FLAUBERT
195
any of Flaubert's nove}." psychology
is
nonexistent, description
all
important and style increasingly
his
sole concern.
Leafing through it at random-I could quote from almost any
page--Iet us take these few sentences. And I suggest they be given a
second reading.
At last they recognized Hamilcar's Trireme.
She came on proudly like a wild thing, her yard-arm straight
and her sail bellying throughout the length of her mast, cleaving
the foam around her; her huge oars kept time as they struck
the water: every now and then the end of her keel would
appear, shaped like a ploughshare; and the ivory-headed horse,
rearing its two feet under the spur at the end of the prow,
seemed
to
be
galloping on the plains of the
sea.
1
And
these:
Her
hair,
violet-powdered and gathered into a tower
in
the
manner of Canaanitish maids, added to her stature. Chains
of
pearls fell from her temples
to
the corners of the half-open
rose pomegranate which was her mouth. Upon her breast was
a cluster of glowing stones, iridescent as moray scales. Her
diamonded arms issued bare from her sleeveless tunic, which
was of a deep black starred with red flowers. Between her
ankles she wore a golden chainlet to regulate her steps, and her
great dark purple mantle, made from an unknown fabric, trailed
behind her, shaping itself to a wide wave billowing upon each
of her footsteps.
There is no need to stress the peculiar rhythm of these passages,
or to insist upon their unwieldiness and rigidity, which is, after all,
generally recognized. We observe that they never rush forward reck–
lessly, as though borne along in spite of themselves towards some un–
predictable evolution; nor do they reel and lurch as though un–
aware of where they are going. There's no groping, none of the
trembling caused by the shock of contact with some unknown thing
that resists; none of the suppleness, the pliancy made indispensable
by the need to cling to a substance that is constantly moving, giving
way-which we find, for instance, in Proust.
1. Tramlated
by
E. POWYI Mathers. London: The Pushkin Press, 1947.
