The Life-Work of Flaubert, from the Russian of Merejowski
Date: 2010-10-12T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Flaubert; Gustave; 1821-1880

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Life-Work of Flaubert, from the Russian of Merejowski

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Life-Work of Flaubert, from the Russian of Merejowski

Author: Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

Translator: G. A. Mounsey

Release date: October 12, 2010 [eBook #33933]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE-WORK OF FLAUBERT, FROM THE RUSSIAN OF MEREJOWSKI ***

THE LIFE-WORK OF FLAUBERT FROM THE RUSSIAN
OF MEREJKOWSKI BY G. A. MOUNSEY

ALEXANDER MORING LTD THE DE
LA MORE PRESS 32 GEORGE STREET
HANOVER SQUARE LONDON W

FLAUBERT I

Balzac in one of his novels gives utterance to the following thought: "Genius is a terrible disease. Every writer of genius cherishes in his heart a monster which devours all his emotions as soon as he gives birth to them. Which is to be the conqueror? Will the disease vanquish the man, or the man the disease? He must be a great man who can establish a perfect equilibrium between his genius and his character. Unless the poet be a giant, unless he be possessed of the shoulders of a Hercules, he must inevitably remain bereft of heart, or else bereft of talent."

Here, unfortunately, Balzac breaks off his dissertation, and does not state what in his opinion is the cause of this disease of genius, why the development and power of the artistic personality stand in many respects in inverse ratio to the development and power of the moral type, or on what fundamental ground depends that primary antagonism between these two elements which is so often to be observed in the daily experience of life. Every one knows, for instance, that writers of talent, artists or musicians, are in the majority of cases men of the most unpractical nature, that their eccentricities and irresponsibility verge not uncommonly on complete moral disintegration, that they are bad fathers of families and bad husbands, and that while expressing great sensitiveness in the forcible language of their works, they very often show themselves in real life to be at heart hard and unfeeling egotists. An enquiry into the origin of the causes responsible for the deep contrast which exists between the æsthetic and ethical points of view, between the artist and the man, between genius and character, would undoubtedly open up one of the most interesting chapters in the history of creative psychology.

Let us take, as an illustration of our thesis, the tragic scene of the destruction of Laocoon, as described in the Æneid. Picture the horror and anguish with which the citizens of Troy witness the seizure and suffocation of Laocoon and his children by the gigantic serpents. The onlookers are filled with terror, grief, and a desire to save the unfortunate victims. In bringing out the psychic differences of constitution among the crowd, the crucial moment of action plays a most important rôle, developing the instinct of self-preservation among the more timid ones, or the efforts of the more manly to lend their aid. Then imagine a sculptor moving about in this wavering and undecided crowd, and studying the terrible tragedy which is being enacted before his eyes as a fit theme for a future work of art. He alone remains an unmoved spectator amid the general confusion, lamentation, cries, and prayers. His moral instincts are all absorbed in an intense æsthetic curiosity. Tears would hinder his vision, and he keeps them sternly back, because it is imperatively necessary for him to see every form, every outline of the muscles distorted under the crushing force of the snakes' huge coils. Every detail of the picture which in the others awakens loathing and terror, evokes in him a joy that is outside the ken of other men. While they weep and waver, the artist rejoices in the expression of agony on the countenance of Laocoon, rejoices that the father is unable to bring aid to his children, that the serpents are compressing their bodies with irresistible force. The next moment, perchance, the man will have conquered the artist. But the deed is done, the fact remains, the moment of cruel contemplation has had the power to brand upon his heart its ineradicable impression.

