cultural logic,
Anderson suggests, the locus and nature of power can be known only as it
is indirectly manifested through its delegates, not directly from its
source. (Errington 1998:70)
I do not intend to suggest that medieval Catalan kingship was such a
hieratic institution. It was not, but doubtless certain resemblances are
apparent.
In our case, the messengers were ad hoc spokesmen. They were not
permanent officials in the way spokesmen are in some other cultures.
However, in this case we are closer to “surrogated discourse,”
since they only talk on behalf of the king, not on their own behalf, as is
the case in “delegated discourse.”
Turning to excerpt (4), we observe there a downward displacement of
responsibility for discourse, to the extent that the request “to
explain the matter on behalf of them all” is successively refused by
the actors implied and transferred downward from one grade to the next
until the responsibility falls on the lowest level of hierarchy: Juan Gil,
a citizen who held the position of magistrate at the time (Soldevila 1971b:388). Since this hierarchy is not one
of command but of dignity, hence a hierarchy of responsibility in the
ordered commission and of entitlement to speak appropriately and
effectively on behalf of the king before Prince Peter, Juan Gil objects to
the inappropriateness of the decision – after all, he is not a
nobleman. However, since the hierarchy in dignity is an inherently
authoritative hierarchy too, he is compelled to talk, “to explain
the business.” His first words are illustrative of his perceived
situation as a speaker who is essentially nonratified, except in that he
has been appointed. Consequently, he begins his speech according to a
formalized discursive pattern combining the “removal of guilt”
(Bloch 1975:7) or apology for his self-assertion
as a speaker in the occasion, thanks to God for the opportunity to speak,
and a prayer for the success of his endeavor.
He becomes, then, the “animator” of the word to be spoken
– and somehow its “author” too, since he was not present
in the meeting with the king. He “passes the word,” but, alas,
“neither as fully nor as forthrightly as we had told them to.”
Juan Gil's word has not been effective. Is this a matter of
communicative skill, or a matter of entitlement to the use of the word?
One might guess that the latter rather than the former is true – so
much so that, not much later, the commission is accomplished by the bishop
of Valencia.
Why did Juan Gil fail in his intent? Two conditions seem to be at play
in this failure. In the first place, talking on behalf of another in
mediated communication is a speech event that implies a previous speech
event; that is, the re-presenter and the represented must have been direct
participants in a communicative event as addressee and addresser,
respectively. The goal of this speech event is not just to transfer the
message, but to ratify the messenger. As noted, Juan Gil did not attend
the meeting between the king, the clergymen, and the noblemen. Hence, he
was not an entitled messenger. Second, his low hierarchical position was
not optimal for him to talk on behalf of the king, and his voice was the
one most easily challenged by the prince. Hence, he was not an entitled
mediator. Nonentitled persons are not accountable for the efficacy of
their discourse.
There is something more at stake in this event than mere entitlement
to speak or feudal rank hierarchy. To understand the whole sequence of
elementary speech events co-occurring in it, we need to account for the
entitled persons' right to refuse performance and to transfer
responsibility without transferring authority. These refusals, transfers,
and retentions of different kinds of responsibility from the top down
illustrate how this critical speaking event does not just
“reflect” social order but turns out to be “a key site
for the production and reproduction of rank and dignity,” in Hill
& Irvine's (1993a) words. Though social
order in medieval times was tightly and statically organized, it must be
assumed that particular speaking events were a privileged means by which
this order was socially constructed and reproduced over generations and a
person's lifespan. In her study on Wolof greeting, Irvine remarks
that “any two persons who engage in an encounter must place
themselves in an unequal ranking.” The conclusion is that “the
mere fact of initiating a greeting is itself a statement of relative
status” (1974:173–75). Speaking does
not only “reflect” social structure, it actually
“creates” it.
