A princess is the main character of this novel, but The Princess of Cleves is no fairy tale. This innovative 1678 novel by Marie-Madeleine Pioche de lA princess is the main character of this novel, but The Princess of Cleves is no fairy tale. This innovative 1678 novel by Marie-Madeleine Pioche de la Vergne, Madame de la Fayette, sets forth the intrigues, treacheries, and dangers of court life in royalist France with a stark and unflinching realism, even as it sympathetically sets forth the dilemma of an intelligent young woman who tries to do the right thing in a court where doing the right thing is decidedly the exception rather than the rule.
Madame de la Fayette (1634-93) came from a family of minor nobility, and her marriage to a widowed nobleman gave her court experience that she turned to good use in her writing. Her literary salon and her abilities as an author gained her the friendship and the respect of eminent French authors like the playwright Racine and the fabulist François de la Rochefoucauld; and when she published La Princesse de Clèves, she truly made history. It was France’s first historical novel; it was one of the first novels ever written anywhere, by anyone; and it still impresses in terms of its insights regarding human psychology generally and gender specifically.
The setting for The Princess of Cleves is the court of King Henry the Second of France, in its last years. The year is 1559, and therefore there is a great deal of talk at court about all that’s been going on in nearby England, including the recent accession to power of Princess- turned Queen Elizabeth.
Our introduction to the Princess of Cleves, upon her initial arrival at court emphasizes her ability to impress even the jaded aristocrats of Henry II’s inner circle:
There appeared at this time a lady at Court, who drew the eyes of the whole world; and one may imagine she was a perfect beauty, to gain admiration in a place where there were so many fine women. She was of the same family with the Viscount of Chartres, and one of the greatest heiresses of France. Her father died young, and left her to the guardianship of Madame de Chartres his wife, whose wealth, virtue, and merit were uncommon. (p. 5)
Madame de Chartres, long before bringing the princess to court, has been assiduous in trying to warn her beautiful young daughter about the dangers of court life, constantly telling the princess “what tranquillity attends the life of a virtuous woman�, and, “at the same time…how difficult it was to preserve this virtue, except by an extreme distrust of one’s self, and by a constant attachment to the only thing which constitutes a woman’s happiness � to love and be loved by her husband� (p. 5).
Madame de Chartres knows what a dangerous place court can be. The novel’s narrator points out that “Ambition and gallantry were the soul of the Court, and employed both sexes equally; there were so many different interests and so many cabals, and the ladies had so great a share in them, that love was always mixed with business, and business with love. Nobody was easy or indifferent; their business was to raise themselves…and intrigue and pleasure took up their whole time� (p. 8). It's rather like middle school or high school, except that in this instance the mean girls and the bully boys have a great deal of money and power.
The men at court wield most of the direct temporal power, and therefore the ladies at court are left to wield their power more indirectly, forming into rival power blocs of singular ruthlessness. “All these different cabals were full of emulation and envy towards one another; the ladies who composed them had their jealousies also among themselves, either as to favour or lovers; the interests of ambition were often blended with concerns of less importance…so that in this Court there was a sort of tumult without disorder, which made it very agreeable, but at the same time very dangerous for a young lady� (p. 8).
The princess eventually marries one Monsieur de Cleves � not as fine a prospect as once might have been hoped, as marital fortunes rise and fall at court with stock-market speed, but seemingly a safe and suitable marriage that secures one’s position at court. The princess seems to accept her lack of love for her husband as part of the nature of life at court. Only later, when she meets the Duke de Nemours, is the passion in her nature awakened. Madame de la Fayette’s description makes clear that, even in that court that fairly swarms with gallant men who excel at winning ladies� hearts, the Duke de Nemours stands out:
The Duke de Nemours was a masterpiece of Nature; the beauty of his person, inimitable as it was, was his least perfection. What placed him above other men was a certain agreeableness in his discourse, his actions, his looks, which was observable in none besides himself: he had in his behaviour a gaiety that was equally pleasing to men and women; in his exercises he was very expert; and in dress he had a peculiar manner, which was followed by all the world, but could never be imitated. In fine, such was the air of his whole person, that it was impossible to fix one’s eye on anything else, wherever he was. (p. 2)
Madame de Chartres, the mother of Madame de Cleves, doesn’t miss much; she can see her daughter’s passion for the Duke, even if neither the princess nor the duke are acting upon those feelings. On her deathbed, the mother tries to warn her daughter that “the danger I leave you in, and the occasion you have for me, adds to the regret I have in leaving you. You have a passion for the Duke de Nemours…you are upon the brink of a precipice; great efforts must be used, and you must do great violence to your heart to save yourself� (p. 25).
