El hilo del collar: Correspondencia

by Gustave Flaubert, Antonio Álvarez de la Rosa (Traductor)

Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880) es uno de los gigantes de la literatura de los que se ha conservado una cantidad apreciable de la abundantísima correspondencia mantenida a lo largo de su vida con amigos, colegas, amantes y otras relaciones. En su caso, no es descabellado afirmar que ésta es como el hilo del collar que ensarta no sólo toda su vida, sino también su pensamiento y su poética (detalle no menor en alguien que hizo de la escritura su razón de ser) desde su infancia hasta su muerte. Engarzado por un profundo conocedor de la vida y de la obra del autor, este volumen reúne por primera vez en español una selección tan completa como atinada de la integridad de este epistolario, de modo que a través de ella es posible aislar las claves de su experiencia vital, apreciar sus distintas "caras" biográficas y reconocer la imagen de nuestra sempiterna condición humana.

Genres: Nonfiction, France, 19th Century, Essays, Biography, French Literature, Memoir

672 pages, Paperback

First published February 25, 1980

About the author

Gustave Flaubert was a French novelist. He has been considered the leading exponent of literary realism in his country and abroad. According to the literary theorist Kornelije Kvas, "in Flaubert, realism strives for formal perfection, so the presentation of reality tends to be neutral, emphasizing the values and importance of style as an objective method of presenting reality". He is known especially for his debut novel Madame Bovary (1857), his Correspondence, and his scrupulous devotion to his style and aesthetics. The celebrated short story writer Guy de Maupassant was a protégé of Flaubert.

Reviews

[Alvaro de Menard · Rating 5 out of 5]

Flaubert died of a stroke (possibly caused by his Syphilis) at the height of his powers. But what a lifetime is contained in these 700 pages! I felt genuinely sad to take my leave after following him from youth to death.

This man writes like I aspire to. One page per day at his fastest; sometimes a week would not suffice to produce a single page. He was genuinely anguished by the act of writing, but at the same time was inexorably drawn to it. "May I die like a dog rather than hurry by a single second a sentence that isn't ripe!" Success meant very little to him: "That can give complete gratification only to very mediocre vanities. I am aiming at something better—to please myself."

He was a man of extremes, and this extended to everything, including romantic disaster. The letters to Louise Colet (during their two separate liaisons) are highly amusing: she wants love notes, he keeps writing to her about Shakespeare and art. "So what the devil do you want me to talk to you about if not what lies closest to my heart?" She hated it. He was baffled that she didn't care that he was baring his soul to her. During their 18-month "relationship" he wrote her 100+ letters but only visited Paris six times.

You tell me, my angel, that I have not initiated you into my inner life, into my most secret thoughts. Do you know what is most intimate, most hidden, in my heart, and what is most authentically myself? Two or three modest ideas about art, lovingly brooded over; that is all. The greatest events of my life have been a few thoughts, a few books, certain sunsets on the beach at Trouville, and talks five or six hours long with a friend now married and lost to me.

The obsessive perfectionism eventually paid off. At 35 he finally publishes, having discarded everything that came before as unworthy, and Madame Bovary immediately triggers a government censorship trial. Fame, scandal, money offers streaming in. Of course nothing was ever good enough. A decade later he writes:

"Last Thursday I was 46—occasion for philosophical reflection! Looking back, I don’t see that I have wasted my life, and yet what have I accomplished, God help me? It’s time to produce something worthwhile."

Something worthwhile!!!

Flaubert saw himself as an "obscure pearl-fisher" diving for shells no one would want, and sought to create art that does "what nature does—that is, to set us dreaming." He got his wish. What a character! I miss him already.

[Glenn · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wonderful. Exhilarating, exasperating, ultimately tragic, often very sad. Anyone wondering where Nabokov cribbed his crank persona from will find a lot of material here!