A series of similar episodes must sooner or later create in the mind of the artist the habit of withdrawing himself from life, of regarding it from one side, from without, from the point of view no longer of a living human being, but from that of an unmoved observer, who seeks in all that comes to pass before his eyes only some material for his own artistic reproduction. And in proportion as his powers of imagination and observation increase, so in equal measure must his sensitiveness and the exercise of that power of will which is indispensable for all moral activity diminish. If nature has neither endowed the mind of the artist with an adamantine stoicism, nor filled his heart with an inexhaustible spring of love, his æsthetic qualities will little by little devour his ethical instincts; genius may, in the words of Balzac, "consume" the heart. In such a case as this, the categories of good and evil which people have most to do with in real life, i.e., the will and the passions, are confused in the artist's mind with the categories of the beautiful and the ugly, the characterless and the characteristic, the artistically interesting and the inane. Wickedness and vice attract the imagination of the poet, if only they be concealed under forms that are externally beautiful and attractive; while virtue looks dull and insignificant unless she can afford some material for a poetical apotheosis.

But the artist excels not only in the quality of being able to contemplate objectively and dispassionately the emotions of others, he is unique also in this, that he can, as an impartial observer, subject his own heart to the same hard, æsthetic scrutiny that he applies to the actions of others. Ordinary people can, or at least believe that they can, entirely recover from the emotions which may have seized upon them, be they transports of love or hatred, of joy or sorrow. An honourable man, when he makes his vow of love to a woman, honestly believes in the truth of that vow—it never enters his head to inquire whether he really is as much in love as he says he is. One would on the face of things expect a poet more than other men to be inclined to give way to emotion, to be credulous, and to let himself be carried away; but in reality there always remains in his soul, however deeply it may be swayed by passion, the power to look into its own depths as into those of a character in a dream or novel; to follow with attention, even in moments of complete intoxication, the infinite intangible changes of his emotions, and to focus upon them the force of his merciless analysis.

Human emotions are hardly ever simple or unalloyed: in the majority of cases they are composed of a mixture of parts differing immensely in the values of their components. And a psychological artist involuntarily discovers so many contradictions in himself and in others, even in moments of genuine exaltation, that by degrees he comes to lose all faith in his own rectitude, as well as in the rectitude of others.

II

The letters of Flaubert, published in two volumes, offer rich material for the study, from a living example, of the question of the antagonism which exists between the artistic and moral personality.

"Art is higher than life"; such is the formula which stands as the corner-stone of the whole, not only of Flaubert's æsthetic view, but also of his philosophical view of life. As a young man of thirty he writes to one of his school friends: "If I did not introduce into the plot of my poems a French queen of the fifteenth century, I should feel an utter disgust of life, and long ere this a bullet would have freed me from this humiliating folly." Within a year's time he is, with half serious rhetoric and youthful enthusiasm, encouraging the same young friend to proceed with his own work. "Let us ever devote ourselves to our art, which, being more powerful than all nations, crowns, or rulers, holds, in virtue of its glorious diadem, eternal sway over the whole universe." When over forty years of age, and on the verge of the tomb, Flaubert repeats with even greater emphasis and audacity the same device: "L'homme n'est rien; l'œuvre est tout."—"Man is nothing; work is everything."

In the flower of his early manhood, though possessed of beauty, wit, and talent, he forsook the world for the sake of his art, like an ascetic in the desert: he immersed himself in his solitude, as the Christian hermits immured themselves in their caverns. "To bury oneself in one's art, and spurn all else, is the only way to evade unhappiness," he writes to his friend. "Pride makes up for all things, if there be only a broad enough foundation for it.... I certainly lack little; I should no doubt like to be as generous as the richest, as happy as a lover, as sensuous as those who give up their lives to pleasure; ... But in the meanwhile I covet neither riches, nor love, nor pleasures; ... Now, as for a long time past, I ask only for five or six hours of repose in my own chamber; in winter a big fire in my fireplace, and at night two candles on my table." A year later he is advising the same friend: "Do as I do, break from the outside world, and live like a bear, like a white bear; send all else to the devil, and yourself as well, everything except only your thoughts. There is at the present moment such a great gulf fixed between myself and the rest of the world, that I oft-times experience a feeling of astonishment when I hear even the most ordinary and natural things; ... there are certain gestures, certain intonations of the voice, which fill me with surprise, and there are certain silly things which nearly make me giddy."

