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Marc Blanchard
To those who admire him as the last French public intellectual and
those who denounce him as another Gallic fraud perpetrated on the
hoipolloi, Malraux is the personage (manque) of the latter-day philosophe,
who publicizes ideas, identifies causes and defends culture. To
anthropologists and cultural historians, however, Malraux is worth
more than a partisan fight. As a significant presence in the arts,
politics, and government from the twenties to the end of the sixties,
he illuminates what we understand today by cultural history: the study
of fields of practices, memories and schooling, which we identify as
the places of formation, encounter and contest for individuals,
communities and nations-states. Though he joined de Gaulle's cabi-
net twice (once at the end of WWII and again from 1958 to 1969),
and in the exercise of his official functions sought to promote a
universal French culture, Malraux is best remembered today as the
maverick enfant-terribleof French letters: a twentieth-century Rimbaud
MLN 115 (2000): 662-689 ? 2000 by The Johns Hopkins University Press
who went East but returned unchastened.' In the end, the evaluation
of Malraux's unique contribution to twentieth-century thought may
be more a matter of style than of substance, more of form than of
content. Not that this should prejudice us against him. As someone
who combined the anarchistic and revolutionary zest of intemperate
youth with high-minded engagement in each of his several lives, as a
writer, an art critic and a public man, Malraux never parted with an
occasionally pompous yet always distinctive Nietzschean discourse
whose cryptic irony annoyed his critics. They theorized that Malraux
was a shaman with a good sense of timing and a knack for masking a
lack of formal education with the dazzle of a mock erudition.
To be sure, Malraux made things hard even for people who
admired him. As a dandy who teased the public with his aloofness, he
never seemed to want to do anything that might cause him to become
lost in the blended mass of an unthinking populace and a vile
bourgeoisie. One of the characters in Man's Hope states the overall
importance of style in war as anywhere:
"It's unthinkable," Lopez broke out, "that given people who have some-
thing to say and people who are willing to listen, we won't create a style.
Just give them a free hand, give 'em all the air-brushes and spray-guns, all
the modern contraptions they can want and, after that, a chunk of
modelling-clay-and then you will see!"2
Even his grand attempt at a formal autobiography, Malraux called
Antimemoires, in a gesture that demonstrated yet once more that he
needed the sort of drama that would blur the distinction between
reality and fiction and thus cast doubt on what otherwise passed for
history. He had learned best from Nietzsche, who, in his time, had
roundly criticized the vaunted professors of philology and politicians
of his day who didn't realize that all of truth is masked by knowledge
and that history is but a contest between competing voices, each
seeking its proper register in a discourse of power and manipulation.
One couldn't discuss ideas, Nietzsche argued, without becoming
aware that they were part of a show, a spectacle, and thus, that art,
3 The German
Ideology,vol I, pt.I, sect. A 1.
4 On this, see: Matthew Rampley, "Laughter and Sublimity" in Nietzsche,Aestheticsand
Modernity(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 78-109.
Over time, each culture carries with it symbols which make it similar
to and different from others, and in the modern context of reproduc-
tion, display, and now of archives and instant retrieval, national traits
are subsumed under broad, we say today, global, notions of identity
(who are we and whom or what do we belong to?), place (where are
we located?), and memory (how do we reconstruct our past?). Never
mind that in his later incarnation as minister of culture under de
Gaulle, Malraux, in a curious paradox of return to the models he had
sought to transcend, continued to advocate cultural transnationalism,
while with renewed vigor he defended a nationalist brand of
culturalism.