The institutional distribution of political power in medieval
Catalonia has been described as pactisme
‘agreement-reaching’ (Vicens Vives
1954, Batlle 1988, Vilar 1988). By this is meant a regime based on formal
agreements between the king and the noblemen first, but thereafter also
involving the churchmen and the free citizens or new urban elites. These
are the three estates represented in the cort, an assembly in
which matters of government were dealt with, an emerging political
institution of the kingdom side by side the king's council of
advisers. The latter reminds us of a cabinet, and the former to some
extent of a parliament. This institutional system became consolidated
during James's reign.
Political institutions mirrored societal structure and hierarchy.
Passing speech responsibility downward in the reported event in (4)
mirrors the societal and political structure, hence reproducing authority
and power.
PATTERNS OF DISTRIBUTION OF
RESPONSIBILITY
This distribution of responsibility to third persons occurs in many
cultures, and it often follows a similar downward pattern leading from
more powerful to less powerful persons. That is, the performance of
responsibility percolates from the top down.
This is supported by a number of ethnographic studies. Hill &
Irvine (1993a:21) summarize some well-known
cases. Among the Wolof in Senegal, griots (praise-singers) used
to belong to lower castes and performed on a salaried basis for socially
higher-ranked people (Irvine 1974). Among the
inhabitants of Samoa, during the fono – a particular
communicative act studied by Duranti 1981
– the tulafale (“orators” or “talking
chiefs”), lower-caste men, not only represent their patrons in
ritual ceremonies but also perform as spokesmen when it is necessary to
defend controversial views (Duranti 1993). Among
the Kuna in Panama, chiefs speak in an elevated register that the common
people no longer understand, and a lower-ranking official translates it
into common language (Sherzer 1983). One may add
the evidence adduced by Errington 1998 from
Javanese communities: In certain ceremonies, ritual spokespersons
“re-present and ventriloquate” their inactive ritual
sponsors' interests. In this case, as with the Kuna, levels of
language are involved (exemplary Javanese, or básá,
is a refined speech variety used by these spokespersons). Among Akan
communities in Ghana the akyeame, or chiefs' verbal mediator
officials, are “masters of the spoken word” and “lords
of diplomacy” (Yankah 1995). This pattern
of downward transfer of responsibility seems to be universal, albeit
differing in form, and still may be observed in modern societies.
While the exercise of responsibility, then, is transferred to
individuals of lower rank, actual authority and the right to blame these
individuals are retained by the higher ranks.29
Above we have seen the king's reproach to his messengers
in the story.
Indeed, in these cultures it also is observed that,
though the lower-ranked person speaks on behalf of the higher-ranked, he
may be blamed if the outcome of his performance is not successful. As
Hill & Irvine 1993a remark, the rationale
behind this social behavior pattern is that the person lower on the social
scale “has nothing to lose” or, at least, that it would be
worse for the community to let someone undermine the authority or threaten
the face of the person of higher social rank. Moreover,
Duranti 1993 suggests that one of the reasons for this
socio-communicative pattern is to allow the higher-ranked person to change
his mind without loss of face.
CODESWITCHING “CUM
AUCTORITATE”
Excerpt (5) reproduces the entirety of chapter 527 in the
Book. It reports the discourse that King James engaged in before
Pope Gregory x and his cardinals gathered at the second council
of Lyon (1274). By then James was 66 years old, but even so, he was
willing to participate in a newly launched crusade, after he had failed in
two earlier enterprises, because he was eager to improve his political
relations with Rome – the Roman Church had been supporting French
political interests against those of the Arago-Catalan crown. James also
failed in his aim to be crowned king by Pope Gregory. However, he
participated in the council and delivered his speech, a masterpiece of
political oratory:
(5) Then we got to our feet and went to take our hat from our
head. And the pope said we should not do that, but we should sit down and
put our hat back on our head. And the cardinals, all with one voice, said
the same thing.
When we had sat down, we said to him he had sent us a message
asking us to come there on the day of the council. And that later he had
sent us a preacher by the name Fra Pere d'Alcanar, who had brought us
a letter saying that we should believe what he would say on his behalf.
And we said to him that we would recall some words that Our Lord spoke in
the Gospel: Gloriam meam alteri non dabo.a
Isaiah 42:8 (“My glory I give to no
other”).