Even in moments of overwhelming passion, Flaubert places his literary vocation immeasurably above his personal happiness; and love of woman strikes him as insignificant by the side of his love of poetry. "No," he writes to his fiancée, "you had far better love my art and not myself; for this attachment will never leave you, nor can illness or death deprive you of it. Worship thought, for in thought alone is truth, because it is one and imperishable. Can art, the only thing in life that is true and valuable, be compared with earthly love? Can the adoration of relative beauty be preferred to an eternal worship? Veneration for art—that is the best thing that I possess; it is the one thing for which I respect myself."

He refuses to see anything relative in poetry, but regards it as absolutely independent of and entirely cut off from life, and as being more real than action; he perceives in art "the most self-satisfying principle imaginable which requires as little external support as a star." "Like a star," he says, "fixed and glittering in its own heaven, does art observe the globe of the world revolve; that which is beautiful will never be utterly destroyed." In the unity of the various portions of a work, in the every detail, in the harmony of the whole, Flaubert feels that "there is some inner essence, something in the nature of a divine force, something like an eternal principle." "For how otherwise would there exist any relation between the most exact and the most musical expression of thought?"

The sceptic who is not bound by any creed, but has spent his whole life in doubt and hesitation in face of the ideas of God, religion, progress, and scientific humanity, becomes pious and reverential when face to face with the question of art. The true poet is, in his opinion, distinguished from all other people by the divine inspiration of his ideas, "by the contemplation of the immutable (la contemplation de l'immuable), that is to say, religion in the highest sense of the word." He regrets that he was not born in that age when people worshipped art, when there still existed genuine artists in the world, "whose life and thoughts were the blind instruments of the instinct of beauty. They were the organs of God, by means of which He Himself revealed His true essence to them; for these artists there was no happiness; no one knew how much they suffered; each night as they lay down sadly to rest they gazed wearily at the life of men with an astonished eye, just as we might gaze at an ant-hill."

To most artists beauty is a more or less abstract quality; to Flaubert it was as concrete an object of passion as is gold to the miser, power to the ambitious, or his lady to the lover. His work was like a deliberate suicide; he gave himself entirely up to it, with the fanaticism of a man possessed by a mania, with the mystic submission and enthusiasm of a martyr, with the awe of a priest as he enters the sacred sanctuary. Thus does he describe his own work: "Sick and irritable at heart, enduring a thousand times in the day moments of anguish and despondency, and having neither wife nor any of the joys of life to distract me, I continue to toil at my weary task, like a good workman who, with sleeves rolled up and brow streaming with sweat, strikes on his anvil without fear of rain or hail, of storm or thunder." Here is an extract from a biography of Flaubert written by Maupassant, one of his favourite pupils and disciples, which gives an accurate picture of the gifted writer's energy for work: "His head bowed, his face and brow and neck bathed in moisture, all his muscles tense, like an athlete at the height of the contest, he set himself to face the desperate strife with his ideas and words, rejecting, uniting, or forging them as in an iron grip by the power of his will, condensing them and gradually with superhuman strength working out his thought, and confining it, like a wild beast in a cage, in a definite, indestructible form."

