Written in 1947. Translated into English by Stuart Gilbert in 1948.
Characters:
Setting: Oran, Algeria, the 1940's (1970's South America in the movie)
Quotes:
"Who would dare assert that eternal happiness can compensate for a single moment's human suffering?"
"The evil that is in the world always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence, if they lack understanding. On the whole, men are more good than bad; that, however, isn't the real point. But they are more or less ignorant, and it is this that we call vice or virtue; the most incorrigible vice being that of an ignorance that fancies it knows everything and therefore claims for itself the right to kill. The soul of the murderer is blind; and there can be no true goodness nor true love without the utmost clear-sightedness."
"When a war breaks out, people say: 'It's too stupid; it can't last long.' But though a war may well be 'too stupid,' that doesn't prevent its lasting. Stupidity has a knack of getting its way; as we should see if we were not always so wrapped up in ourselves. In this respect our townsfolk were like everybody else, wrapped up in themselves; in other words they were humanists: they disbelieved in pestilences. They fancied themselves free, and no one will ever be free so long as there are pestilences."
"There lay certitude; there, in the daily round. All the rest hung on mere threads and trivial contingencies; you couldn't waste your time on it. The thing was to do your job as it should be done."
"'Ah!' Cottard sighed. 'I only wish I had a knack for writing.' When Grand showed his surprise, Cottard explained with some embarrassment that being a literary man must make things easier in lots of ways.
'Why?' Grand asked.
'Why, because the author has more rights than ordinary people, as everybody knows. People will stand much more from him.'"
"From now on, it can be said that plague was the concern of all of us. Hitherto, surprised as he may have been by the strange things happening around him, each individual citizen had gone about his business as usual, so far as this was possible. And no doubt he would have continued doing so. But once the town gates were shut, every one of us realized that all, the narrator included, were, so to speak, in the same boat, and each one of us would have to adapt himself to the new conditions of life. Thus, for example, a feeling normally as individual as the ache of separation from those one loves suddenly became a feeling in which all shared alike and - together with fear - the greatest affliction of the long period of exile that lay ahead."
"Thus, too they came to know the incorrigible sorrow of all prisoners and exiles, which is to live in company with a memory that serves no purpose. Even the past, of which they thought incessantly, had a savor only of regret."
Tarrou offers to go among the suffering to alleviate their pain, but Rieux does not understand why he risks his life. Tarrou asks why Rieux would not do as he does.
"'What's true of all the evils in the world is true of plague as well. It helps men to rise above themselves. All the same, when you see the misery it brings, you'd need to be a madman, or a coward, or stone blind to give in tamely to the plague...'"
The same question came up later for Rambert:
" '..there's no question of heroism in all this. It's a matter of common decency. That's an idea that may make some people smile, but the only means of fighting a plague is - common decency.'
'What do you mean by "common decency"?' Rambert's tone was grave.
'I don't know what it means for other people. But in my case I know that it consists in doing my job'".
Tarrou's philosophy:
"... each of us has the plague within him; no one, no one on earth, is free from it. And I know, too, that we must keep endless watch on ourselves lest in a careless moment we breathe in somebody's face and fasten the infection on him. What's natural is the microbe. All the rest - health, integrity, purity (if you like) - is a product of the human will, of a vigilance that must never falter. The good man, the man who infects hardly anyone, is the man who has the fewest lapses of attention. And it needs tremendous will power, a never-ending tension of the mind to avoid such lapses. ... All I maintain is that on this earth there are pestilences and there are victims, and it's up to us, so far as possible, not to join forces with the pestilences....
'It comes to this', Tarrou said almost casually, 'what interests me is learning how to become a saint.'
... the doctor answered. 'But you know, I feel more fellowship with the defeated than with the saints. Heroism and sanctity don't really appeal to me, I imagine. What interests me is -- being a man.'
'Yes, we're both after the same thing, but I'm less ambitious.'"
Paneloux at first thinks that the plague is a punishment for sin, until he sees a young boy (the chorus boy?) die. He later concludes that it is for our good even though it appears evil.
"We must go straight to the heart of the unacceptable precisely because it is thus that we are constrained to make our choice. The sufferings of children were our bread of affliction, but without this bread our souls would die of spiritual hunger."
Paneloux reflects that during the Black Death at Marseilles, 77 of 81 monks died tending the sick, three ran away, and one survived. To his parishoners, he says "My brothers, each one of us must be the one that stays." He dies clasping a crucifix.
"From the dark harbor soared the first rocket of the firework display organized by the municipality, and the town acclaimed it with a long-drawn sigh of delight. Cottard, Tarrou, the men and women Rieux had loved and lost -- all alike, dead or guilty, were forgotten. Yes, the old fellow had been right; these people were "just the same as ever." But, this was at once their strength and their innocence, and it was on this level, beyond all grief, that Rieux could feel himself at one with them. And it was in the midst of shouts rolling against the terrace wall in massive waves that waxed in volume and duration, while cataracts of colored fire fell thicker through the darkness, that Dr. Rieux resolved to compile this chronicle, so that he should not be one of those who hold their peace but should bear witness in favor of those plague-stricken people; so that some memorial of the injustice and outrage done them might endure; and to state quite simply what we learn in time of pestilence: that there are more things to admire in men than to despise.
Nevertheless, he knew that the tale he had to tell could not be one of final victory. It could only be the record of what had had to be done, and what assuredly would have to be done again in the never ending fight against terror and its relentless onslaughts, despite their personal afflictions, by all who, while unable to be saints but refusing to bow down to pestilences, strive their utmost to be healers.
And indeed, as he listened to the cries of joy rising from the town, Rieux remembered that such joy is always imperiled. He knew what those jubilant crowds did not know but could have learned from books: that the plague bacillis never dies or disappears for good; that it can lie dormant for years and years in furniture and linen-chests; that it bides its time in bedrooms, cellars, trunks, and bookshelves; and that perhaps the day would come when, for the bane and enlightening of men, it would rouse up its rats again and send them forth to die in a happy city."