“Now, I say these words for this reason. Because I
wanted to come to you and since you had sent me a message, I did not wish
to disclose my intention to anyone but you. Moreover, it was not fitting
that I should show my good intentions to your messenger, but rather it was
necessary to show that to you personally and before whomsoever you might
wish. We find in the Prophets, that is, in Isaiah, that on the feast of
Our Lady Saint Mary, when she brought Our Lord to offer at the Temple, she
said: Lumen ad revelationem gentium,b
Luke 2:32 (fulfilling the prophecy of Isaiah 42:6). The words
in the Gospel are spoken not by Our Lady but rather by St.
Simeon.
which means to say ‘The Light is revealed to all
peoples’. And so it is true. For when He was born and Our Lady Saint
Mary offered Him to the Temple, the Son of God was revealed to all
peoples. For which reason, we can refer these words regarding this, your
council, which will be good and holy, in likeness to those.
“Let what other popes could not do nor accomplish in
recovering the Holy Land of Outremer, in which land God wished to die for
us and be buried, now be accomplished through your words and your works,
which you undertake with the clergy and the nobles. And let that light
which could not shine fully until now, shine in your times, and be lit to
you. Now, I have come here for the two things about which you sent to ask
me, and a third of my own. The first is that you sent me for give you
counsel; and the second, to give you help. I have come here to give you
the best advice I can and know how to and that God will place in my
thoughts; as well as to help you. The third reason is my own: because I
will encourage those who have no desire to serve our Lord by taking part
in this, and I will have so much to say and will do so much to achieve
this, that they will be persuaded.”
On hearing these words, the pope and the cardinals began to
laugh because we had spoken so well. And we left them very content with
us, and they thanked us very much for the words we had spoken to them. And
then we returned to our lodgings. (chapter 527; Smith & Buffery
360–61)30
Original text: “Ab
aytant nós nos levam en peus e volguem-nos tolre lo capel del cap;
e dix-nos l'apostoli que no u faéssem e que siguéssem e
que tornàssem lo capel en la testa; e açò mateix nos
dixeren los cardenals tots a .I. vots. E, quan fom asseguts, dixem-li que
ell nos ha enviat missatge e prechs que nós que venguéssem
al dia del consili; e aenant envià’ns .I. prehicador, per nom
frare Pere d'Alcanà, lo qual nos havia aduyta carta que
nós lo creeguéssem de ço que ell nos diria de la seua
part; e nós dixem-li que .I.a paraula
li retreýem que diu nostre Senyor en l'Avangeli: Gloriam
meam alteri non dabo. ‘E per açò dich jo esta
paraula: que, puys jo volia venir a vós, e vós m'aviets
enviat missatge, lo meu cor no volia a altre descobrir sinó a
vós, car no era raó que la mia bona voluntat dixés jo
a missatge vostre, sinó a la vostra pressona e denant aquels que
vós volríets. E trobam per les Profetes, ço
és, per Isaías, que a la festa de dona sancta Maria, cant
trasch nostre Senyor al temple offerí, que dix: Lumen ad
revelationem gencium, que diu: ‘La lum és revelada a
totes les gents'. E açò és ver, que quan ell
nasch, e nostra dona sancta Maria l'havia offert al temple,
que·l fiyl de Déu era revelat a les gents. Per què
ara podem retraure que d'aquest vostre concili, que serà bo e
sant, aquesta paraula, en semblança d'aquela: que ço
que·ls altres apostolis no faeren ni compliren, en cobrar lo sant
Sepulcre d'Oltramar, en què Déus volch morir per
nós e ésser sebulit en aquela terra, que per vostra paraula
e per vostra obra, que farets ab los clergues e ab los nobles
d'aquest món, que ara venga a acabament; e que aquel lum qui
no poch venir a acabament tro a hora d'ara, vinga en acabament en
vostre temps e que per vós sia encès. E jo só vengut
ací per .II. coses que vós m'enviàs a demanar, e
la terça és mia: la primera és que
m'enviàs a demanar que us donàs conseyl; e la segona,
ajuda. E só vengut aquí que us do conseyl, lo meylor que jo
poré ne sabré ni Déus me metrà en ma pensa; e
que jo vos ajut. La terça és mia: que us anagaré los
altres que no han cor de servir nostre Senyor; e dir-hi he tant jo e y
faré, que per açò s'auran a anagar’. E
d'aquesta paraula preseren-se a riure l'apostoli e·lls
cardenals, per ço con ho havíem tan bé dit. E en tant
lexam-los aquí molt pagats de nós, e
gra[..]yren-nos molt la paraula que nós los havíem
dita. E puys anam-nos-ne a nostra albergada.”