III

Flaubert, more than any other man, has experienced in his own life, the destructive power of his over-sharpened, analytical disposition. With the malevolence, which was so strangely mingled in him with the then fashionable Byronism, and with a confused presentiment of an impending and inevitable catastrophe, he embarks at the early age of seventeen upon his work of destruction and internal iconoclasm: "I analyse myself and others," he writes to a friend; "I am always anatomizing, and whenever I at last succeed in finding something, which all men consider pure and beautiful, but which is in reality a putrid spot, a gangrene, I shake my head and smile. I have come to the firm conclusion that vanity is the fundamental basis of all things, and that even that which we call conscience is in fact only a concealed and incipient vanity. You give in charity, partly, may be, out of compassion, out of pity, or from horror of suffering and sordidness, but also out of egotism; for the chief motive of your action is the desire to acquire the right to say to yourself: I have done good; there are very few people like me; I respect myself more than other men." Eight years later he writes to his devoted wife: "I love to analyze; it is an occupation that distracts me. Although I am not very much inclined to see the humorous side of things, yet I cannot regard my own personality altogether seriously, because I see myself how ridiculous I am, ridiculous not in the sense of being externally comic, but in the inner sense of that inherent irony which, being present in the life of men, shows itself sometimes even in the most obviously natural actions, in the most ordinary gestures.... All this one feels in oneself, but it is hard to explain. You do not understand it, because in you it is as simple and genuine as in a beautiful hymn of love and poetry. For I regard myself as a sort of arabesque or marqueterie work; there are within me pieces of ivory and of gold and of iron, some of painted paper, others of brilliants, and others again of lead."

This life is so rich in visions and imaginings, that they finally obscure the real world altogether, and receive in passing through this medium a reflected colouring in addition to their own. "I always see the antithesis of things; the sight of a child inevitably suggests to my mind the thought of old age; the sight of a cradle, the idea of the grave. When I look at my wife, I think of myself as her skeleton. That is why scenes of happiness sadden me, while sad things leave me indifferent. I weep so much internally in my own soul, that my tears cannot flow outwardly as well; things that I read of in a book agitate me much more than any actually existing sorrows." Here we encounter a distinguishing trait of the majority of natures that are gifted with strong artistic temperaments. "The more oppressed I feel, the more melancholy and highly strung and prone to tears and to give myself over to a sense of imaginary suffering, so much the more do my real feelings remain dry and hard and dead within my heart; they are crystallized within it." This is the mental attitude described by Pushkin:

"In vain did I appeal to the emotions within me,
With unmoved ears I heard the breath of Death,
And all unmoved I gazed on her.
So that is what I loved with flaming soul,
With such intensity of passion,
With so great anguish and agony of love,
With such torment and unreason!
Where is now pain and where is love?
Alas, for the poor credulous shade in my soul!
For the sweet memory of days for ever passed
I can now find neither tears nor reproaches."

This condition of incomprehensible indifference towards the beloved one, this despair arising not out of grief, but as a result of his own coldness, of his lack of commiseration and pity was all too familiar to Flaubert; and according to his custom, he boldly proceeds to analyse this trait, which it is the one endeavour of most other artists to conceal, not only from others, but even from themselves, regarding it mistakenly as a form of egoism that is entirely in conflict with Nature. He describes his feelings at the grave of his dearly loved sister: "I was as cold as the grave-stone, and only terribly bored." What does he do at the moment when an ordinary man, forgetful of all else, would give himself up entirely to his grief? With pitiless curiosity, "himself catching nothing of their emotions," he analyzes them "like an artist." "This melancholy occupation alleviated my grief remarkably," he writes to a friend, "perhaps you will regard me as utterly heartless if I confess to you that my present sorrow" (that is to say the grief experienced at the death of his sister) "does not strike me as the heaviest lot that I have ever had to endure. At times when there was apparently nothing to be sad about, it has been my fate to be much sadder." A little further on comes a long discourse upon the Infinite, upon Nirvana,—a discourse in which the author gives utterance to much inspired poetry, but to very little simple human sorrow.