Writing in an age of extensive reproduction, Malraux is the first
before Benjamin to confront the meaning for an art-historical and
cultural discourse of the loss of aura of specific art objects. Benjamin
sees the loss of aura as the consequence of a generalized disenchant-
ment of the consumer, captivated by the miniaturization and the
mechanization made possible by machines, yet nostalgic for an
authentic relation with a human presence behind industrial copies
and reproductions. According to Benjamin, not only does this loss
pose a challenge to the philosopher, because, from now on, the
thought of a syncretic relation between a specific work of art and the
Work of Art in general is called into question by a reproduction
which, to the extent that it is virtually unlimited, undermines the
possibility of maintaining a relation to an original. It also raises the
issue whether a disappearance of aura is not the necessary first step
toward a renewed historical consciousness of an unrequited past and
a more promising present.5 For example, it could be argued that, for
an intellectual of the twenties and thirties like Malraux, the collective
memory of the 1848 revolutions, the Paris Commune, the anti-war
movements of 1913, were but an encouraging background for, say,
the rise of the League Against Fascism and Antisemitism, or the
engagement on the side of the Spanish Republic in its struggle
against Franco.
Much of this, however, Malraux has already understood in 1926 by
the time Grasset publishes his Temptationof the West.To be sure, the
book's reception was disappointing (there were a few reviews of it in
Belgium, none in Paris, as critics were confused by what they saw as a
what
Only an interview in the Nouvelles litteraires(August 31, 1926) explained
6
Malraux's intentions had been: "The entire nineteenth century, passionately linked to
man, blossomed forth in a vehement affirmation of the pre-eminence of the Me. Well,
this Man and this Me, erected on such ruins and which, whether we like or not,
dominate us still, do not interest us. Furthermore, we are determined to pay no heed
to the summons of our weakness, which proposes a doctrine or a faith. It has been said
that no one can act without faith. I believe that the absence of conviction, like
conviction itself, incites some men to passivity,and others to extreme action" (quoted
in Curtis Cate, Andre Malraux: A Biography[New York: Fromm International, 1995],
111).
7The terms used by Benjamin ("verkfimmern" [to atrophy] and "Liquidierung"
152-
[liquidation] in Illuminationen,AusgewiihlteSchriften[Munich: Suhrkamp, 1961],
53) point to the sort of radical critique he has in mind. Malraux, too, seeks to radicalize
the European malaise:"That special joy one takes in discovering unknown arts ceases
with their discovery, and is then far from being transformed into love. Let there be
other forms to move us, even if we will not love them, sick kings that we are, to whom
each morning brings the most beautiful gifts of the realm, each evening returns that
the
ever-present and desperate eagerness...Our European malaise is caused, alas! By
discoveries of our most sophisticated minds." (The Temptationof the West,tr. Robert
Hollander [New York:Jubilee Books, 1974], 77.)
8
Malraux, The Temptationof the West,50.
9 Malraux, The Temptationof the West,76.
The Metamorphosisof the Gods, tr. Stuart Gilbert (London: Secker and Warburg,
7'
1960), 7.
" Long before Goffman and Sartre would redefine the link between communication
and existence, Malraux already suggested in the Temptationof the Westthat the play of
imaginary forms is central to the interpretation of social relations. By extension, a
culture is recognized as whole only after it has been perceived as setting new
parameters for asking the same fundamental, albeit unanswered, questions.
12"II ne fut pas le conseiller du General, mais le temoin, que la langue grecque
nomme martyr. Car il y a du risque et de la douleur a mimer le prophete pour
propager son message et pour 1'accrediter .... Ceci seul, mon general, vaut la peine
d'ecrire: devenir son nom. 'II serait temps, disait de Gaulle, d'analyser un facteur
decisive de l'histoire: le moment ou le courant passe. Pour nous ou contre nous: la
Wehrmacht de 40 et celle de 44, la Liberation et Mai 68. Parfois, il s'en va aussi
rapidement qu'il est venu. Je parle de ce qui donne une ame a un peuple, comme a
une armte.' Malraux transpose: 'En art aussi, le caractere mysterieux du courant
existe: quand Baudelaire devient Baudelaire."' Jean-Francois Lyotard, Signe Malraux:
Biographie,(Paris: Grasset, 1996), 325-26.
