* For instance, he comments perceptively on the way in which, thanks to steamboats, Americans have become frequent travellers and thereby get to know each other: travel homogenizes the nation (OC I i 402). But only a few pages earlier he writes as if each of the states were a distinct people, incapable of blending with the others, and that Americans are patriots for their states, not for the Union (ibid., 384).
* See Don E. Fehrenbacher, The Slaveholding Republic (Oxford University Press, 2001).
† ‘If freedom is denied to the Negroes of the South, they will end by seizing it by violence; if freedom is granted to them, they will not be slow to abuse it’ (OC I i 379).
* In fact the only real oddity in chapter 10 is the conclusion, when AT predicts that America, the country of liberty, and Russia, the country of slavery, will dominate the future of the world. This prediction seemed very impressive during the Cold War, but AT’s admirers have said little about it since 1990. It should be realized that in 1835 AT was strikingly original only in predicting such a future for the United States; belief in the power and menace of reactionary Russia was almost universal in political circles, and was dispersed only during the Crimean War.
* In AT’s French, égalité des conditions. This is usually translated as ‘equality of condition’, but this is misleading since nowadays it seems to imply economic equality, which AT knew perfectly well did not exist any longer in America, if it ever had. He used the word in the same sense as Lady Catherine de Bourgh, when she was trying to bully Elizabeth Bennet: ‘Who was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition.’ In context it is perfectly clear what AT was concerned with, but not everyone has always remembered the context.
* I use this word deliberately. Tocqueville’s Introduction bears much the same relation to the Revolution of 1830 that the Communist Manifesto does to the Revolution of 1848. Karl Marx was another author who learned from Guizot.
† See OC I i 324 for a closely parallel passage.
* Canova’s nude statue of Napoleon, on the other hand, has to be regarded as a joke, though definitely not intended as such.
* The editors of the Lettres Choisies inform us that AT was 1.62 metres tall – say, 5' 4".
* This is not strictly accurate. Perhaps what AT meant was that he had not thought of writing this book.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FAME
1835–1836
Le livre va jusqu’à présent merveilleusement. Je suis confondu de son succès; car je craignais sinon une chute, du moins un accueil froid, en raison du soin qu’avait pris son auteur de se tenir en dehors de toutes les parties.*
ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE TO EUGÉNE STOFFELS,
16 FEBRUARY 18351
THE FIRST SIGN of what was to come appeared in the workshops where De la démocratie en Amérique was printed. According to Beaumont, Tocqueville was much struck by the interest which the workers took in his book (we should remember that the printers of Paris had been in the forefront of the July Revolution): ‘All, from the foremen and the proofreaders down to the typesetters, took unusual care with their work, and seemed passionate for the success of a book in which each, according to his contribution, felt honoured to have a concern’.2 Tocqueville thought that this was a good omen; so did his publisher. It would be interesting to know what these workers made of a treatise on the magical topic, democracy, which was so full of reservations. Probably, like many later readers, they found in it what they wanted: perhaps particularly the demonstration that in certain circumstances democracy could be successful.
The tiny knot of family and intimate friends – hardly large enough to be called a coterie – was as enthusiastic as was to be expected. Beaumont made his views plain in his American novel, Marie, which he was struggling to complete, and which contained an explicit puff for Tocqueville’s book in its Foreword.3 Eugène Stoffels wrote enthusiastically from Metz before he had finished the first volume to commend the Introduction as the best possible account of the character and evils of the age. Kergorlay, writing from the country, after soliciting Tocqueville’s assistance in a project for beating up an insolent commoner (the spirit of the ancien régime still lingered at Fosseuse)* said that the only fault he found was a certain dryness in the first volume; for the rest, the style was excellent, the ideas weighty and original, and although they cast Kergorlay himself into a melancholy, their success with others ‘who know nothing’ would be lasting.4
Tocqueville was no doubt gratified by these praises, but his political and intellectual ambitions required a much larger success, and inspired by Mme Ancelot’s good advice he set out to ensure it by every means he could think of. The Démocratie was notionally published in January, but on 24 December Le Courrier français carried a notice by Léon Faucher: ‘This book seems destined for great success, taking into account the importance of the subject and the novelty as well as the evidence of its insights. It will come to its readers as a revelation.’ Faucher deserves honour as the first commentator to record his favourable opinion, but he soon had company: a steady stream of enthusiastic reviews followed during 1835.5 Most of them were rewarded with appreciative notes from the author. Early copies were dispatched to Tocqueville’s most valued English friends – Lord Radnor, John Bowring and Nassau Senior. Senior acknowledged the gift enthusiastically, and suggested various British periodicals to which the book might be sent. Tocqueville acted on this suggestion at once.6 It would be some time before copies reached the United States, but there were Americans in Paris who raised interest in it by their letters home.