In the letter in which Flaubert describes the funeral of a friend of his childhood, his æsthetic cult of sadness reaches a still higher plane of meditativeness. "On the body of the departed there appeared the signs of a terrible transformation; we hid the corpse in a double shroud. So covered, he looked like an Egyptian mummy enveloped in the bandages of the tomb, and I cannot describe the feelings of joy and freedom which I experienced at sight of him at that moment. There was a white mist over everything, the forest trees stood out against the sky, and the funeral lights were still shining in the pallor of the dawning day; the birds were twittering, and I recalled a verse of his poem: 'He flies away like a winged bird to meet the rising sun in the pine wood,' or, to put it better, I heard his voice uttering these words and the whole day long they haunted me with their enchantment. They placed him in the ante-chamber, the doors were left ajar, and the cool morning air penetrated into the room, mingled with a refreshing rain, which had just then begun to fall.... My soul was filled with emotions, till then unknown, and upon it there flamed forth like summer lightning such thoughts as I can never repeat again: a thousand recollections of the dead were wafted to me on the fumes of the incense, in the chords of the music." ... And here the artist, in the midst of his æsthetic abstraction, converts his genuine grief into a thing of beauty, so that in his enlightened view the death of his beloved friend not only causes him no pang, or suffering, but, on the contrary, gives him a mystic resignation, incomprehensible to ordinary men, an ecstasy that is foreign to and removed from life, a joy that is entirely impersonal.

During his sojourn in Jerusalem, Flaubert paid a visit to the lepers. Here is the account of his impressions: "This place (that is the plot of land set aside for those who are afflicted with leprosy) is situated outside the town, near a marsh, whence a host of crows and vultures arose and took their flight at our approach. The poor sufferers, both women and men (in all about a dozen persons) lie all huddled together in a heap. They have no covering on their heads, and there is no distinction of sex. Their bodies are covered with putrefying scars, and they have sombre cavities in place of noses. I was forced to put on my eye-glasses in order to discover what was hanging to the ends of their arms. Were they hands, or were they some greenish-looking rags? They were hands! (There is a prize for colourists!) A sick man was dragging himself to the water's edge to drink some water. Through his mouth, which yawned black and empty of the gums, that seemingly had been burned away, the palate was clearly visible. A rattle sounded in his throat as he dragged the limbs of his dead-white body towards us. And all around us reigned tranquil Nature, the ripples of the stream, the green of the trees, all bubbling over with the abundance of sap and youth, and the coolness of the shadows beneath the scorching sun." This extract is taken from no novel, in which a poet might force himself to be objective, but from a traveller's notes, from a letter to a friend, wherein the author has no kind of motive for concealing the subjective character of his emotions. And yet in spite of this, except for the two rather common-place epithets of "poor wretches" (pauvres misérables), there is not a single touch of pity, not even a suggestion of compassion.

IV

"I am not a Christian" (je ne suis pas Chrétien), says Flaubert in a letter to Georges Sand. The French Revolution was, in his opinion, unsuccessful, because it was too intimately bound up with the idea of religious pity. The idea of equality, on which is based the essence of the democracy of to-day, is a contradiction of all the principles of equity. See what a preponderating influence is given at this day to grace. Emotion is everything, justice nothing. "We are degenerating owing to our superfluity of indulgence and of compassion, and to our moral drought." "I am convinced," he remarks, "that the poor envy the rich, and that the rich fear the poor; it will be so for ever—and vain it is to preach the Gospel of Love."

Flaubert tries to justify his instinctive antipathy to the idea of brotherhood by the assertion that this idea is always found to be in irreconcilable contradiction to the principle of equity. "I hate democracy (in the sense at least in which the word is accepted in France), that is to say the magnifying of grace to the detriment of justice, the negation of right—in a word, the anti-social principle (l'anti-sociabilité)." "The gift of grace (within the province of theology) is the negation of justice; what right has a man to demand any change in the execution of the law?" Yet he hardly believes in this principle himself, and only enunciates it in order to have an argument with which to refute the idea of brotherhood. At least this is what he says, in a moment of complete frankness, in a letter to an old friend: "Human justice seems to me the most unstable thing in the whole world. The sight of a man daring to judge his neighbour would send me into convulsions of laughter if it did not arouse my disgust and pity, and if I were not at the present moment" (he was at that time engaged in studying for the law) "obliged to study a system of absurdities, by virtue of which men consider that they acquire the right to judge. I know of nothing so absurd as law, except, perhaps, the study of it." In another letter he confesses that he never could understand the abstract and dry conception of duty, and that "it did not seem to him to be inherent in the nature of mankind (il ne me paraît pas inhérent aux entrailles humaines)." Evidently, then he believes as little in the idea of justice as he does in that of fraternity. As a matter of fact, he has no moral ideal.