13It is worth
noting that his whole life, Malraux remained interested in the cultures
of Central Asia, and he is one of the first to have made part of a world history of art the
works of a region that never resigned itself to being Western (Greek) or Asian
(Chinese). Soon this remote region becomes symbolic of the deterritorialization
endured by all art objects, as their symbolic significance grows in direct proportion to
their vanished reference, suggesting in the end that art in general, and plastic art in
particular, derives its value from an ongoing reconstruction of the reality which
appears at various times, to have been its illusory substrate. A picture representative of
the Art of the Steppesis thus pitched as one of the first products of the ongoing
transferring and translating process to which Malraux intends Voicesof Silenceto bear
testimony. Soon, however, it is clear that this translating process, far from isolating
likely references, moves the form of an artwork through a dizzying maelstrom of
successive receptions, each of which uses the work in question to start anew a ritual of
stage-setting and world-viewing in whose new perspective the work can be recast. This
is what a reference to the art of Central Asia produces in the text of the Voicesof Silence:
But who was he, really?-A writer, he received the Prix Goncourt in
1933 and, from 1920 until his death in 1976, he remained a major
literary presence in Paris; a man of action, he led a bomb squadron in
the Spanish Civil War and a maquis during the Resistance and ended
as minister of information in de Gaulle's postwar cabinet; an art
collector and critic, he was France's first minister of culture in de
Gaulle's fifth republic cabinet.14 Of this tenure as culture minister,
there are three things people most remember: he cleaned up the gray
sooted monuments of Paris and made them look new; he sent the
Mona Lisa on a special exhibit to the Metropolitan Museum; he
created France's new Maisons de la culture and, through the use of
staged exhibits, forums, plays and performances, he made the French
see their country not only as the repository but also as the creative
agent for a vibrant transnational heritage. Of these three facets of his
life, however, the one that Malraux himself valued most was his
ongoing commitment to the discovery, preservation and analysis of
works of art, especially of non-Western art. When he was barely
twenty, he started collecting and trading art for profit. And then, in a
scheme where he and his first wife Clara would come to quick riches
by trading art for gold, he convinced her to travel to South East Asia
and explore the hallowed temples of Cambodia. But, in Indochina,
caught red-handed with statues he and his wife Clara had stolen, he
was arrested and tried by the colonial authorities. However, well-
connected that he already was, he rallied Gide and the Parisian
intelligentsia to his side and thus managed to escape a long prison
term.
His Saigon trial was for the young Malraux the occasion to confront
the realities of colonialism as, through the experience of his brief
"There is another, more insidious, effect of reproduction. In an album or art book the
illustrations tend to be of much the same size. Thus works of art lose their relative
proportions; a miniature bulks as large as a full-size picture, a tapestry or a stained glass
window. The art of the Steppes was a highly specialized art; yet, if a bronze or a gold
plaque from the Steppes be shown above a Romanesque bas-relief, in the same format,
it becomes a bas-relief." (Voicesof Silence,tr. Stuart Gilbert (New York:Doubleday, 1953),
21-22.
14 Until de Gaulle's second term, France had already had a long history of
ministering to culture. Lebovics and others make clear the tradition, extant since
Richelieu, of minding national treasures (it actually goes back to Charles V-except
that the most precious of treasures remains the French language. The Direction des
Arts et Lettres, which preceded the Ministry of Culture, continued to favor literature at
the expense of the arts. Malraux, a writer who believed in the supremacy of art,
changed all that.
Perken, too, was haunted by a face-his own tomorrow. He saw the lids
drawn tight over his eyes ... for ever. But-a man could always put up a
fight. And-kill! That jungle yonder was not merely a ferment of virulent
malignity; it had trees and thickets from behind which a man could not
shoot. Or starve to death. The pangs of hunger - he had experience of
them, he knew their frenzied agony; but that was nothing, nothing beside
the death-in-life of the slave strapped to the slowly turning grindstone day
after day. And then, in the jungle, a man can kill himself, without fear or
flurry.'5
17In this, Malraux seems to agree with Lukacs that the artist can never be the
spokesman of a society which recognizes him only by excluding him.