Nevertheless, the great and immediate success of the Démocratie, like that of so many books, owed more to word of mouth than to reviews which appeared only gradually and may almost be said to have responded to public opinion rather than to have formed it. The social, intellectual and political elites of France overlapped during the years of constitutional monarchy to an extraordinary extent, and the opinions which mattered were formed in their salons. It was essential for Tocqueville to secure a favourable reception in those daily gatherings where, refreshed by weak tea and light cakes, and under the firm guidance of intelligent hostesses, le tout Paris came to its conclusions. If the salons approved so would everyone else, and Paris being the intellectual capital of Europe the word would soon spread to other cities and countries. So Tocqueville sent a presentation copy to Pierre-Paul Royer-Collard, with a suitable letter. He recalled that Royer-Collard had welcomed the Système pénitentiaire when it appeared, and said that his gratitude made it obligatory to present this new work, although Tocqueville’s admiration for Royer-Collard’s character and writings would have been cause enough. Thus flattered, the veteran liberal leader read the book and became enthusiastic. ‘There has been nothing like it since Montesquieu’ was his verdict, and the mot spread rapidly through Paris.7 (The comparison with Montesquieu is still the one absolutely safe thing to say about Tocqueville.) Rather strangely, Tocqueville does not appear to have sent his book to Guizot, to whom he owed so much: perhaps he already thought that Guizot had become too conservative. He did, however, write to Chateaubriand.
This was difficult but necessary. Chateaubriand and his Tocqueville relations were still on cool terms. Yet for Alexis to ignore a man who was such a close connection, and to whom, as a writer, he owed so much, would be insulting; furthermore, Chateaubriand was the star of Juliette Récamier’s salon, the most influential of the day: his patronage would be of the utmost value. So as soon as possible Tocqueville sent him a copy of the Démocratie, accompanied by a letter which is a curious mixture of sincere tribute and gross flattery, suggesting that he had little respect for his kinsman’s character and penetration:
When one has the good fortune to encounter in one’s own country the greatest writer of the age it becomes a sort of obligation to lay before him the tribute of one’s efforts, a tribute often most unworthy of him in itself, but acceptable because of the feeling behind the offering. And when family ties also a
ttach one to that same man, to whom one is anyway united by patriotic pride, one feels [acute] anxiety not to fail in what, even without them, must have been considered a duty.
So far so good. Tocqueville now feels free to say what is really on his mind:
Perhaps you will recognize in this work the development, no doubt very incomplete, of one of those great truths of which you have brought a host into the world – and which men now farm out, each finding a single one a sufficient burden. No-one, sir, has handled the approach of Democracy like you. The object of this book is to make known the effects produced by the reign of that same Democracy, the approach of which you tranquilly proclaimed, in that country which has peaceably made it the object of its journey, and where it will undergo its farthest development ... You are not only the man who has best painted the past but also he who has most prophetically foretold the future. Placed at the point of junction between two great revolutions, the one which is finishing and the one which now begins, you have illuminated both aspects of that immense canvas. No-one has described as you have the conquering march of Democracy through the world ...8
What is perhaps most striking about this letter is that Chateaubriand’s American writings are praised in terms which, ever since, many have applied to Tocqueville himself. And whatever the letter-writer’s arrière-pensée, no-one should doubt his essential sincerity. He is not only discharging a debt; he is acknowledging the tradition in which he writes.
Chateaubriand made no modest disclaimers in his reply. He ignored Tocqueville’s more outrageous compliments and went straight to what he took to be the point:
Most certainly we are entering the democratic era; the democratic idea is everywhere. It is undermining all thrones, ruining all aristocracies. One can fight it; accidents can stay its development. But whatever one does or whatever one says, it will gain the decisive victory. You cannot imagine, sir, how happy I will be to read your book and how much I congratulate myself on [our] family ties ... I was already being talked of, a little, when I saw you, a child, at Verneuil. In your turn you will see me decay into childishness; men will speak of you, and I will be forgotten.9
When it came to flattery Chateaubriand had nothing to learn, but his enthusiasm for his young follower was genuine. He read the book, praised it to his friends, and induced Mme Récamier to invite Tocqueville to her salon.
This was no little favour. Chateaubriand and Juliette Récamier were each other’s last loves: the death of Mme de Staël in 1817 had brought them together, and they were never to be separated. Mme Récamier had long been known as the most attractive woman in France, and now she devoted herself to furthering Chateaubriand’s interests – first political, and then, after 1830, literary – above all, to saving him from boredom. She was no longer rich, or young, but she was still charming, and supremely skilled in the arts of society. Although she professed to be living in retirement, in a comfortable apartment in the Abbaye-aux-Bois, near the Luxembourg, all Paris (when invited) flocked to her long drawing-room, with its huge portrait of Mme de Staël at one end and a Louis XVI chimney-piece at the other.10 The conversation was the best in France, largely because of Mme Récamier’s insistence on good manners – she never allowed noisy arguments, or political rant. It was an environment perfectly suited to Tocqueville. Many years later he tried to explain its magic:
Few traces of her former beauty then remained, but we were all her lovers and her slaves. The talent, labour and skill which she wasted on her salon, would have gained and governed an empire. She was virtuous, if it be virtuous to persuade every one of a dozen men that you wish to favour him, tho’ some circumstance always occurs to prevent you doing so. Every friend thought himself preferred. She governed us by little distinctions, by letting one man come 5 minutes before the others, or stay five minutes after, just as Louis XIV raised one courtier to the seventh heaven by giving him the bougeoir, and another by leaning on his arm. She said little, but knew what each man’s fort was, and placed from time to time a mot which led him to it. If any thing were peculiarly well said, her face brightened. You saw that her attention was always active, and always intelligent. And yet I doubt whether she really enjoyed conversation. Tenir salon was to her a game, which she played well, and almost always successfully: but she must have sometimes failed, and sometimes have been exhausted by the effort. Her Salon was perhaps pleasanter to us than it was to herself.11
He was not so sadly perceptive on his first visits. He was invited to hear Chateaubriand read from his unpublished and unfinished Memoirs. It was the joyful high point of his first success.