(527)
Both James's behavior and speech are especially solemn, as the
occasion demands. At the same time, his narrative underlines the formal
treatment that the pope extended to him, also manifest in the preceding
and following chapters. Let us consider now his speech in (5),
specifically its two cases of codeswitching – a type that I
conventionally term “codeswitching cum auctoritate.”
For the sake of convenience, I repeat them here:
(6a) And we said to him that we would recall some words that
Our Lord spoke in the Gospel: Gloriam meam alteri non
dabo.
(6b) We find in the Prophets, that is, in Isaiah, that on the
feast of Our Lady Saint Mary, when she brought Our Lord to offer at the
Temple, she said: Lumen ad revelationem gentium, which means
‘The Light is revealed to all peoples’.
Catalan/Latin codeswitching is not unusual in formal speeches in
the Book. Sometimes it responds to a type of codeswitching
similar to doubling, in that it co-occurs with a translation into Catalan
as in (6b), framed in either direct or indirect style within the speech.
Translation, however, is not always compulsory, as shown in (6a). One may
wonder, however, whether translation was part of the speech activity in
(6b) – it surely was in other cases – or whether it was a
later metanarrative comment by the king-as-author.
Both cases of codeswitching in (5) are Latin quotations from the Bible
embedded in reported speech. Four code features are evoked simultaneously:
an authoritative holy source (vs. the speaker's word), a written text
(vs. speech), Latin as a sacred language (vs. everyday Catalan), and a
distant past (vs. here and now). Both quotations are “texts,”
understood as metadiscursive constructs, “meaningful building blocks
of shared culture” (Silverstein & Urban
1996a, Urban 1996), extracted from the
repository of the community's verbal and ideological resources and
actualized through social practices. They have been decontextualized from
the original source and entextualized in the reported discourse (Bauman & Briggs 1990).31
This does not imply that knowledge of biblical sources was
direct at that time – it could be mediated by homiletics or
liturgy.
In the new context they dialogically acquire a new
sense. As the reader can infer from the translators' notes (notes a
and b in the full excerpt), what is at stake is not the speaker's
display of good knowledge of the scriptures – in fact, this
knowledge is rather imperfect in terms of verbatim reproduction of the
text, exact setting and participant-frame description, and source
identification all at once (
Pujol 2001).
Catalan scholars who have dealt with codeswitching in the
Book analyze nearly all cases in it as “situational
codeswitching,” following Badia's (1987) early approach. Thus, in their view
codeswitching in (5) would be triggered because of the pope's
participant role as the addressee, or by the very presence of pope and
cardinals in the communicational setting. I think this might not be the
best of interpretations. Catalan/Latin codeswitching appears in
several occasions in the Book, certainly for most of those
involving churchmen in these settings, but this does not imply that these
codeswitching tokens are presupposing rather than entailing contextual
factors. One can plausibly hypothesize that they index the purpose of the
particular ongoing speech and strengthen its argument; they are strategies
of contextualization as much as they are anchored in a shared cultural,
ideological background.
Latin quotations, then, are not only reported speech but also links in
a complex, unfolding chain of reasoning. These quotations strengthen the
force of conviction in speech. They are also “links” in a
sense similar to that of the term as it is used in computer jargon, in
that they activate a network of new references and voices; they open a
window onto a new discourse and take the hearer to a new figured site.