[Javier Muñoz · Rating 4 out of 5]

No es un libro difícil de entender. El editor pone un resumen en cada uno de los 9 capitulos y también en algunas cartas relevantes donde se mencionen cosas particulares, o sean respuestas de otras; en ningún caso hay correspondencia bidireccional.
Fuera de los hechos anecdóticos e históricos (Cartas con escritores que al día de hoy son reconocidos por todos, la guerra franco-prusiana o los repetidos cambios de Estado: de Monárquico a Republicano, o viceversa.), el libro muestra las ideas claves de Flaubert sobre su poética: La expresión justa (sinónimo de lo Verdadero); el escribir bien lo es todo: "escribir bien es, al mismo tiempo, sentir bien, pensar bien y decir bien"; la consagración con la Musa como máximo ideal de vida; la forma y el fondo como un ente único e indivisible; la invisibilidad del autor: este no debe aparecer más en su obra que Dios en la naturaleza.

Algunas frases que me quedaron:

"En el dolor hay una cierta voluptuosidad que consigue que uno se abandone"
"El collar no lo hacen las perlas, sino el hilo"
"...aturdirse con el trabajo sigue siendo la mejor cataplasma para las heridas de la vida"
"el Arte no debe servir de cátedra o doctrina alguna, so pena de venir a menos. Siempre se falsea la realidad cuando se la quiere reducir a una conclusión que solo pertenece a Dios"
"La única forma de soportar la existencia consiste en aturdirse con la literatura como en una orgía perpetua. El vino del arte causa una larga embriaguez y es inagotable. Lo que provoca la infelicidad es pensar en uno mismo."
"El Arte debe elevarse por encima de los afectos personales y de las susceptibilidades nerviosas! A través de un método implacable, ¡ya va siendo hora de otorgarle la precisión de las ciencias físicas!, Para mi, la dificultad capital sigue siendo el estilo, la forma, lo Bello indefinible que resulta de la concepción misma y que es el esplendor de lo Verdadero, como decia Platon"
"...todo debe desgajarse de la concepción y la menor coma depende del plan general, la atención se bifurca. A la vez, no hay que perder de vista el horizonte y mirarse los pies."


Mención aparte la reiterativa bronca contra los burgueses y la aceptación del cristianismo como algo natural y necesario para el hombre.

[Murad Mehdiyev · Rating 5 out of 5]

From his letters, one can easily conclude that Flaubert was an excellent writer. The way he researched every tiny detail in his books before writing astonished me. "My pile of notes is eight inches thick!" he wrote to Madame Roger Des Genettes, and this was only for one book. He never hesitated to visit places and gather as much information as possible about Paris (for L'Éducation sentimentale) and Carthage (for Salammbô). Certainly, his goal was not to please readers, but himself.

But from the letters to Louise Colet and later to George Sand, I grudgingly accepted that he wasn't born to love. His most passionate letters were written to Louise Colet, yet he failed to show his love. Flaubert never sent her flowers, never wished to come and see her despite her constant pleas to him for making their meetings regular. "When two persons love, they can go ten years without seeing each other and without suffering from it" was his response.And during Colet's financial difficulties, he never offered help. Ironically, the same Gustave brought a bouquet of flowers for Mathilde, and always offered his financial assistance to Mme Sand during her hard times.

One of the biggest mistakes of Flaubert was to intervene in his niece Caroline's life. While she was in love with a young artist Maisiat, her family and Gustave ruthlessly forced her into a marriage with Commanville. "Yes, my darling, I declare I’d rather see you marry a millionaire philistine than an indigent genius." WHAT A SENTENCE FROM FLAUBERT. Undoubtedly, this marriage was a failure, and Gustave suffered greatly, knowing that he was also to blame for that marriage.

Perhaps this is the destiny of most authors; they write superb books, but fail pathetically in their own lives.

[Luke · Rating 5 out of 5]

“What seems to me the highest and most difficult achievement of Art is not to make us laugh or cry, nor to arouse our lust or rage, but to do what nature does—that is, to set us dreaming. The most beautiful works have this quality. They are serene in aspect, inscrutable. The means by which they act on us are various: they are as motionless as cliffs, stormy as the ocean, leafy, green and murmurous as forests, forlorn as the desert, blue as the sky. Homer, Rabelais, Michelangelo, Shakespeare and Goethe seem to me pitiless. They are unfathomable, infinite, manifold. Through small apertures we glimpse abysses whose somber depths turn us faint. And yet over the whole there hovers an extraordinary tenderness. It is like the brilliance of light, the smile of the sun; and it is calm, calm and strong.”

—Letter to Louise Colet, August 26, 1853

———

I’ve just finished The Letters of Gustave Flaubert and one thing is for certain: Flaubert is truly the “master of self-contradiction.” Sociable yet misanthropic, tender yet hateful, realistic yet Romantic, he contains multitudes and is not easily put into a box.

According to Flaubert’s friend and novelist, George Sand, readers “want to see man as he is. He is not good or bad. He is good and bad. But he is something more—nuance: nuance, which is for me the goal of art.” By that standard, these letters are a preeminent work of art—perhaps Flaubert’s true masterpiece.

I recently heard Judith Thurman say that what makes Flaubert’s novels great are their discipline; what makes his letters great are their freedom. Having read Madame Bovary, Salammbô, Three Tales, and now the letters, I think that’s dead on. I encourage you to pick up his books and experience that dual greatness for yourself.

[Maria Azpiroz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Flaubert vivió para escribir así que no sorprende que haya dejado un suculento epistolario en su paso por este mundo. Esta edición es una estupenda antología porque la totalidad de las cartas abarca 4.500 cartas conocidas. Flaubert le escribe así a su familia (principalmente la madre y su hermana), sus amantes, sus amigos, sus amigos escritores también célebres como George Sand o Turguénev. Es un libro que puede resultar dispar al gusto de cada lector; a mí personalmente me aburrió la correspondencia más política pero me apasionó la construcción de Madame Bovary y el escarnio público paralelo al éxito editorial de la obra. A otros lectores les puede pasar exactamente lo contrario. Lo mismo con las correspondencias dedicadas a sus viajes por Oriente. Agrego una estrella a la maravillosa edición de esta correspondencia, a cargo de Antonio Alvarez de la Rosa y de editorial Alianza que es garantía de calidad. . El género epistolar me gusta y creo que esta es de las mejores ediciones que he leído. No solamente introduce de manera rica y precisa cada etapa de las correspondencias con una corta introducción sino que entre carta y carta nos aporta jugosos datos que ayudan tanto a construir una cronología de la correspondencia y de la vida de Flaubert así como de su obra, como a comprender mensajes que solamente un estudioso de Flaubert nos puede aportar. Leo en Internet que Álvarez de la Rosa es catedrático de Filología Francesa de la Universidad de la Laguna y es un enorme conocedor de la obra de Flaubert. No hay duda. Y además un gran traductor y editor.

[Justin Evans · Rating 4 out of 5]

Steegmuller possibly could have been a bit *more* selective, but still, this is a great portrait of an essential, difficult, self-deluded master of the novel. It's very funny to see him sway back and forth with public opinion, even as he claims to be above it all. Today (August of 2025), he'd be writing about how awful 'Woke' was and how the pendulum has to swing back towards whatever the opposite of 'woke' is going to be; in 2021, he would have been writing about how the police need to be disbanded and prisons destroyed; in 2027 he would be writing about how the pendulum has swung too far towards fascism. And in 21, 25, and 27, he'd have been scorning the herds who let other people do their thinking for them. Luckily, very little of that gets into the novels, which absolutely vindicates Joyce's whole 'artist as unseen God' thing, even if, for Joyce, that's laughably inaccurate.

[Martín Arocena · Rating 5 out of 5]

La mejor lectura en mucho tiempo

[Paul H. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Longer review TK but this is probably the best literary non-fiction written in the 1800s, that I'm aware of

[Laurent · Rating 4 out of 5]

Since Flaubert tried to separate his literary work from his private life this makes for a very enlightening read,
showing the (witty and somewhat flawed) man behind Madame Bovary, Bouvard & Pécuchet and other Classics.
In these Letters he speaks to friends and lovers about Art, Religion, Syphilis, Politics, Morality, losing friends, his family life, and his books