18 The
rejection of Spengler was as broad as his success was unexpected. Many
denounced his facile scholarship. The issue, however, is less whether Spengler was
wrong, but how and why he was generally thought to wield such influence as he did.
His work, facile as it was, enjoyed a favorable reception because it appeared in the
context of a generalized disenchantment with the early phases of Modernism. Malraux,
who never read any German, had access to Spengler's original German text through
his wife, Clara.
The only light came from the neighboring building-a great rectangle of
wan electric light cut by windowbars, one of which streaked the bed just
below the foot as if to stress its solidity and life. Four or five klaxons
screamed at once. Was he discovered? Oh, what a relief to fight, to fight
enemies who defend themselves, enemies who are awake! The wave of
uproar subsided: some trafficjam (there were still trafficjams out there in
the world of men-). He found himself again facing the great smudge of
gauze and the rectangle of light, both motionless in this night in which
time no longer existed. He repeated to himself that this man must die-
stupidly, for he knew that he would kill him. Whether he was caught or not,
executed or not, did not matter. Nothing existed but this foot, this man
whom he must strike without letting him defend himself-for if he
defended himself, he would cry out.... In his pockets, his fumbling right
hand clutched a folded razor, his left a short dagger.... He raised his right
arm slightly, petrified by the continued silence that surrounded him, as
though he expected some unseen thing to topple over. But no, nothing
happened: it was still up to him to act. That foot lived like a sleeping
animal. Was it attached to a body? "Am I going mad?" He had to see that
body- see it, see that head. In order to do that-enter the area of light, let
his squat shadow fall upon the bed.'9
In this instance, however, we might ask whether the use of the
cinematic reference is not a precieux motif by which the skillful writer
retrieves a technique going back to Greuze and the eighteenth-
century painters that Diderot so admired. Only now, the motif is less
a matter of pure aesthetic appreciation, which, according to Diderot,
is supposed to mobilize the senses in support of reason, than of
tactical awareness. The Condition's hero, Kyo, states that the true
revolutionary is the one capable of making politics mesh with art, as
he fortifies his analysis of historical conditions with references to
objects not yet understood. From this example one could extrapolate
that a new, properly modern philosophy of history derives its main
support from an aesthetic critique whose main objective is to make
tangible, precisely the (collective) representations through which
societies articulate a changing relation to the past, each one in turn
asking a question successive generations are no longer able to
formulate. The question is no longer, as in Kant, one of the distinct,
transcendental validity of aesthetic judgement, nor as in Hegel and
Marxism, of the historicity of works of arts, but of their performativity:
19Man s Fate, tr. Haakon M. Chevalier (New York: Harrison Smith and Robert Haas,
1934), 10.
how, now that works of art can be endlessly reproduced, they trigger
in us, each time we deal with them, an acknowledgement of a
difference more radical than that postulated by realism, the ideology
under which all representation is the illustration of a stable principle,
larger than the anecdote it recounts. This difference now manifests
itself in new, virtual space, detached, not simply as in the stable
reference of the gallery or the museum, from the daily context from
which it is presumed to have derived its original relevance, but
moveable, instead, as in photographic montages, to practically any
site to which meaning can now be reassigned and there acquire a
new, seemingly incontrovertible legitimacy. In short, all art is now
Modern-not because the Classic has disappeared, but rather be-
cause we are now in a position to see how non-Classical works
interrupt our sense of being part of an ongoing story we imagined
they told so well. Art works do not merely interest us; they arrest us,
because we can no longer interpret them within the confines of one
single tradition, and are therefore unable to claim in our interpreta-
tion of each one the sort of philosophical exception by which Western
theory, from Longinus to Kant, has tried to rationalize the sublime:
that which exceeds the expressive realm of reason itself.
