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In 1900, Paul Claudel returned from a diplomatic post in China
to discover whether he had a monastic vocation. He was advised
that he did not, and once more he was off to China. On board
the ship was a young mother and her children whose spouse more
or less ignored her during the voyage, wheeling and dealing,
making contacts so that he could prosper in China. Claudel,
the monk manqué, fell in love with the young matron; in China
he moved her and her family into his official residence while
the perhaps complacent husband was busy elsewhere. When, some
months later, the young woman took her older children back to
Europe to place them in schools there, she was carrying
Claudel's child. This episode was to provide the basis for
Claudel's powerful play, Le partage du midi. The woman
divorced her first husband, married another, and never saw
Claudel again.
This story is told by Thérèse Mourlevat in La Passion de
Claudel, la vie de Rosalie-Rylska based on some thirteen
years of friendship with Claudel's daughter, Louise, the fruit
of the adulterous union. Louise at first was led to believe
her father was her mother's first husband, then his second,
and finally learned the truth. She learned it because Claudel
accepted responsibility for his child, provided for her, saw
to her religious education. Claudel subsequently married but
neither his wife nor children knew of Louise until 1955 when
Claudel died.
Claudel became the greatest French poet of his time and a
dramatist of unusual power. He has left us a vivid account of
his conversion, which took place in Notre Dame on Christmas
Eve 1886. His lapse with Rosalie seared his soul. Perhaps,
sub specie aeternitatis, it was the making of him as a
Catholic and a poet.
Every human life is a mystery and some are more mysterious
than others. Claudel became a ferocious Catholic and, like
Maritain, sought to convert others, even, improbably, André
Gide. The revelation of his turn of the century illicit love
affair enhances his reputation. His acceptance of the results
of the illicit liaison, his sense of responsibility, his
surreptitious support, both material and spiritual, do him
credit. Poetae nascuntur, it is said. So are their
daughters, legitimate and otherwise. In a most complicated and
difficult situation, Claudel acted well.
Ralph
McInerny |
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