"There is only one thing in the world that I really value, and that is beautiful verse; an elegant, harmonious, melodious style; the warmth of the sun; a picturesque landscape; moonlight nights; antique statues, and the character in a profile.... I am a fatalist, in fact, like a Mahometan, and I believe that all that we do for the progress of humanity is of no use. As to this idea of progress, I am mentally incapable of grasping such nebulous and dreary conceptions. All the nonsense talked on this subject simply bores me beyond endurance.... I cherish a deep respect for the ancient form of tyranny, for to me it is the finest expression of humanity that has ever been made manifest." "I have few convictions," he writes to Georges Sand, "but one of those I have I cherish firmly—it is the conviction that the masses are always composed of idiots. And yet one may not consider the masses as stupid, because within them is concealed the seed of an incalculable fecundity (d'une fécondité incalculable)."

Flaubert makes a half-jesting attempt to contrast the doctrines of the socialists with his own ideas of the political order of the future. "The only logical conclusion is an administration consisting of mandarins, if only these mandarins be possessed of some knowledge, and if possible, even considerable knowledge. The mass of the people will thus always remain as minors, and will always hold the lowest place in the hierarchy of the social orders, seeing that it is composed of unlimited numbers.... In this lawful aristocracy of the present time is our whole salvation." ... "Humanity represents nothing new. Its irremediable worthlessness filled my soul even in my early youth with bitterness. And that is why I now experience no disappointment. I am convinced that the crowd, the common herd will always be odious.... Until the time comes when men shall submit to set up mandarins, and shall have substituted for the Roman Pope an Academy of Sciences, until that time comes, all politics, and all society even to its deepest roots, must be merely a collection of revolting lies (de blagues écœurantes.)" Nevertheless in his novel "Bouvard et Pécuchet" Flaubert makes every effort to destroy faith even in the strength of the principles of science, and to prove that modern science is as impermanent a structure, as contradictory and superstitious a system as was the theology of the Middle Ages. To his disbelief in science Flaubert, moreover, is constantly giving utterance: thus, for instance, when he comes upon the Positivism of Comte, he finds this system "unbearably stupid" (c'est assommant de bêtise).

V

We have thus seen that Flaubert's attempt to reach a compromise with regard to the preponderating tendency of the age did not succeed; of his views respecting the structure of society, the only true one is his insight into the lower classes of the people. "However well you may feed the animal man, however thickly you gild his stable, even though you give him the softest and most luxurious litter, still he will ever remain a beast. The only progress upon which one can count is the effort to make the beast less of a cannibal. But as to raising the level of his ideas, or inspiring the masses with a broader conception of God, I seriously doubt whether this can ever be achieved."

In another letter he frankly admits that he has no faith, no principles of morality, no political ideals, and in this admission, wrung from the depths of his heart, the note of despair is already struck: "In the present day there seems to be as little possibility of establishing any new belief as of obtaining respect for the old faith. And so I seek and fail to find that one idea upon which all the rest should depend." These few words throw a clearer light on the attitude of Flaubert during the latter years of his life than anything else. Formerly he had found this idea in his art, while now he assumes that there is another and higher basis, upon which art itself must rest; but to find this principle is beyond his power. He seeks forgetfulness in work, but work only brings exhaustion, and he is still more dissatisfied. He realises his singularity, and it draws him out of his objective attitude into that incomprehensible existence, the very conception of which he himself denies.