One of the effects of this pan-Modern perspective made possible by
a space withoutwalls is that the new is not the opposite of the old but
anything that seems to exceed systematic interpretation. However,
because, this time, the excess cannot be contained within a special
category-something like a surplus-of reason which would govern
it, albeit without explaining it, an art-historical discourse must
undergo a radical transformation. It must account for both the
conditions of a changing historical consciousness and the instabilities
resulting from the application of this new consciousness to the
reinterpretation of known stereotypes.20It must cut across cultures,
time and space; it must bring together works from different tradi-
tions; in comparing heterogeneous objects, it cannot presume a
continuity which even artists and writers working in the same region
at the same time would have in fact rejected. Whether in the spirit of
20Many people have commented that the translation of "musee imaginaire" into
"museum without walls" is inaccurate. However, while not literal, the translation is
faithful to the spirit of the Malraux endeavor: the advent of photography, and of more
modern media detracts from the physicality of the museum space. Malraux's point was
that with photography, the appreciation of art becomes eminently Modern, as a
comparison across cultures is no longer bound by the constraints of a predetermined
space.
21 Alexandre
Kojeve, Introductionto theReadingof Hegel:Lectureson thePhenomenology
of
the Spirit,assembled by Raymond Queneau, ed. Allan Bloom, tr.James H. Nichols, Jr.
(New York: Basic Books, 1969), 156 n.
The liberation of art from narrative assured that mastery of the visible
world which every great painter was henceforth to exercise. Never before
in the history of art had one and the same impulse given rise to works so
diverse as those of Daumier and Manet; of Renoir, Monet, Rodin and
Cezanne; of Gauguin, van Gogh and Seurat; of Rouault, Matisse, Braque
and Picasso. And this very diversity served to throw light on many other
forms of art, from such resuscitated artists as Piero della Francesca and
Vermeer to the Romanesque frescoes and to Crete;just as, from Polynesian
art to the great periods of China and India, it is throwing light on the long
record of successive conquests that make art history. Michelangelo had a
collection of antiques, and Rembrandt (as he used to say) of coats-of-mail
and rags-and-tatters;in Picasso's studio-whence day after day he looses on
the world those strange works in which the conflict between the artist and
life's forms moves to a climax-the show-cases look like a miniature
museum of "barbarian" art. This multifariousness of forms in modern
individualist art has made it easier for us to accept the infinite variety of the
artist, at long last resuscitated. The Masters of Villeneuve and Nouans,
Gruenewald, El Greco, Georges de Latour, Uccello, Masaccio, Tura, Le
Nain, Chardin, Goya and Daumier have been either hailed revelations or
promoted to the front rank; while a host of other arts have come to the
fore: from Pheidias to the Koreof Euthydikos,then the Cretans; from the
Assyrians to Babylon; then, yet further back, to the Sumerians. And all are
seemingly united by virtue of the metamorphosis they undergo in this new
realm of art which has replaced that of beauty; as though our excavations
were revealing to us not so much the world's past as our own future.22
This passage illustrates rather well how well the continuity which had
been taken for granted since Lessing's Laocoon and Hegel's Aesthetics
can no longer be maintained, and that the idea that a picture can
only be understood by raising the question of how it is art-historical-
that it makes sense by being inserted into a continuum of production
and valuation-is no longer tenable, mainly for three reasons.