Moreover, they help to structure the discourse. This is patterned somehow
according to the proposició, or “proposal,”
verbal genre or discourse type, that is, the king's opening verbal
display at cort (Argenter 2005b). This
was based on a twofold structure: The former part of the discourse was an
extended, highly structured, rhetorical preamble containing considerations
of good governance and appropriate behavior in the lord–vassals
relationship, and was aimed at justifying the latter part, in which the
matter in hand or the king's purpose was straightforwardly stated.
Latin quotations were common in the former part, whereas the unfolding of
a tripartite way of reasoning was common to either the latter part or to
both.32
This feature was common also in
clerical discourses through the Middle Age: triads were commonplace in
preaching and writing. Indeed, this stemmed from biblical
literature.
There is no surprise, then, in the way James ends his
speech.
Note that the important point in the first codeswitching case in (5)
is James's justification for why he behaved as he did before Fra Pere
d'Alcanar, the messenger who advanced to receive his response to the
pope's call on his behalf. The crux of the matter is James's
claim to keep his right to talk directly with the pope, since the latter
had the king called to Lyon – hence James's dismissal of Fra
Pere d'Alcanar's message. Rather than performing a disclaimer,
James's metapragmatic management of his Latin quotation “My
glory I give to no other” (Isaiah 42:8) is intended to enhance his
position as a ratified speaker and his speech as grounded on scriptural
teaching – though he mistakenly, so it seems, asserts that he is
drawing it out of the well of the Gospel.33
Note, then, that both scriptural quotations have their source
in close lines in the same book.
By this move he partakes of
shared uncontroversial traditional authority, retains his entitlement to
speak before the pope without intermediaries, and enacts his speech. All
these co-occur in ongoing conversation, starting with James's
“procedural matter” petition and ensuing with his claim on the
pope's commitment to listen to him before entering into the main
matter – which James does immediately by codeswitching into Latin
again, apparently referencing another scriptural quotation.
We come thus to the second codeswitching token, “The Light is
revealed to all peoples.” King James draws this dictum out of Isaiah
42:6 again, and he is to build his ongoing discourse on it; his
metapragmatic assertion of the source is now correct, but his attribution
of authorship is not.34
All these
inexactitudes, which have been noted frequently by historians and
philological critics (Soldevila 1971a, Bruguera
1991: i, Pujol
2001), are irrelevant from the point of view of the management of
discursive resources or ethno-pragmatics. Or else, they are irrelevant to
their pragmatic effectiveness. The scriptural source, the occasional
metapragmatic assertion of responsibility for it, either right or wrong,
the Catalan/Latin codeswitching and its oral/written source
language contrast, are much more relevant features for quotations to be
invested with social effectiveness.
James builds up a chain of
what we can construe as “figurae” in Auerbach's (1974)
sense. This chain links Isaiah's prophecy in the Old Testament with
Simeon's recognition and intertextual performance as reported in
Luke's narrative of the presentation of Jesus of Nazareth in the
temple. Thus the former is the figura of the latter, and in King
James's speech the latter is turned into the figura of Gregory's
Lyons
ii council, the proposed crusade, and its predicted
success.
Auerbach's notion of figural interpretation (1970, 1974, 2003:73–76, 156–62) relates two historical
events in such a way that the first means both itself and the other, while
the second resumes and fulfills the former. The two events are not related
by a causal and chronological sequence; they are not contiguous along a
“horizontal” axis of continuous historical development, but
separated on its “vertical” axis and connected on the basis of
abstract typological features, outside their synchronic relationship to
other facts, and this makes them appear like a planned, unendingly
iterated, self-responding event.
If we take account of the fact that both codeswitching tokens in (5)
are cases of others' speech quotations, we can conclude that a
close-knit relation, though not identity, may exist between figura and
dialogism in them. Here figura emerges out of speech quotation rather than
event description, but, even so, it continues to relate full historical
events. I accept that the meaning in this case is closer to symbol or
metaphor, as the speaker seems to imply, but the words transcend a
dialogical linguistic or intertextual relationship and point toward
historical events, partly real (the council), partly imagined (a
successful crusade). It is this construal of the deep meaning of two
events by means of each other that is proper to figural thinking as an
overarching view of history.