There is considerable dramatic irony in the dialogue that follows between Madame de Cleves and her husband. Monsieur de Cleves says that “women are incomprehensible, and when I have seen them all, I think myself so happy in having you, that I cannot enough admire my good fortune� (p. 28). In response, Madame de Cleves states that “You esteem me more than I deserve,� and adds that “you have not had experience enough yet to pronounce me worthy of you� (p. 28).
Eventually, in an act of remarkable courage, Madame de Cleves tells her husband of her feelings for the Duke de Nemours, and that neither she nor the Duke have any intention of acting on said feelings! Monsieur de Cleves is understandably unhappy with what he is hearing, but seems impressed by his wife’s honesty.
Further intrigue centers around a lost letter that looms over the centre of the narrative like that lost handkerchief in Shakespeare’s Othello. Madame de Cleves believes that the letter is from the Duke de Nemours, and that it reveals his faithlessness: “[S]he saw only that the Duke de Nemours did not love her as she imagined, and that he loved others who were no less deceived by him than she. What a discovery this was for a person in her condition, who had a violent passion, who had just given marks of it to a man whom she judged unworthy of it, and to another whom she used ill for his sake! Never was affliction so cutting as hers� (p. 49). In fact, the letter is from the Viscount de Chartres, not the Duke, and it concerns another woman entirely; but the episode shows the depth of the pain that Madame de Cleves� passion for the Duke de Nemours is causing her.
The Duke de Nemours confides in the Viscount de Chartres regarding his feelings for Madame de Cleves, and his “confidence� naturally becomes an open secret all over court, making Madame de Cleves� situation even worse. We are told that “The concern and confusion Madame de Cleves was in was above all that can be imagined, and if death itself could have drawn her out of this condition, she would have gladly have embraced it� (p. 74). Monsieur and Madame de Cleves suspect each other of having violated the fragile marital confidence that they have established, and at the same time the Duke finds that his own prospects at court are much embarrassed by all the rumours that are floating round.
Where The Princess of Cleves achieves its greatest surprises is toward the novel’s end � when it seems, for a time, that there may be an “honourable� way in which Madame de Cleves and the Duke de Nemours may be able to be together after all. It is an ethical temptation for the princess, but she is having none of it, as she makes clear to the duke in a speech that shows a psychological and social awareness that places her light-years ahead of her contemporaries at court:
“I know that you are free, that I am so too, and that circumstances are such, that the public perhaps would have no reason to blame either you or me, should we unite ourselves forever; but do men continue to love, when under engagements for life? Ought I to expect a miracle in my favour? And shall I place myself in a condition of seeing, certainly, that passion come to an end, in which I should place all my felicity? Monsieur de Cleves was perhaps the only man in the world capable of continuing to love after marriage; it was my ill fate that I was not able to enjoy that happiness, and perhaps his passion had not lasted but that he found none in me. But I should not have the same way of preserving yours; I even think your constancy is owing to the obstacles you have met with. You have met with enough to animate you to conquer them; and my unguarded actions, or what you learned by chance, gave you hopes enough not to be discouraged.� (p. 104)
Perhaps only a woman could have written this; so many male writers, after all, have been conditioned to write the “happy ending� where the man and woman overcome obstacles to find one another and embark upon what will presumably be a lifetime of connubial bliss. The Princess, by contrast, realizes that her inaccessibility to the Duke has called forth from the Duke a romantic constancy that the Duke had never before demonstrated. If the Duke and the Princess marry, he will remain just as handsome, just as attractive to the many beautiful women at court who enjoy demonstrating their allure by tempting a married man to stray. Inevitably, the Princess will become jealous, and the Duke will become resentful, and the end product will be yet another bitter and loveless marriage at the French court. The Duke cannot see this truth, but the Princess can.
The Princess of Cleves is truly a landmark in world literature. Students of the novel, of French literature, and of literature by women authors, should seek out this important short novel that is so innovative in so many ways....more
Misanthropy can be defined as hating human beings for having the nerve to be human. The misanthrope, himself a member of the human species, sets himseMisanthropy can be defined as hating human beings for having the nerve to be human. The misanthrope, himself a member of the human species, sets himself up on a lofty pedestal from which he can look down and denounce the follies and weaknesses of his fellow humans. The misanthrope savours his sense of moral superiority, while offering no remedy, no suggestion for reform, no ideas for how to make things better for poor flawed humankind. The pose of the misanthrope is fundamentally self-aggrandizing and ultimately self-defeating â€� all of which ²Ñ´Ç±ô¾±Ã¨°ù±ð makes clear in his 1666 play The Misanthrope.
