It is certain that if he had made a reproach it would have fallen before
these words: "at once the chastisement and atonement of adultery."
Furthermore, that could be made a matter of reproach with as much
foundation as the other quotations, for in all that you have condemned
there is no point that can be seriously held.
Now, gentlemen, this kind of fantastic journey having displeased the
editors of the _Revue_, it was suppressed. This was certainly excess of
reserve on the part of the _Revue_; and it is very certain that it is
not an excess of reserve which could furnish material for a lawsuit. You
shall see now what has furnished the material. What is not seen, what
has been suppressed, comes thus to appear a very strange thing. People
imagine many things, and often those which do not exist, as you have
seen from the reading of the original passage. Heavens! Do you know what
they imagined? Probably that there was in the suppressed passage
something analogous to that which you will have the goodness to read in
one of the most marvellous romances from the pen of an honorable member
of the French Academy, M. Mérimée.
M. Mérimée, in a romance entitled _The Double Mistake_, describes a
scene which took place in a postchaise. It is not the locality where the
carriage is that is of importance, it is, as here, in the detail of what
is done in the interior. I do not wish to abuse the audience, and will
pass the book to the Public Attorney and to the court. If we had
written a half, or a quarter part of what M. Mérimée wrote, I should
find some embarrassment in the task that has been given me, or rather I
should have to modify it; in place of saying what I have said, and what
I affirm, that M. Flaubert has written a good book, an honest book,
useful and moral, I should say: literature has its rights; M. Mérimée
has made a very remarkable literary work, and it is not necessary to
show ourselves too particular about details when the whole is
irreproachable. I take my stand there; I should acquit, and you will
acquit. Great Heavens! It is not by omission that an author can sin in
a matter of this kind. And besides, you will have the detail of that
which took place in the cab. But as my client himself was content to
make a journey, revealing what passed in the interior of the carriage
only by a bare hand which appeared under the yellow silk curtains and
threw out bits of torn paper which were scattered by the wind and
settled down afar off like white butterflies upon a field of red clover
all in flower, as my client was content with that, no one knew anything
about it and everyone supposed--from the suppression itself--that he had
at least said as much as the member of the French Academy. You have
seen that there was nothing in it.
Ah, well! this unfortunate suppression has caused the lawsuit! That is
to say, when, in the offices where they have charge, and with infinite
reason, of inspecting all writings which could offend public morals,
they saw this cut, they took warning. I am obliged to declare, and,
gentlemen of the _Revue_, allow me to state that they started the work
of their scissors two words too far off; they should have begun before
they got into the cab. To cut after that was more difficult. This
cutting was indeed most unfortunate; but if you have committed the
error, gentlemen of the _Revue_, assuredly you will atone for it to-day.
They said in the inspecting office: Take heed of what is to follow, and
when the following number appeared, they made war on it to the syllable.
The people in the office are not obliged to read all; and when they saw
that some one had written about a woman removing all her clothing, they
were startled enough without going further. It is true that, differing
from our great masters, Flaubert has not taken the trouble to describe
the alabaster of her bare arms, throat, etc. He has not said, as did a
poet whom we love:
I see her alabaster limbs ardent and pure,
Smooth as ebony, like the lily, coral, roses, veins of azure,
Such indeed, as in former times thou showedst to me
Of nudity embellished and adorned;
When nights slipped by, and pillows soft
Saw thee from my kisses waking and sleeping oft.
He has said nothing like this of André Chénier's. But he finally said:
"She abandoned herself.... Her clothing fell from her."
She abandoned herself! Why not? Is all description to be prohibited?
But when one makes an incriminating charge, he should read the whole,
and the Government Attorney has not read the whole. The passage he makes
the charge against does not stop where he stopped; it has a corrective,
and here it is:
"Nevertheless, there was upon this brow covered with cold drops, upon
these stammering lips, in these bewildered eyes, in the clasp of these
arms something extreme, something vague and lugubrious which seemed to
Léon to glide between them in some subtle fashion, as if to separate
them."
In the office they did not read that. The Government Attorney just now
did not notice it. He only saw this:
"Then, with a single gesture, she allowed all her clothes to fall from
her."
