Simon Leys - The Hall of Uselessness - Collected Essays

It is not rare for creative artists to have only a limited grasp of the trivialities of practical life; often, this very infirmity is the price they pay to be able to concentrate on their art. Yet such a disposition is certainly not conducive to shrewd political judgement, and scarcely qualifies aloof poets or imaginative authors to pronounce with authority upon all the major issues of the day. Gide not only took pride in the fact that he did not read the newspapers — hence, his famous utterance, “I call journalism whatever will present tomorrow less interest than it does today”[179] — but he sternly upbraided his friends for wasting their time on such a futile activity. Take this typical dialogue, as recorded by the Tiny Lady:

Gide : You read too many modern things, things without any value; you should discipline yourself, and read every day some pages by a great classic: Montaigne, Goethe, La Bruyère, any one of them. It would enable you to distance yourself from daily events, from transitory facts, it would enlarge your perspective…

Martin : Yes, I often tried, but this… does not provide me with material for observation and for notation, as much as modern information does.

Gide : Yes, right, I see: you are unable to actualise the ideas of the great authors of the past; for you, their thoughts remain remote; with me, the reverse is true. If after having swallowed the prose of the daily paper, I open again my Diderot, it is the latter that I find timely.”[180]

There is, of course, much value in Gide’s advice; nevertheless, it should be remarked that, on all the momentous issues of their eventful times, it was Martin, simply equipped with his common sense and information drawn from the daily papers, who proved unfailingly capable of understanding the sort of world they were living in, whereas Gide allowed himself, with reckless naïveté, to be abominably deceived and manipulated by the criminal impostors of politics.

The most notorious episode was his foolish flirtation with Stalinist communism during the 1930s.[181] His political conversion was built upon the flimsiest foundations: for a while he carried Marx’s Capital in his pocket. (He took the first four volumes on one of his sex-tours to Morocco, proclaiming: “I am plunging into them with the greatest interest”—but it seems he never finished the first volume.) When, in 1931, he began to talk about the Soviet Five-Year Plan “with great enthusiasm,” Schlumberger remarked dryly: “But you seem to have suddenly discovered things that have occupied people’s minds for a long time now.” On homosexuality (which always remained his primary concern), he immediately assumed (without the slightest shred of evidence) that “Soviet law not only should be liberal, but even that it would probably encourage it, in order to foster virile emulation, as was done in ancient Sparta.”[182] He wished the USSR would translate Corydon : “It seems to me to have been written for them.” As late as 1936, after having been confronted with painful evidence of Soviet intolerance on this issue, “he told a half-astounded, half-amused Ilya Ehrenburg that he intended to speak to Stalin about the legal position of homosexuals in the Soviet Union.” Whenever some specific misgivings would occasionally creep into his mind, Stalin soon provided the solution: “I read with the greatest interest Stalin’s new speech, which exactly answers my objections and fears”; or again, “Stalin’s last speech, enthralling in its lucidity and good faith, has satisfactorily addressed my very question.” The problem of Trotsky, however, did slightly disturb him for a short while; and he reflected with disarming candour, “I don’t really know what to think. It was so restful to fully approve of something.”

From the beginning, Schlumberger marvelled that “without having had any sort of prior information on the subject, he had a sudden illumination just after reading one or two books on the Five-Year Plan. The lack of nuances, of scepticism, with which he rushes enthusiastically in this new direction confirms once again that, at heart, he is still a perpetual adolescent. Yet, for a man of sixty-one, who had previously displayed so much critical acumen, this sort of primitive fervour is rather embarrassing.”[183]

Shortly after Gide’s spectacular disenchantment with communism and the extraordinary success of his book Retour de l’URSS , Martin du Gard re-read the book. He was not favourably impressed and noted in his own Journal :

In the end, what sort of contribution does this book offer? One more description of the non-existence of free speech and free thought in Russia. We already knew all that without having had to go there. And these things have already been said a hundred times, with more solid arguments and stronger documentation. Wonderful innocence! Which makes me love him even more — but this is not reason enough to extol his book… Its only value is that it provides further confirmation of his good faith. But this is a consideration that can only concern his admirers and his friends. Otherwise, this book will do him no good. Not immediately, perhaps, but later on.[184]

Gide’s second great historical test came with the Nazi invasion of France. This time, luckily for him, his performance was not displayed to the public: the vigilant concern of his entourage ensured that his dismal vacillations remained strictly private. But his good friends had ample cause for concern, as indicated in the daily records of the Tiny Lady. For instance, in October 1940, having taken refuge in the South of France, he began to toy with the idea of returning to occupied Paris, to resume the activities of the Nouvelle Revue Française ; a young German officer had written him a nice letter, leading him to believe that he would be ideally qualified to negotiate with the German authorities! The Tiny Lady had to warn him against the imprudence of such a plan.[185]

After the Pétain — Hitler meeting that paved the way for French collaboration with the Nazis, the Tiny Lady was flabbergasted by Gide’s attitude: “It is strange that, on this issue, his reactions remain weak and uncertain. He spontaneously inclines towards this type of view: ‘Anyway, since we have lost, why resist?’”[186]

In November 1940, Gide told her that he had “read with tremendous interest a page by Renan: ‘World government, should it ever take place, would probably suit best the German genius’—and he went on: ‘Naturally I wholeheartedly wish for a British victory — I cannot do otherwise — and yet, at times, I cannot help thinking that this may not be the best way out of the predicament the world is now facing. Who knows? We are perhaps not being fair to Hitler when we refuse to believe that his ultimate dream could be world harmony.’”[187]

In 1941, the indecisiveness, volatility and confusion of his political opinions caused Martin du Gard increasing concern: “Our old friend is less and less capable of steering his own boat. I have the feeling that he has lost his compass and allows the stronger winds to determine his course. There is an element of senile childishness in his attitude.”[188]

In the end, his salvation came by pure accident. In 1942, he went to North Africa on a visit, but the military operations there left him stranded on the other side of the Mediterranean for the remainder of the war — safely out of political trouble. He made only one feeble attempt at commenting on current affairs, in an article published after the liberation of Paris. It did not have any impact, but Schlumberger read it with consternation: “It is full of worn-out clichés and reflects the naïveté of a man completely out of touch with the movement of ideas. He even has one unfortunate phrase on ‘the immense and glorious Russia,’ as if he were trying to forget his Retour de l’URSS .”[189]