A recent present event equals a distant past event, then, and this
relationship makes sense of them in present life. This sense emerges by
means of the scriptural quotation and its updated gloss. The speaker is
not responsible for the propositional content of the original statement,
but it is incumbent on him to recontextualize it in situated speech
– that is, to ensure that the quotation is appropriate to the
context, and the gloss to the quotation. What is at stake is faithfulness,
or, in other terms, the politics of minimalizing the intertextual gap
(Bauman & Briggs 1992), while maximizing the
coupling of text and current co(n)text.
Quotation from ancient speeches or dicta from scriptural sources,
then, must be distinguished from everyday reported speech – as this
appears in (1–4) above – and it emerges as a salient feature
in the construction of dialogical, authority-making formal discourse in
the world the Book depicts. Intertextual relationships inhabit
living discourse and are brought about by human agents in living discourse
– not just by the analyst.35
Pálsson (1995:8, 177) makes
a case against “textual” anthropological and historical
analyses, based on the idea of “culture-as-text” and on
inquiry into (inter)textual relationships, and advocates for a
“living discourse” analysis, highlighting discourse practices,
hence agency. I am sympathetic with a “living discourse” and
agency-oriented approach, but I understand this type of (inter)textuality
to be controlled by agents, thus to be a type of discourse practice. We
are not dealing with only textual relations or philological sources
discovered by the analyst, but with the living management of
“texts” and verbal resources by a living actor as a way to
invest discourse with authority or to present oneself as invested with
authority – in fact, as a voice that has to be listened
to.
Furthermore, the strategy underlying the Book may be
described as a figural narrative too, in Auerbach's sense. This is
clear from the very preface, certainly not a narrative genre.36
This preface was probably written later, after
James's death.
The “figura” pattern relating
events from the Bible to James's life is continuous. James's
deeds are justified because they are prefigured in the scriptures. This
policy is intended to convince the listener/reader that James's
will, deeds, and achievements accomplished God's design for the
world. James was the chosen hero for the chosen goal. Just as the Old
Testament prefigured the New Testament, so the latter prefigured
James's deeds. It might appear as though this structure was intended
to sacralize James's life, and eventually the institution of
kingship. It need not to be so. Rather, the aim was both to justify
James's expansionist politics and to write down a narrative that
would be hard to challenge. Thus, what we saw above with respect to living
discourse (on the
Book's grounds) was transferred to the
whole narrative. Its authority-making status was granted not only because
it was produced by a king on earth, but also because it was legitimized by
God. Strategies in the narrative are not that different from strategies in
the narrated events. In the long run, oral represented agency and literary
representing agency follow similar patterns.
The external context is not alien to all this. Besides the
Church's pervasive influence and presence in medieval European
society, the historical and everyday contexts in the Iberian local
kingdoms were defined by religious contention between Christianity and
Islam,37
One of the greatest Catalan writers
in the Middle Ages was Ramon Llull, who wrote poetry, romance prose,
scientific and philosophical works, and pedagogic and apologetic
literature in Arabic, Latin, and Catalan. Llull was famous for his
teaching in universities all over Europe, his trips to Muslim and other
countries, and his knowledge of both Islamic and Christian theology. He
displayed the intellectual controversy between the two systems in order
rationally to convert Muslims to the Christian faith. Centuries later
public debates between Muslim and Christian authors still were held to
argue which was the true religion.
and by the struggle –
and coexistence – between Christians and Muslims. They were also
characterized by a complex knot of dynamic back-and-forth relations among
Christians, Muslims, and Jews living together (
Argenter
2001). James's deeds would speak to his vassals and other
(Christian or Muslim) kingdoms not only of his value and strength but also
of his God's will and overpowering supremacy.
Finally, the Book was written as a document to be left
behind: It was James's legacy to his successors and people. It
accomplishes a forward-looking function. The Book gives a past to
future generations, a past on which to build their actions, a past on
whose basis to “make a present,” coherently with James's
eagerness to enlarge the heritage he received from his forebears rather
than just to preserve it.38
This policy,
however, was contradicted by his last will, by which he divided his
territories and possessions among his children.