In point of fact, dinner for two with France’s Sun King was not in the cards for ²Ñ´Ç±ô¾±Ã¨°ù±ð, whose interactions with the French Government were much more problematic than that. By the time ²Ñ´Ç±ô¾±Ã¨°ù±ð wrote The Misanthrope, two of his most recent plays, Tartuffe the Hypocrite (1664) and Dom Juan (1665), had been banned by the French royal government for supposed anti-clerical and anti-government attitudes. The Misanthrope avoids such potential troubles by keeping its satirical focus solely on the way in which people interact and treat one another in the Parisian high society of ²Ñ´Ç±ô¾±Ã¨°ù±ð’s time.
The misanthropic title character of ²Ñ´Ç±ô¾±Ã¨°ù±ð’s play is Alceste, a man who takes pride in rejecting the polite social conventions of the Paris of his time, and seems to embrace the isolation that results, insisting that “I would have people be sincere, and that, like men of honor, no word be spoken that comes not from the heartâ€� (p. 1).
Alceste’s friend Philinte, a young man of good will, suggests that one should try to reciprocate shows of good feeling from others, but Alceste is unpersuaded, stating that “Preference must be based on esteem, and to esteem everyone is to esteem no one. Since you abandon yourself to the vices of the times, zounds! � you are not the man for me. I decline this over-complaisant kindness, which uses no discrimination. I like to be distinguished; and, to cut the matter short, the friend of all mankind is no friend of mine� (p. 1).
Alceste’s view of humankind is singularly grim � “Everywhere I find nothing but base flattery, injustice, self-interest, deceit, roguery. I cannot bear it any longer: I am furious; and my intention is to break with all mankind� (p. 2). And when Philinte, seeing the grossly essentialist quality of Alceste’s misanthropy, asks if there are no exceptions to Alceste’s harsh attitude toward human beings, Alceste insistently replies, “No, they are all alike; and I hate all men: some, because they are wicked and mischievous; others, because they lend themselves to the wicked, and have not that healthy contempt with which vice ought to inspire all virtuous minds� (p. 3).
Philinte, a voice of reason (and something of a choral figure), urges Alceste, in a spirit of Enlightenment rationality, to moderate this harsh outlook, stating that “Good sense avoids all extremes, and requires us to be soberly rational. This unbending and virtuous stiffness of ancient times shocks too much the ordinary customs of our own; it requires too great perfection from us mortals; we must yield to the times without being too stubborn; it is the height of folly to busy ourselves in correcting the world� (pp. 3-4).
As I see you prove yourself my friend by acquainting me with the stories that are current of me, I shall follow so nice an example, by informing you what is said of you. In a house the other day, where I paid a visit, I met some people of exemplary merit, who, while talking of the proper duties of a well-spent life, turned the topic of the conversation upon you, madame. There, your prudishness and your too-fervent zeal were not at all cited as a good example. This affectation of a grave demeanour, your eternal conversations on wisdom and honour, your mincings and mouthings at the slightest shadows of indecency…that lofty esteem in which you hold yourself, and those pitying glances which you cast upon all, your frequent lectures and your acid censures on things which are pure and harmless; all this, if I may speak frankly to you, Madame, was blamed unanimously. What is the good, said they, of this modest mien and this prudent exterior, which is belied by all the rest? She says her prayers with the utmost exactness, but she beats her servants and pays them no wages. She displays great fervour in every place of devotion, but she paints and wishes to appear handsome. She covers the nudities in her pictures, but loves the reality. (p. 26)
Meanwhile, Alceste’s secure existence of smug, complacent, above-it-all misanthropy has started to fall apart. His maladroit servant Du Bois warns Alceste that, because of his earlier harsh criticism of Oronte’s poetry, “you are threatened with arrest�, and that “for your very life you must get away from this� (p. 42). It seems that giving a negative review to an aristocrat’s poetic effusions, in the France of these times, can have some serious consequences. Alceste’s subsequent reflections on human character and potential take on an even grimmer tone than usual, in spite of Philinte’s perfectly rational suggestion that “All human failings give us, in life, the means of exercising our philosophy� (p. 44).
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