I went. I found a gaggle of celebrities in bud or in bloom. A small, well-chosen salon: Ch. above all, Ampère, Ballanche, Sainte-Beuve, M. de Noailles and the duc de Laval, the same who said ten years ago: ‘Saquedié! I’ve passed some very agreeable moments with that woman.’ M. de Ch. introduced me to everyone there in such a way as to make me great friends among those who did not write and sincere enemies of those who did. But all alike overpowered me with compliments.12
After the curtain-raiser, the star performance. Chateaubriand sat with his back to the fireplace; his listeners sat in front of him on chairs arranged in a semi-circle:
It would take too long to tell you what I heard. The first Restoration and the Hundred Days. Some bad taste. More often bitter bile, profundity in the depiction of Napoleon’s difficulties on his throne, verve throughout, poetry in full measure, Bonaparte’s march on Paris after his return from the isle of Elba as Homer and Tacitus together might have painted it, the battle of Waterloo described in a way that set every nerve on edge, although it contained nothing but the distant rumble of guns. What can I say? I was moved, agitated, really and profoundly shaken and, in expressing extreme admiration, did no more than say what I thought.
He went home treading on air.
He was soon very much at ease in the Abbaye-aux-Bois. A German visitor to Paris saw him there at about this time:
Opposite [Cousin] was a young man with a pale, somewhat sickly face. People were showing him marked deference and attention. His manner had a grace and courtesy which the present generation of the French seem to value less than the previous generation. ‘Who is that young man?’ I asked my companion, for I was very struck by him. ‘It is M. de Tocqueville,’ I was told, ‘the man who has just published a remarkable book on democracy in the United States. That book had an astonishing fate – it pleased all parties. The liberals and the legitimists praised it, while the juste milieu * did not attack it. But as few Frenchmen possess powers of observation as delicate as that young man’s, few have been able to enjoy the same success. He is greatly liked and run after; every salon wants him.’13
He did not make so favourable an impression on another habitué of the Récamier salon, the marquis de Custine, who met him there in 1841. Custine, ostracized by polite society for his notorious homosexuality, jealous of the younger man’s sudden fame, and unsympathetic to his politics, had not yet purged his spleen in the huge success of his Letters from Russia, published two years later. Tocqueville, he said:
is a puny, thin little man, still young: his manner is charming, but he lacks frankness, his mouth looks aged and ill-shaped, his hue is bilious, his expressive countenance would have captivated me had I distrusted him less; but I saw that he spoke with a forked tongue, and that he believes only what will further his aims. Such is the new star on our public horizon as he seemed to me ...14
Custine’s opinion was shared by few. ‘Every salon wants him’ ... He became a member of the informal, fortnightly dining-club presided over by Pierre-Simon Ballanche, philosopher and devotee of Mme Récamier. The other members all belonged to the Récamier–Chateaubriand circle: Faucher, Sainte-Beuve, Ampère, and one or two others. Tocqueville still went to Mme Ancelot; he visited the affected yet golden-hearted Mme de Castellane, the mistress of his cousin Molé – she always kept herself free to receive him at two o’clock when he was in town. He also visited the somewhat shady Mme Le T
issier; the duchesse de Broglie, daughter of Mme de Staël; and, in 1836, Talleyrand’s niece by marriage and mistress, the beautiful and brilliant duchesse de Dino, to whom he was presented by Royer-Collard. The old doctrinaire was as important a conquest as any hostess. He sent for Tocqueville and told him that the Démocratie was the most remarkable work on politics to have appeared for thirty years. He, Chateaubriand and Lamartine were praising it everywhere, Tocqueville told Eugène Stoffels:
So for the time being I am well-launched, much astonished at what is happening to me and really dizzy with the praises that ring in my ears. There was a woman at the court of Napoleon whom the Emperor took it into his head one day to create a duchess. That evening, as she entered some grand salon and heard herself announced by her new title, she forgot that it referred to her and stood aside to make way for the lady whose name had just been proclaimed. I assure you that something analogous is happening to me.
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