Few of us have the courage to use the mallet and the chisel. Ellen did. I sometimes feel embarrassed by people’s sympathy. ‘It’s worse for her,’ I want to say; but I don’t. And then, after they’ve been kind, and promised me outings as if I were a child, and brusquely tried to make me talk for my own good (why do they think I don’t know where my own good lies?), I am allowed to sit down and dream about her a little. I think of a hailstorm in 1853, of the broken windows, the battered harvests, the wrecked espaliers, the shattered melon cloches. Is there anything stupider than a melon cloche? Applaud the stones that break the glass. People understand a little too quickly the function of the sun. The function of the sun is not to help the cabbages along.
14
Examination Paper
Candidates must answer four questions: both Parts of Section A, and two questions from Section B. All marks will be awarded for the correctness of the answers; none for presentation or handwriting. Marks will be deducted for facetious or conceitedly brief answers. Time: three hours.
SECTION A: LITERARY CRITICISM
PART I
It has become clear to the examiners in recent years that candidates are finding it increasingly difficult to distinguish between Art and Life. Everyone claims to understand the difference, but perceptions vary greatly. For some, Life is rich and creamy, made according to an old peasant recipe from nothing but natural products, while Art is a pallid commercial confection, consisting mainly of artificial colourings and flavourings. For others, Art is the truer thing, full, bustling and emotionally satisfying, while Life is worse than the poorest novel: devoid of narrative, peopled by bores and rogues, short on wit, long on unpleasant incidents, and leading to a painfully predictable dénouement. Adherents of the latter view tend to cite Logan Pearsall Smith: ‘People say that life is the thing; but I prefer reading.’ Candidates are advised not to use this quotation in their answers.
Consider the relationship between Art and Life suggested by any two of the following statements or situations.
a) ‘The day before yesterday, in the woods near Touques, at a charming spot near a spring, I came across some cigar butts and some bits of pâté. There’d been a picnic there! I’d described exactly that in Novembre eleven years ago! Then it was purely imagined, and the other day it was experienced. Everything you invent is true: you can be sure of that. Poetry is a subject as precise as geometry … My poor Bovary is without a doubt suffering and weeping even now in twenty villages of France.’
Letter to Louise Colet, August 14th, 1853
b) In Paris, Flaubert used a closed cab to avoid detection, and presumably seduction, by Louise Colet. In Rouen, Léon uses a closed cab for the seduction of Emma Bovary. In Hamburg, within a year of the publication of Madame Bovary, cabs could be hired for sexual purposes; they were known as Bovarys.
c) (As his sister Caroline lay dying) ‘My own eyes are as dry as marble. It’s strange how sorrows in fiction make me open up and overflow with feeling, whereas real sorrows remain hard and bitter in my heart, turning to crystal as soon as they arise.’
Letter to Maxime du Camp, March 15th, 1846
d) ‘You tell me that I seriously loved that woman [Mme Schlesinger]. I didn’t; it isn’t true. Only when I was writing to her, with that capacity I possess for producing feelings within myself by means of the pen, did I take my subject seriously: but only when I was writing. Many things which leave me cold when I see or hear about them none the less move me to enthusiasm or irritation or pain if I talk about them myself or – particularly – if I write about them. This is one of the effects of my mountebank nature.’
Letter to Louise Colet, October 8th, 1846
e) Giuseppe Marco Fieschi (1790–1836) attained notoriety for his part in a plot on the life of Louis Philippe. He took lodgings in the boulevard du Temple and constructed, with the help of two members of the Société des Droits de l’Homme, an ‘infernal machine’, consisting of twenty gun-barrels which could be discharged simultaneously. On July 28th, 1835, as Louis Philippe was riding past with his three sons and numerous staff, Fieschi fired his broadside against established society.
Some years later, Flaubert moved into a house built on the same site in the boulevard du Temple.
f) ‘Yes, indeed! The period [of Napoleon III’s reign] will furnish material for some capital books. Perhaps after all, in the universal harmony of things, the coup d’état and all its results were only intended to provide a few able penmen with some attractive scenes.’
Flaubert reported in Du Camp, Souvenirs littéraires
PART II
Trace the mellowing of Flaubert’s attitude towards critics and criticism as represented by the following quotations:
a) ‘These are the truly stupid things: 1) literary criticism, whatever it may be, good or bad; 2) the Temperance Society …’
Intimate Notebook
b) ‘There is something so essentially grotesque about gendarmes that I cannot help laughing at them; these upholders of the law always produce the same comic effect on me as do attorneys, magistrates and professors of literature.’
Over Strand and Field
c) ‘You can calculate the worth of a man by the number of his enemies, and the importance of a work of art by the amount that it is attacked. Critics are like fleas: they love clean linen and adore any form of lace.’
Letter to Louise Colet, June 14th, 1853
d) ‘Criticism occupies the lowest rung in the hierarchy of literature: as regards form, almost always, and as regards moral worth, incontestably. It’s lower even than rhyming games and acrostics, which at least demand a modicum of invention.’
Letter to Louise Colet, June 28th, 1853
e) ‘Critics! Eternal mediocrity living off genius by denigrating and exploiting it! Race of cockchafers slashing the finest pages of art to shreds! I’m so fed up with typography and the misuse people make of it that if the Emperor were to abolish all printing tomorrow, I should walk all the way to Paris on my knees and kiss his arse in gratitude.’
Letter to Louise Colet, July 2nd, 1853
f) ‘How rare a sense of literature is! You’d think that a knowledge of languages, archaeology, history, and so on, would help. But not a bit of it! Supposedly educated people are becoming more and more inept when dealing with art. Even what art is escapes them. They find the annotations more interesting than the text. They set more store by the crutches than the legs.’
Letter to George Sand, January 1st, 1869
g) ‘How rare it is to see a critic who knows what he’s talking about.’
Letter to Eugène Fromentin, July 19th, 1876
h) ‘Disgusted with the old style of criticism, they sought acquaintance with the new, and sent for theatre reviews from the newspapers. What assurance! What obstinacy! What lack of integrity! Masterpieces insulted and platitudes revered! The blunders of the supposed scholars and the stupidity of the supposed wits!’
Bouvard et Pécuchet
SECTION B
Economics
Flaubert and Bouilhet went to the same school; they shared the same ideas and the same whores; they had the same aesthetic principles, and similar literary ambitions; each tried the theatre as his second genre. Flaubert called Bouilhet ‘my left testicle’. In 1854, Bouilhet stayed a night in the Mantes hotel that Gustave and Louise used to patronise: ‘I slept in your bed,’ he reported, ‘and I shat in your latrines (what curious symbolism!).’ The poet always had to work for a living; the novelist never had to. Consider the probable effect on their writings and reputations if their finances had been reversed.
Geography
‘No more soporific atmosphere than that of this region. I suspect that it contributed greatly to the slowness and difficulty with which Flaubert worked. When he thought he was struggling against words, he was struggling against the sky; and perhaps in another climate, the dryness of the air exalting his spirits, he might have been less exigent, or have obtained his results without such efforts’ (Gide
, writing at Cuverville, Seine-Maritime, January 26th, 1931). Discuss.
Logic (with Medicine)
a) Achille-Cléophas Flaubert, jousting with his younger son, asked him to explain what literature was for. Gustave, turning the question back on his surgeon father, asked him to explain what the spleen was for: ‘You know nothing about it, and neither do I, except that it is as indispensable to our bodily organism as poetry is to our mental organism.’ Dr Flaubert was defeated.
b) The spleen consists of units of lymphoid tissue (or white pulp) plus the vascular network (or red pulp). It is important in removing from the blood old or injured red cells. It is active in producing antibodies: splenectomised individuals produce less antibody. There is evidence that a tetrapeptide called tuftsin is derived from protein produced in the spleen. Though its removal, especially in childhood, increases the chances of meningitis and septicaemia, the spleen is no longer regarded as an essential organ: it can be removed without significant loss of active behaviour in the individual.
What do you conclude from this?
Biography (with Ethics)
Maxime du Camp composed the following epitaph for Louise Colet: ‘She who lies here compromised Victor Cousin, ridiculed Alfred de Musset, reviled Gustave Flaubert, and tried to assassinate Alphonse Karr. Requiescat in pace.’ Du Camp published this epitaph in his Souvenirs littéraires. Who comes out of it better: Louise Colet or Maxime du Camp?
Psychology
E1 was born in 1855.
E2 was partly born in 1855.
E1 had an unclouded childhood but emerged into adulthood inclined to nervous crisis.
E2 had an unclouded childhood but emerged into adulthood inclined to nervous crisis.
E1 led a life of sexual irregularity in the eyes of right-thinking people.
E2 led a life of sexual irregularity in the eyes of right-thinking people.
E1 imagined herself to be in financial difficulties.
E2 knew herself to be in financial difficulties.
E1 committed suicide by swallowing prussic acid.
E2 committed suicide by swallowing arsenic.
E1 was Eleanor Marx.
E2 was Emma Bovary.
The first English translation of Madame Bovary to be published was by Eleanor Marx.
Discuss.
Psychoanalysis
Speculate on the significance of this dream, noted down by Flaubert at Lamalgue in 1845: ‘I dreamed that I was out walking with my mother in a great forest filled with monkeys. The further we walked, the more of them there were. They were laughing and leaping about in the branches of the trees. There were more and more of them; they got bigger and bigger; they were getting in our way. They kept looking at me, and I became frightened. They surrounded us in a big circle: one of them wanted to stroke me, and took my hand. I shot him in the shoulder with my rifle, and made him bleed; he started howling horribly. Then my mother said to me: “Why did you injure him, he’s your friend. What’s he done to you? Can’t you see that he loves you? And that he looks just like you!” The monkey was looking at me. I felt my soul being torn apart and I woke up … feeling as if I was at one with the animals, and fraternising with them in a tender, pantheistic communion.’
Philately
Gustave Flaubert appeared on a French stamp (denomination 8F + 2F) in 1952. It is an indifferent portrait ‘after E. Giraud’ in which the novelist – slightly Chinese in physiognomy – has been uncharacteristically awarded a modern shirt-collar and tie. The stamp is the lowest denomination in a series issued in aid of the National Relief Fund: the higher denominations celebrate (in ascending order) Manet, Saint-Saëns, Poincaré, Haussmann and Thiers.
Ronsard was the first French writer to appear on a stamp. Victor Hugo figured on three separate stamps between 1933 and 1936, once in a series issued in aid of the Unemployed Intellectuals’ Relief Fund. Anatole France’s portrait helped this charity in 1937; Balzac’s in i939. Daudet’s mill got on a stamp in 1936. Pétainist France celebrated Frédéric Mistral (1941) and Stendhal (1942). Saint-Exupéry, Lamartine and Châteaubriand appeared in 1948; Baudelaire, Verlaine and Rimbaud in the decadent rush of 1951. The latter year also brought stamp-collectors Alfred de Musset, who had succeeded Flaubert in Louise Colet’s bed, but now preceded him by one year onto the public envelope.
a) Should we feel slighted on Flaubert’s behalf? And if so, should we feel more, or less, slighted on behalf of Michelet (1953), Nerval (1955), George Sand (1957), Vigny (1963), Proust (1966), Zola (1967), Sainte-Beuve (1969), Mérimée and Dumas père (1970), or Gautier (1972)?
b) Estimate the chances of either Louis Bouilhet or Maxime du Camp or Louise Colet appearing on a French stamp.
Phonetics
a) The co-proprietor of the Hôtel du Nil, Cairo, where Flaubert stayed in 1850, was called Bouvaret. The protagonist of his first novel is called Bovary; the co-protagonist of his last novel is called Bouvard. In his play Le Candidat there is a Comte de Bouvigny; in his play Le Château des cœurs there is a Bouvignard. Is this all deliberate?
b) Flaubert’s name was first misprinted by the Revue de Paris as Faubert. There was a grocer in the rue Richelieu called Faubet. When La Presse reported the trial of Madame Bovary, they called its author Foubert. Martine, George Sand’s femme de confiance, called him Flambart. Camille Rogier, the painter who lived in Beirut, called him Folbert: ‘Do you get the subtlety of the joke?’ Gustave wrote to his mother. (What is the joke? Presumably a dual-language rendering of the novelist’s self-image: Rogier was calling him Crazy Bear.) Bouilhet also started calling him Folbert. In Mantes, where he used to meet Louise, there was a Café Flambert. Is this all coincidence?
c) According to Du Camp, the name Bovary should be pronounced with a short o (as in bother). Should we follow his instruction; and if so, why?
Theatrical History
Assess the technical difficulties involved in implementing the following stage direction (Le Château des cœurs, Act VI, scene viii):
The Stock-Pot, the handles of which have been transformed into wings, rises into the air and turns itself over, and while it increases in size so that it appears to hover over the whole town, the vegetables – carrots, turnips and leeks – that come out of it remain suspended in the air and turn into luminous constellations.
History (with Astrology)
Consider the following predictions of Gustave Flaubert:
a) (1850) ‘It seems to me almost impossible that before very long England won’t take control of Egypt. Aden is already full of her troops. It couldn’t be easier: just across Suez, and one fine morning Cairo will be full of redcoats. The news will reach France a couple of weeks later and we’ll all be very surprised! Remember my prediction.’
b) (1852) ‘As humanity perfects itself, man becomes degraded. When everything is reduced to the mere counter-balancing of economic interests, what room will there be for virtue? When Nature has been so subjugated that she has lost all her original forms, where will that leave the plastic arts? And so on. In the mean time, things are going to get very murky.’
c) (1870, on the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war) ‘It will mean the return of racial conflicts. Before a century has passed we’ll see millions of men killed in a single go. The East against the West, the old world against the new. Why not?’
d) (1850) ‘From time to time, I open a newspaper. Things seem to be proceeding at a dizzy rate. We are dancing not on the edge of a volcano, but on the wooden seat of a latrine, and it seems to me more than a touch rotten. Soon society will go plummeting down and drown in nineteen centuries of shit. There’ll be quite a lot of shouting.’
e) (1871) ‘The Internationals are the Jesuits of the future.’
15
And the Parrot …
And the parrot? Well, it took me almost two years to solve the Case of the Stuffed Parrot. The letters I had written after first returning from Rouen produced nothing useful; some of them weren’t even answered. Anyone would have thought I was
a crank, a senile amateur scholar hooked on trivia and pathetically trying to make a name for himself. Whereas in fact the young are much crankier than the old – far more egotistical, self-destructive and even plain bloody odd. It’s just that they get a more indulgent press. When someone of eighty, or seventy, or fifty-four commits suicide, it’s called softening of the brain, post-menopausal depression, or a final swipe of mean vanity designed to make others feel guilty. When someone of twenty commits suicide, it’s called a high-minded refusal to accept the paltry terms on which life is offered, an act not just of courage but of moral and social revolt. Living? The old can do that for us. Pure crankery, of course. I speak as a doctor.
And while we’re on the subject, I should say that the notion of Flaubert killing himself is pure crankery as well. The crankery of a single man: a Rouennais called Edmond Ledoux. This fantasist crops up twice in Flaubert’s biography; each time all he does is spread gossip. His first unwelcome utterance is the assertion that Flaubert actually became engaged to Juliet Herbert. Ledoux claimed to have seen a copy of La Tentation de saint Antoine inscribed by Gustave to Juliet with the words ‘A ma fiancée’. Odd that he saw it in Rouen, rather than in London, where Juliet lived. Odd that nobody else ever saw this copy. Odd that it hasn’t survived. Odd that Flaubert never mentioned such an engagement. Odd that the act would run diametrically counter to what he believed in.