First, as European art history constituted itself into a coherent
narrative of origins and progress, this narrative became captive to
23Justice has recently been done to Malraux's endeavors, significantly, by the likes of
Regis Debray. See his "Andr6 Malraux: Perdant magnifique," Le Monde,November 23,
1999. There are fuirther notes of Malrussian interest in the Cahiersde mediologie,edited
by Regis Debray and friends. As noted by Herman Lebovics in his Mona Lisa's Escort
(238), Malraux is going through a process of reevaluation. From this, it might be
possible to argue that Malraux's work is essential to understanding the shift from a
culture articulating the notion of intellectual from a purely philosophical and literary
point of view, to a broader notion of the intellectual, informed by a reference to mass
culture and entertainment. It is in this shift from the written work, from the book, for
which Malraux never had much patience, to the work of art and culture not as canon
but as diffusion, that Malraux's art criticism, his work on cinema, and finally, his
interest in bringing culture to the masses, that a new figure of the modernist
intellectual can be constructed. On this, it is also worth remembering that Malraux,
though he was unashamedly a member of de Gaulle's cabinet, supported vanguard
work that was considered by the rest of the cabinet and much of the French public to
be antirevolutionary and antinationalist. Malraux made the case for not cutting funds
to the Theatre de l'Od6on, where Les Paravents, a play on the consequences of
atrocities in Algeria only two years after the war had ended, was being performed.
24The new situation is defined by the possibility of collecting, and the need to
consume, art. Art collecting has a long history and it cannot be said that Malraux was
the first to ponder the importance of collecting. The controversy goes back to the end
of the nineteenth century, when confronted by the excesses of the market, artists begin
to think that that they would be protected by a democratically elected government.
Positioning himself as the commissar of the artists, Malraux attempted to fulfill that
part of a democratic culture.
whom he had so desired to be admitted when he and Clara set sail for
Indochina. From both, and especially from the former, he also
wished, however, to remain autonomous, if only because he believed
that to privilege the symbolic (writing) over the visual (painting,
sculpture) was to lose the shock value by which form and color
conquer the imagination and he wanted to put an end to a traditional
philosophical discourse that made a work of art ancillary to the
systematic description of it. Malraux would not, like Sartre, write a
book on a relatively classical (Renaissance) painter, like Tintoretto,
only to make a philosophical argument about Tintoretto's existential
choice of subjects and situations, if only because in this Tintoretto
first loses his specificity as an Italian painter of the French and Italian
Renaissance. For Sartre, the discussion of the art of any period in
existential terms implies the possibility of considering both classic
and modern art within the unexamined parameters of conservation
and display: the museum or the gallery, and the photographs which
mediate any physical interaction with the painting. Situation, deci-
sion and personal identification remain central themes in a Sartrean
problematic. However, the discussion of situations and choices, with
which Sartre abstracts Tintoretto's life from the paintings which had
made that life problematic in the first place, is tenable only to the
extent that the paintings which explain the life remain part of an
aeuvre,whose own historical construction doesn't particularly interest
Sartre anyway. Malraux, on the other hand, is interested in the fact
that any discussion of art is conditioned by an unexamined reference
to a place not of architectural design, but of the mind in the
photographic reproductions to which any interpretative text anchors
itself.