The real tragedy of his position lies in the fact that he is alone in the midst of a strange and unknown world. And little by little his despair reaches its utmost limits: "Whenever I am without a book in my hand, or whenever I am not writing, such anguish seizes on me that I simply find myself on the verge of tears." So he writes in a letter to Georges Sand. "It seems to me that I have literally turned into a fossil, and that I am deprived of all connection with the universe around me." "A feeling of universal destruction and agony possesses me, and I am deathly sad." "When I am tired out from my work, I grow anxious about myself. No one remembers me, I belong to another sphere. My professional friends are so little friendly to me." "I pass whole weeks without exchanging a word with a single human creature, and at the end of the week I find it hard to recall any special day or any particular event during the course of that time. On Sundays I see my mother and niece, and that is all. A gathering of rats in the attic, that is my whole society. They make an infernal noise over my head, when the rain is not roaring, and the wind is not howling. The nights are blacker than coal, and a silence is all around me, infinite as in the desert. One's senses are terribly sharpened in such surroundings, and my heart starts beating at the slightest sound." "I am losing myself in the reminiscences of my youth, like an old man. Of life I ask nothing more, save a few sheets of paper that I may scratch ink upon. I feel as though I were wandering through an endless desert, wandering, not knowing whither; and that at one and the same time, I am the wanderer, and the camel, and the desert." "One hope alone sustains me, that soon I shall be parted from life, and that I shall surely find no other existence that might be still more painful.... No, no! Enough of misery!"

All his letters to Georges Sand are one weary restless martyr's confession of the "disease of genius." Sometimes a simple plaint bursts from him, and in it, through the impenetrable pride of the fighter, can be detected something soft and broken, as in the voice of a man who is over-tired. The fury of his enemies, the calumnies of his friends, the lack of understanding of his critics, no longer wounded his self-pride; he merely hated them. "All this avalanche of folly neither disturbs nor grieves me. Only one would prefer to inspire one's fellow men with pleasant feelings."

Then finally, even his last consolation—his art—deserts him. "In vain I gather my strength; the work will not come, will not come. Everything disturbs and upsets me. In the presence of others I can still control myself, but when I am alone I often burst into such senseless, spasmodic tears that I think I am going to die from them." In his declining years, when he can no longer turn to the past, and no longer correct his life, he asks himself the question: what if even that beauty, in the name of which he has destroyed his faith in God, in life, and in humanity, is as visionary and delusive as all else? What if his art, for the sake of which he had given up his life, his youth, and happiness, and love, should have abandoned him on the very edge of the grave?

"The Shadow is enveloping me," he says, as he realises that the end is at hand. This exclamation is as the cry of eternal anguish uttered before his death by another artist, Michael Angelo, the brother of Flaubert in his ideals and aims and genius:

"Io parto a mano a mano,
Crescemi ognor piu l'ombra, e il sol vien manco,
E son presso a cadere, infermo e stanco."
"Inch by inch I sink,
The shadows lengthen, the sun sinks down,
And I am ready to depart,
Broken and weary."

Death struck him down at his work-table, quite suddenly, like a thunder-bolt. Dropping his pen from his hand, he sank down lifeless, killed by his one great, single passion, the love of his art.

Plato in one of his myths relates how the souls of men travel in chariots on winged steeds along the heavenly way; to some of whom it is given after a short time to approach that spot whence is visible the domain of Ideas; with yearning do they gaze aloft, and a few stray rays of light fall deep down among them. Then, when these souls are re-incarnated, to return and suffer on earth, all that is best in the human heart appeals to them and touches them, as a reflection of some eternal light, as a confused remembrance of another world, into which it was granted them to peep for the space of a single moment.

Surely there must have fallen upon the soul of Flaubert in the glorious sphere of the imagination a ray of beauty that was perhaps too bright.

Printed by Alexander Moring Ltd. The De La More Press, 32 George Street, Hanover Square, London W

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE-WORK OF FLAUBERT, FROM THE RUSSIAN OF MEREJOWSKI ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

- THE LIFE-WORK OF FLAUBERT FROM THE RUSSIAN OF MEREJKOWSKI BY G. A. MOUNSEY

- FLAUBERT I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE