40 I CHRONICLESncism and the French^ monarchy. Withoutnbuying the entire ultramontanenprogram, I would suggest that Americannconservatives could learn from thenroyalists’ critiques of democracy in thensame way John Adams versed himselfnin the history of traditional monarchies.nAdams, the puritan secondnPresident of a republic, often foundnhimself defending the monarchicalnElder Daughter of the Church—ofncourse he always looked with suspicionnand disdain on the products of thenEnlightenment in a way which wouldnplace him more in league with the oldnFrench right than with that part ofnTocqueville who passionately defendednthe Enlightenment reformer Turgotn(incidentally, conservatives findingnTocqueville’s mi-croyant detachment anfar cry from the flag-bearing traditionalismnof Burke might discover a missingnlink in the writings of Alexis’nteacher Royer-Collard). With his obsessionnwith the issue of executivenauthority, Adams would have certainlynadmired De Gaulle’s Fifth Republicnpresidency as a resoluhon of almostn100 years of French executive weakness.nIn many ways, the French presidentntoday is stronger and more freelynBlurbsnJames Dickey has written a newnbook, Alnilam (New York: Doubleday;n$19.95), and it is unclear why.nPerhaps Dickey just had to provenhimself by speaking—a wordlessnwriter being too Zen to appeal to hisncommon sense.nAlnilam is set in World War IIn(in which Dickey served as a fighternpilot) and describes the trials andntribulations of a Frank Cahill, recentlynblind from adult diabetes.nCahill also has a son, whom he hasnnever seen and who is presumedndead, the victim of a mysterious AirnCorps training accident. Fairly earlynon, however, it becomes apparentnthat both Cahill and his son arenmetaphorical (Life, Disease,nDeath, Sight, “On his Blindness,”nThe Meaning of Manhood, ]onathannLivingston Seagull, shades ofnJames Jones, Top Gun, all thicklynin command of his forces than ours:nwitness even the socialist Mitterrandnsending 2,000 troops to Tchad with nonone batting an eye.nA further difficulty which Americansnencounter when examiningnFrench conservatism is a certain dizzinessnupon seeing the depths and extremesnrevealed beneath the surface.nAlthough almost inconceivable to us,nwe might remember that the 31 attemptednassassinations of De Gaullendid not originate in the political spectrumnto his left. We “Anglo-Saxons”nmight also be astonished to discover annentire school of thought which considersnour illustrious Magna Garta anscheming device by which ambitiousnnobles succeeded in weakening thenpower of the English sovereign beforenhis enemies, much like the feudalnrevolt deceptively titied “the League ofnthe Public Good,” led by Charles thenBold against the crown of Louis XI.nFor a thousand years many Frenchmennhave taken for granted the idea thatntheir monarchy once provided anflawed but effective stabilizing and civilizingnforce in a Dark Age riddled withnthe vicissitudes of democratic mobnrule. This view was put most cogentiynREVISIONSnrolled together), as if Dickey hasnforgotten (for a short while, let usnhope) that metaphors are supposednto conjure life, not the other waynaround.nMuch of the book is quite simplynrepulsive: an invalid lady bathernunstrapping her prosthetic leg whilenCahill, the Peeping Tom proprietornof a public pool, masturbates behindna two-way mirror; Cahill,nstepping into his own excrement,noffers it to his sight-seeing dog,nZack, to sniff at, as proof of theirnshared spunk. Zack, a GermannShepherd, 160 lbs. and growing,nwe can excuse; Dickey, a formernfootball player, poet, celebrity, wencannot.nWhat the world is like, we maynnever know. Yet, to divide it betweennlight and dark (Dickey’snunique, screenplay device, the darkncolumn set off in bold type) is tonrecall Mani the Persian; it wouldnnnin Maurras’ piquant phrase, “The parliamentarynsystem, according to Montesquieuna product of the Teuton forests,nis a barbaric machine, too slownand too cumbersome . . . this Merovingiannchariot must make way for thenautomobile.”nThe long shadow of this angry oldnman, Charles Maurras, hangs over thenFrench conservative tradition of thenpast hundred years. His adversariesnaccuse him of fulfilling Sainte-Beuve’snprophecy, “In France we shall remainnCatholic long after we have ceased tonbe Christians.” Yet those quick to remindnus his writings were condemnednby the Vatican in 1926 rarely go on tonremember the ban was lifted in 1939.nAnd with typical liberal duplicity, thenFrench publishing house Gallimardnhas conspicuously refused to print hisnvoluminous work in their plush Pleiadenseries, preferring to publish thenwork of such other noted anti-Semitesnas Voltaire and Celine. The disintermentnof the French right from itsnlamentable postwar status will notnoccur until the exact nature of Maurras’ncollaboration with the Vichy governmentnis reexamined. Anyone familiarnwith his writings knows that ifnnot be inconceivable to have thennext Dickey fiction set in AztecnMexico, with the main characternbeing a kidnapped and castratednViking, impressed into the chestrippingnpriestly class. After all,nCahill’s mythical son, Joel, leadernof a sinister Nordic cult, is not a farncry from that.nWriters of celebrity (if not ofnstature) have an obligation tonwords. Diabetes is a debilitatingndisease—to depict it in graphic detailnin order to confront us with ournown latent (or galloping) debilityn(and the possibility of RedemptionnThrough Suffering) is puerile.nDickey the poet, and the author ofnDeliverance, should have more reverencenfor the divine gift of language.nWhen words lose theirnvalue, the world pales, and nonamount of sniffing can bring itnback.n