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Studies
Since she has no status, Suzanne can have no chance to choose what
her life will be. Her birth outside the pale both of legality and
masculinity denies her any choice. Were she a man, bastardy would
narrator's eyes, all the men who wield power share the same
characteristics of coldness and obstinacy; throughout the narrative
they remain untouched by their own emotions. Père Lemoine pro-
vides a striking example of the sad dichotomy that separates the
public man of power from the private emotional being. Unable to
establish a healthy relationship with his own feelings, Lemoine (here
a proper name which is also the common noun designating a class of
men) seems to be almost schizophrenic, split between heart and head,
emotion and reason: «Je ne connais pas deux hommes plus différents
que le P. Lemoine à l'autel et le P. Lemoine au parloir seul ou en com-
pagnie» (pp. 229-230). At the altar in his public role, which combines
both religion and power, Lemoine differs radically from what he is
privately, relaxed, and outside the persona which his powerful
privilege as a male dictates to him. We might also characterize this
dichotomy as a conflict between a softer and more conciliatory
feminism and a rough, excessively obdurate masculinity.
In opposition to the cold harshness of male power and its unfor-
tunate corollary, the persistent hostility of women towards each other,
there exists only one form of female solidarity. Only in one area do
men fear women as rivals; only in one area do women communicate
with each other in a manner that places them beyond the reach of
male power. That single expression of female solidarity is the lesbian
behavior that Suzanne discovers at Sainte-Eutrope.
In a profoundly ambiguous paradox that is worthy of Diderot4,
lesbianism is not only a perversion of nature that condemns life in the
cloister but it is also the single route by which women can escape com-
plete male domination. Suzanne's story is not just a pointed attack
against closed societies which frustrate individual liberties; it is also,
and more importantly, a female denunciation of male authority. This
latter interpretation does not by any means invalidate or diminish the
former. Nonetheless, it does help us to understand the curious,
incomplete nature of this novel and why Diderot seems to have aban-
doned his text at its climax, unable to resolve the tensions latent in its
Now the scene when Suzanne plays the harpsicord and the Mere
Supérieure reacts to that music in a sexually explicit manner:
je jouai quelques pieces de Couperin, de Rameau, de Scarlatti; cepen-
dant elle avait levé un coin de mon Unge de cou, sa main était placee
sur mon épaule nue, et Pextrémité de ses doigts posee sur ma gorge. Elle
soupirait, eile paraissait oppressée, son haieine s'embarrassait; la main
qu'elle tenait sur mon épaule d'abord la pressait fortement, puis elle ne
la pressait plus du tout, comme si elle eüt été sans force et sans vie, et
sa tête tombait sur la mienne. En vérité, cette folle-là était d 'une sen-
sibilité incroyable et avait le goüt le plus vif pour la musique; je n'ai
jamais connu personne sur qui elle eüt produit des effets aussi
singuliers.
(p. 196)
The physical symptoms are the same for sexual arousal and religious
devotion, for being moved by music or by prayer. The mixture of the
The actions evoked here are not innocent of the novel's sexual/lesbian
subtext. As she did with Moni, Suzanne shares with Ursule a deep
affection and an intimate communication whose sensual ambiguity
reflects the larger issue of female sexuality as the only path to har-
mony. Unlike men who are cold, unfeeling, and obsessed with order,
these women communicate with gestures and touches that suggest a
whole world of emotion and affection. They console rather than
compete; they share rather than monopolize.
It is precisely in the incipient female solidarity that men recognize
the real threat that lesbianism poses to fbeir authority and domina-
tion. That this female revolt against ipale power and prestige is
presented in sexual terms that the average reader, both then and now,
considers wrong and sinful only enhances its shock value. The men
in this narrative realize that they must be vigilant against this sexual
revolution because it could so easily lead to others. The men here are
reacting to more than forbidden, sinful sexuality; what they really
cannot tolerate is the female solidarity, the minimal freedom from
their domination that lesbianism represents10.
1 3 The search for the author's bévues has continued almost unabaited since the
first such discovery by P. Chaponnière, «Une Bévue de Diderot dans la Religieuse»,
Revue d'Histoire Littéraire de la France, 22 (1915), p. 573. Here I am arguing that,
while these «mistakes» are logically wrong, they are artistically right since they pro-
duce a powerful emotional impact totally coherent with the author's and the text's
intentions.
But now she confronts male authority in one of its most powerful
expressions. As a tool of male domination, confession is better at
creating sins than forgiving them. Now the long struggle between
Suzanne's innocence and man's efforts to impose guilt upon her
reaches its climax. Overhearing her superior's confession suddenly
overwhelms Suzanne and makes her feel just as guilty as Sainte-
Thérèse did. As she listens, the guilt created by men finally triumphs
over her sexual and narrative innocence:
J'écoutais, le voile qui jusqu'alors m'avait dérobé le peril que j'avais
couru se déchirait, lorsqu'on m'appela. II fallut aller, j 'aliai done; mais,
helas! je n'en avais que trop entendu. Quelle femme, monsieur le mar-
quis, quelle abominable femme...!
(p. 256, ellipses in the original)
is, if not temporal, at least elusive of logical and chronological progression. Voice
and perspective are often at odds: while her speech usually reflects her temporal
distance from the past she recounts, her consciousness follows closely the immediate
present of experience». Although Edmiston focuses on narrative point of view, his
explanation gives a technical basis to my discussion of Suzanne's conduct.
15 For a discussion of these inconsistencies, see Philip Stewart, «A Note on
Chronology in La Religieuse», Romance Notes, 12 (1970), 149-156.
16 Diderot's text is unclear whether this bénédictin is dom Morel, who heard
the superior's confession, or not. Either possibility fits: if he is dom Morel, the con-
nection between outright rape and the guilt-producing confession is enhanced; if he
is not, the emphasis falls on a conspiracy uniting all men in a violent struggle against
all women.
17 Cf. Elaine Marks, «Lesbian Intertextuality», in Homosexualities and
French Literature, ed. George Stambolian and Elaine Marks (Ithaca, Cornell Univer-
sity Press, 1979), p. 369: «There is no one person in or out of fiction who represents
a stronger challenge to the Judeo-Christian tradition, to patriarchy and phallocen-
trism than the lesbian-feminist.»
1 8 Jack Undank, Diderot: Inside, Outside, and In-Between (Madison, Wiscon-
sin, Coda Press, 1979), p. 88.