And then he cries out: An outrage to public morals! Surely, it is too
easy to accuse with a system like this. God forbid that the authors of
dictionaries fall under the Government Attorney's hand! Who could escape
condemnation if, by means of cutting, not of phrases, but of words, one
is to be informed of a list he has made that might offend morals or
religion?
My client's first thought, which unfortunately met with resistance, was
this: "There is only one thing to do: print the book immediately, not
with parts cut out, but the work entire as it left my hands, restoring
to it the scene in the cab." I was of his opinion, believing that the
best defense of my client would be a complete imprint of the work with
special indication of some points to which we would beg to draw the
Court's attention. I myself gave the title to this publication: _Memoir
of Gustave Flaubert for the prevention of outrage to religious morals
brought against him_. I had written on it with my hand: Civil Court,
Sixth Chamber, with the signature of the President and the Public
Minister. There was a preface in which was written:
"They have indicted me with phrases taken here and there from my book; I
can only defend myself with the whole book."
To ask the judges to read an entire romance would be asking much; but we
are before judges who love truth, who desire the truth, and who to learn
it would not shrink from any fatigue. We are before judges who desire
justice and desire it energetically, and who will read, without any kind
of hesitation, what we beg them to read. I said to M. Flaubert: "Send
this immediately to the printers, and put my name at the bottom beside
yours: SENARD, _Counsel_." They had begun the printing; arrangements
were made for a hundred copies for our own use; the work went on with
extreme rapidity, they were working day and night on it, when the order
came to us to discontinue the printing, not of a book, but of a pamphlet
in which was the incriminated work together with explanatory notes. We
appealed to the office of the Attorney-General--who informed us that the
prohibition was absolute and could not be removed.
Well, so be it! We should have published the book with our notes and
observation's; but now I ask you, gentlemen, if your first reading has
left you in doubt, to give it a second reading. You will willingly do
this, as you desire the truth; and you could not be among those who,
when two lines of a man's writing is brought to them, are sure to make
it fit any condition that may be. You do not wish a man to be judged
upon a few cuttings more or less skilfully made. You would not allow
that; you would not deprive him of the ordinary means of defense. Well,
you have the book, and although it may be less easy than you might wish,
you will make your own divisions, observations, and meanings, because
you desire the truth, because truth is necessary for the basis of your
judgment, and truth will come from a serious examination of the book.
However, I cannot stop here. The Public Minister has attacked the book,
and it is necessary for me to defend it, to complete the quotations he
has made, and show the nothingness of the accusation against each
incriminated passage; that will be all my defense.
I shall not attempt, assuredly, to place myself in opposition to the
exalted, animated, pathetic appreciation with which the Public Attorney
has surrounded all that he said, by striving for appreciation of the
same kind; the defense would have no right to make use of such a manner
of procedure; it must content itself with citing the text, such as it
is.
And in the first place, I declare that nothing is more false than what
has just been said about lascivious colour. Lascivious colour! Where can
you find it? My client has depicted in _Madame Bovary_ what sort of
woman? My God! it is sad to say, and yet it is true, a young girl,
born, as they nearly all are, honest; at least the greater number are
honest, but very fragile, when education, instead of fortifying them,
softens them and turns them into bad paths. He has depicted a young
girl. Is she of perverse nature? No, but of an impressionable nature,
susceptible of exaltation.
The Government Attorney has said: "This young girl has constantly been
presented in a lascivious light." No! she is represented as born in the
country, born on a farm, where she is occupied with all her father's
labor, and where no kind of lasciviousness can find a way to her mind or
heart. Then she is represented, in the place of following the destiny
which would be hers naturally, instead of being brought up for the farm
or in some analogous place in which she ought to live, she is
represented as under the short-sighted authority of a father who thinks
he must have his daughter educated in a convent, this girl born on a
farm, who should marry a farmer, or a man of the country. She is then
taken to a convent, outside her sphere. As there is nothing that does
not have weight in the Public Attorney's speech, we must leave nothing
without a response. Ah! you spoke of her little sins, and in quoting
from the first number, you said:
"When she went to confession, she invented little sins, in order that
she might stay there longer, kneeling in the shadow ... beneath the
whisperings of the priest." You have gravely deceived yourself in regard
to my client's meaning. He has not committed the fault with which you
reproach him; the error is wholly on your side, in the first place upon
the age of the girl. As she entered the convent at thirteen, it is
evident that she must have been fourteen when she went to
confession. She was not then a child of ten years, as it has pleased you
to say, and you were materially deceived on that point. But I am not so
sure of the unlikelihood of a child of ten years liking to remain at the
confessional "under the whisperings of the priest."
All that I desire is that you read the lines which precede, and that is
not easy, I agree. And here appears the inconvenience of not having a
pamphlet memoir at hand; with such an aid, we should not have to search
through six volumes!
I have called your attention to this passage in order to recall it to
_Madame Bovary_ and her true character. Will you permit me to say, what
seems to me very important, that M. Flaubert has fully comprehended this
point and put it in bold relief. There is a kind of religion which is
generally spoken of to young girls, which is the worst of all
religion. There may be in this regard a difference of opinion. As for
me, I declare clearly that I know nothing more beautiful, or useful, or
necessary to sustain, not only women in the ways of life but men
themselves, who sometimes have the most difficult trials to overcome, I
know nothing so useful, so necessary, as the religious sentiment, but a
serious religious sentiment, and permit me to add, severe.
I wish my children to believe in one God, not a God in the abstractness
of pantheism, but in a Supreme Being with whom they have relationship,
to whom they are accustomed to pray, and who at once awes and fortifies
them. This thought, you see, it is your belief as well as mine, is our
strength in evil days, is our strength against what we call the world;
the refuge; or better still, the strength of the weak. It is this
thought which gives women that stability which makes them resigned to a
thousand little things in life, which makes them carry all their
suffering to God, and ask of Him grace to fulfill their duty. That
religion, gentlemen, is the Christian religion, and it is that which
establishes a relationship between God and man. Christianity, in placing
a sort of intermediary power between God and ourselves, renders God more
accessible, and communication with Him easier. That the Mother of Him
who has made Himself the Saviour should receive the prayers of women,
cannot affect, so far as I can see, purity, religious sanctity, or
religious sentiment itself. But here is where the change begins. In
order to accommodate a religion to all natures, all sorts of petty,
miserable, paltry things are introduced. The pomp of the ceremonies,
instead of being a true pomp which lays hold on the soul, often
degenerates into a commerce in relics, medals, of little saints and
Virgins. To what, gentlemen, do the minds of children, curious, ardent,
and tender, lend themselves, especially the minds of young girls? To all
these enfeebled, attenuated, miserable images of the religious
spirit. They then take upon themselves little religious duties to put in
practice, little devotions of tenderness, of love, and in the place of
having in their soul the sentiment of God, the sentiment of duty, they
abandon themselves to reveries, to little devices, to little
devotions. And then comes the poesy, and then comes, it is very
necessary to say it, a thousand thoughts of charity, of tenderness, of
mystic love, a thousand forms which deceive young girls and sensualize
religion. These poor children, naturally credulous and weak, take to all
this poesy and reverie instead of attaching themselves to something more
reasonable and severe. Whence it happens that you have very many strong
devotees among women who are not religious at all. And when the wind
blows them from the path where they ought to walk, in place of finding
strength to combat it, they find only a kind of sensuality which
bewilders them.
Ah! you have accused me of having confounded the religious element with
sensualism, in the picture of modern society! Accuse rather the society
in the midst of which we live, but do not accuse the man who cries with
Bossuet: "Awake and be on thy guard against peril!" And say to the
fathers of families: Take care! These are not good customs for your
daughters; there is in all these mixtures of mysticism something which
sensualises religion; say that, and you will speak the truth. It is for
this that you accuse Flaubert; it is for this that I exalt his conduct.
Yes, he has given very good warning of the whole family of dangers
arising from exaltation among young persons, who take upon themselves
petty devotions instead of attaching themselves to a strong and severe
religion which would sustain them in a day of weakness. And now you
shall see whence comes the invention of the little sins "under the
whisperings of the priest." Read page 30:
"She had read 'Paul and Virginia,' and she had dreamed of the little
bamboo-house, the nigger Domingo, the dog Fidèle, but above all the
sweet friendship of some dear little brother, who seeks red fruit for
you on trees taller than steeples, or who runs barefoot over the sand,
bringing you a bird's nest."
Is this lascivious, gentlemen? Let us continue.