CONCLUSION
The intersection of language synchrony and diachrony defines a field
in which phenomena prototypically belonging to either appear as belonging
to both, and explanatory principles, prototypically elaborated for one
axis, may be projected forward and/or backward from one axis to the
other. Thus, the study of language structure benefits from our knowledge
of previous stages of the language, and the study of linguistic change
benefits from our knowledge of the mechanisms of ongoing linguistic change
in synchrony. In the same vein, the study of bygone verbal cultures
benefits from our knowledge of present-day verbal cultures. Here I
understand “verbal culture” as the result of speakers'
agency and communicative practices – either situated discourse or
scriptural practices – a result shaped by both long-term established
behavior and current choices in the face of new challenges and
conflicts.
It has been my aim to show whether and how we can take advantage of
our current ethnographic knowledge to illuminate aspects of ancient
communities' verbal cultures, and to lend support to ethnographic
theory from historical evidence by scrutinizing written records,
identifying bits and pieces of actual communicative practices, and
projecting on them an ethnopragmatic analysis. I have been concerned with
the production and reproduction of authority in Catalan medieval society,
closely knit with types of responsibility in discourse and their patterns
of social distribution. Three types of discourse events have been
considered: delegated discourse, mediated communication, and a highly
specific type of codeswitching in formal language. All involve reported
speech and may be reduced to the speech event types “talking on
behalf of” and “quoting to the benefit of.” In addition,
these are set as public-arena events. Their relations to surrogated
performance and other ethnographic concepts drawn from textual-,
practice-, and agency-oriented approaches have been underlined. The
proposed approach combines these concepts insofar as they refer to the
result of speakers' metalinguistic and metapragmatic awareness and
agency. Types of discursive responsibility and authority, as well as their
social distribution, are governed by pragmatic conditions, interactional
structure, social hierarchy, or skill in the management of verbal
resources (e.g. texts, genres, codeswitching) – or a simultaneous
combination of these. The mode of production of a royal chronicle and the
relationship between this and (language) ideology has also been
illustrated.
Public discourse and delegated/mediated discourse played a crucial
role in medieval society, as is clear from the Book of deeds of King
James. However, not all discourses were equally effective in this
context. Effectiveness emerges from different felicity conditions,
particularly entitlement to speak, especially in mediated discourse
– a salient feature in medieval verbal culture. Eventually, the
consequences of discourse often are the social meaning of discourse.
Behind entitlement to speech, commitment through the word, and the
circulation of knowledge according to certain norms, the communicative
patterns of responsibility-transfer and the management of textual
resources, there emerges a linguistic ideology that has much more to do
with what can be responsibly carried by one's word from one's
own position in the world, than with what the word can represent
symbolically. This word is not the written word, but the one declared
orally in natural circumstances, whether in a solemn or a homely context.
In verbal interaction, the written word always remains a pervasive and
authorized reference, but a shadowy and distant one.
The analysis of the cases presented here shows the linguistic,
discursive, and narrative resources that were mobilized in the assignment
and the assumption of responsibility in discourse, and its social
distribution. Also, particular textual and transtextual resources aiming
at the appropriation of others' voices contribute to authority-making
discourse. The analysis demonstrates the importance of these factors with
respect to the maintenance of or challenge to the established social order
in the world that the Book of deeds discloses to us, and
eventually their interactional contribution to the production and
reproduction of this order.
Despite the ethnographer's feeling about the failure of philology
to give insight into the ultimately social grounds of the
meaning-production process as a result of concerted human action,
philology is not that distant from ethnography when the latter looks into
the historical dimension of verbal culture and tries to uncover how
speaking worked in a bygone time. Moreover, ethnography is not that
distant from philology when the latter tries to understand how the
represented world of written records relates to real life and
life-immersed discourse. A historical-ethnographic approach to pragmatic
meaning in human communication is indeed much closer to the traditional
goal of philology than Malinowski imagined.