The question has often been posed whether Malraux is a true
intellectual or a poseur. But even assuming that the question needs to
be resolved once and for all for the sake of the coherence of an art-
historical discourse, it is far less interesting than the other question:
how an amateurish hero in search of riches and fame articulates his
gesture in a new context where the fundamental questions of
philosophy (Who are we? What do we know?) are now to be posed as
questions of cultural understanding (How do we understand the
works of other people and other countries which, as Europeans, we
used to dominate, and which now resist us?) and politics (How, in a
new specular universe, made possible by technologies of reproduc-
tion, works of art represent a new class of concepts, not entirely
abstract nor completely concrete, that enable us to play with multiple
notions of the real?). In this respect, Malraux's work shows how in the
West literature and philosophy have always enjoyed a special status,
due to the preeminence of theory over practice. But, following the
wreckage of the Great War and the rise of transnational ideologies of
revolution and liberation which had emerged before the war itself
(anarchism, for instance, by which Malraux was not untouched), the
question of the separation between theory and practice, of the
distinction between beauty and truth, becomes moot. Coming on
Malraux's heels, some philosophers will soon be asking whether
philosophy is not at stake when rational subjects see themselves as
separate from history. Only a few years past the time when Malraux
reflects on the intersection of thought and culture, academic philoso-
phers also ask the question of culture in relation to the rise of
Fascism. The first papers of the Frankfurt School evidence the
necessity of coming to terms with the way history is constituted by the
ongoing relationship between the subject and the objects in his
environment. Both Malraux's Temptationof the Westand some of the
first papers of the Frankfurt School's Institute for Social Research are
cast in the same mold: that of a metaphysical discourse opening itself
up to the social, as abstract systems are tested for their power to
generate new projects, and found to be inadequate. Each philoso-
pher is not subject to a systematic critique but sifted for fragments or
elements which might help construct a provisional, albeit not system-
atic, relation to the world. Thus Heidegger sketches his relation to
Nietzsche as one of pragmatic revision; his own system is but a path
forking off of the critique of rhetoric in Nietzsche. Beside the
problem of producing new discourses on the ruins of philosophy,
Modernist thought in the twenties and thirties must also deal with the
emergence of new constructions from the realm of the social sci-
ences. Sociology, anthropology and psychoanalysis present a chal-
lenge to abstract thought by reinserting into philosophical and
historical discourse the question of the location of the abstract itself.
For Marx, Freud, Durkheim, and the fledgling anthropologists of the
between-the-wars period, asking a question about subject and action
is first to reflect on the conditions under which the question can be
asked. For instance, positing a social field beyond the individual
subject means to admit that all discourse about cause and effect is
beyond affect: it is only by becoming aware of the inevitable fictitious-
ness of his own situation (trying to be objective while remaining a
subject in the field he studies) that the investigator conducts a
rational discourse.
under the weight of its colonial empires, it raises the question of who
speaks for her. The infatuation with Spengler's view of a decayed or
fin-de-siecle history and the resistance to it (Toynbee) is a byproduct
of this realization. Not even the new technologies of retrieval,
archeology, and physical anthropology which appear at the time can
calm this anxiety. Only a different type of narrative can account for
these discontinuities, a narrative which can show how philosophical
inquiry is shaped by cultural memories, and how those memories are
shaped by our need to understand history through art. In his memoir
relating his epic search for the ruins of Sheba, Malraux recalls how he
took to the epic flight with his friend Corniglion-Molinier because he
wanted to prove that "the legends by which we live have a history and
that this history is understandable mostly through the monuments we
have identified. I wanted to know how thought emerges from ruins."25
The Mona Lisa's voyage to New York, arranged by Malraux's
Cultural Ministry in 1962, is an attempt to give this philosophical
debate on the distinction between history and aesthetics a practical,
administrative and managerial turn. It should represent the best of
cultural exchange at a time when the Cold War impedes the free flow
of culture and ideas and makes cultural nationalism irrelevant. The
activities of a minister of culture at a time when France is coming to
grips with the loss of its empire should make it easier to imagine the
man of letters as the one who, by integrating the best of Romantic
individualism with the high ideals of a social imagination, has
survived the disappointments of class struggle and revolution. Yet the
true lesson of the life well led is not that it procures a Boethian solace
to the reader in need of consolation but that it teaches that there is
no recourse. From that experience many things may come. With
Malraux, the most important thing is an understanding of the
tragically limited scope of an individual consciousness. Malraux also
had not one but three lives as he moved from one destiny to the next;
but, though each of those lives appears different on the outside (the
writer indulging in his private realm with no public charge, the man
of letters and action making public news, the minister-humanist
fulfilling Goethe's ideal of the new purveyor of culture), they are all
marked by an obsession with death. In a famous passage of the Royal
Way,the main character, Perken, a truculent rendition of the young
25The
Queen of Sheba episode was related in two different venues: first in the
Antimemoires,and then in a separate volume, published later.