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    Un coeur simple
    Un coeur simple
    Un coeur simple
    Livre électronique81 pages50 minutes

    Un coeur simple

    Par Gustave Flaubert

    3.5/5

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    LangueFrançais
    ÉditeurArchive Classics
    Date de sortie1 janv. 1992
    Auteur

    Gustave Flaubert

    Gustave Flaubert (1821–1880) was born in Rouen, France, and dropped out of law school to become a writer. His first published novel, Madame Bovary, was censured by the French government; the resulting trial, on charges of obscenity, brought Flaubert to national prominence. He was eventually acquitted, and Emma Bovary’s tragic quest for romance is now considered one of the finest novels in Western literature. 

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    3.5/5

    8 notations8 avis

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    • 5/5

      Oct 14, 2025

      Every Flaubert fan derives pleasure from this unpretentious misery tale. A non handsome simple-hearted woman throws herself into many period costume situations and gets little emotional or financial reward. That is and isn't about it. Is this miserable message that to tell normal women that to suffer is to love and to love is to suffer? Don't think so. Concentrate on what the industry's sales pitch and attitude towards women really were. The short story is a small masterpiece anyway.
    • 4/5

      Apr 11, 2024

      A short sentimental story about a Victorian maid and her friendship with a parrot.
    • 5/5

      Apr 20, 2016

      A simple story about an ordinary woman. It made me cry...
    • 4/5

      Oct 26, 2015

      I enjoyed this portrait of an early 19th century maid in rural France. It depicts in a detailed and sympathetic way the emotional life of a woman who is fundamentally unsophisticated, but has deep feelings for the children of her mistress, for her nephew, and finally for a parrot. It could be viewed as patronizing, but I think Flaubert was sincere in his attempt to get inside the head of someone who lives their life in an emotional rather than intellectual world.
    • 1/5

      Aug 31, 2014

      SPOILER ALERT! Geez, a bit depressing. A servant woman who has no love in her life except for a parrot (who dies). Excuse me while I go slit my wrists.
    • 4/5

      Jul 14, 2014

      The importance of this novella — also known as "A Simple Heart" and "Un Coeur simple" — was revived by Julian Barnes' 1984 book Flaubert's Parrot, which is the source of my interest in reading it. In an 1876 letter to a friend, Flaubert writes:

      Do you know what I've had on my table in front of me for the last three weeks? A stuffed parrot. It sits there on sentry duty. The sight of it is beginning to irritate me. But I keep it there so that I can fill my head with the idea of parrothood. Because at the moment I'm writing about the love between an old girl and a parrot.

      The "old girl" in question is Félicité, a young servant girl, who gains employment in the household of Madame Aubain:

      For a hundred francs a year, she cooked and did the housework, washed, ironed, mended, harnessed the horse, fattened the poultry, made the butter and remained faithful to her mistress—although the latter was by no means an agreeable person.

      At some point the household acquired a hand-me-down parrot, whose novelty wore thin after a while, and it ended up belonging to Félicité. Eventually the parrot died and Félicité had him stuffed.

      In church she had noticed that something about the parrot resembled the Holy Spirit. And she had acquired a picture of Jesus' baptism where the resemblance was even more marked. She hung this picture, before which she acquired the habit of praying, in her room, and over the years the parrot became in her mind an actual representation of the Holy Spirit. As an old woman on her death bed, deaf and almost blind:

      The beats of her heart grew fainter and fainter, and vaguer, like a fountain giving out, like an echo dying away; and when she exhaled her last breath, she thought she saw in the half-opened heavens a gigantic parrot hovering above her head.

      Many questions arise regarding these stories. Was Flaubert mocking religion in his usual way? Was he laughing at poor simple Félicité, or Julian for that matter? The mockery is apparent in the first story about Death. But it was written decades before and really bears little in common with the latter two stories.

      We know from Flaubert's correspondence with George Sand that he wrote A Simple Soul in response to a challenge from her to write something positive and sympathetic. She had complained that his books were too filled with pessimism and desolation. He was in the process of writing A Simple Soul when George Sand died, so she never actually read it. But Flaubert pushed on and finished it. Here is what he had to say about his own motivation:

      A "Simple Heart" is just the account of an obscure life, that of Félicité a poor country girl, pious but mystical, quietly devoted, and as tender as fresh bread. She loves successively a man, her mistress, her mistress' children, a nephew, an old man she is taking care of, then her parrot. When the parrot dies she has him stuffed, and when she herself is dying, she confuses the parrot with the Holy Ghost. It's not at all ironic, as you suppose, but on the contrary, very serious and very sad. I want to arouse people's pity, to make sensitive souls weep, since I am one myself.

      It would seem to me that this story and Flaubert's comment should be taken at face value. While equating the parrot with the Holy Spirit may seem blasphemous to some, one cannot discount the archetypal significance that the apotheosized parrot provided for Félicité in the waning days of her life.
    • 2/5

      Mar 1, 2009

      A novella. Somewhat charming, but overall not that good.
    • 4/5

      May 6, 2008

      I'd been meaning to read this one for some time, and it was perfect for what it is. It is beautifully written, and the characters feel frustratingly real. At the same time, I wanted to know more about what was going on in Felicite's head, and more about How she was the way she was. If I had, I feel as if I might have gotten more lost in the story. As is, it engaged me and interested me, but didn't drive home much emotion in any sense. For the most part, with the exception of LouLou, I feel as if this one wasn't particularly memorable. Still, it was an interesting story, and a nice way to pass a relaxing unstressed morning.

    Aperçu du livre

    Un coeur simple - Gustave Flaubert

    The Project Gutenberg EBook of Un coeur simple, by Gustave Flaubert

    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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.net

    Title: Un coeur simple

    Author: Gustave Flaubert

    Release Date: October 7, 2008 [EBook #26812]

    Language: French

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UN COEUR SIMPLE ***

    Produced by Daniel Fromont

    [Transcriber's note: Gustave FLAUBERT (1821-1880), Un coeur simple, 1877, édition de 1910]

    OEUVRES COMPLETES

    DE

    GUSTAVE FLAUBERT

    (…)

    UN COEUR SIMPLE

    (…)

    PARIS

    LOUIS CONARD, LIBRAIRE-EDITEUR

    17, BOULEVARD DE LA MADELEINE, 17

    MDCCCCX

    (…)

    UN COEUR SIMPLE

    I

    Pendant un demi-siècle, les bourgeoises de Pont l'Evêque envièrent à Mme Aubain sa servante Félicité.

    Pour cent francs par an, elle faisait la cuisine et le ménage, cousait, lavait, repassait, savait brider un cheval, engraisser les volailles, battre le beurre, et resta fidèle à sa maîtresse, — qui cependant n'était pas une personne agréable.

    Elle avait épousé un beau garçon sans fortune, mort au commencement de 1809, en lui laissant deux enfants très jeunes avec une quantité de dettes. Alors elle vendit ses immeubles, sauf la ferme de Toucques et la ferme de Geffosses, dont les rentes montaient à 5, 000 francs tout au plus, et elle quitta sa maison de Saint-Melaine pour en habiter une autre moins dispendieuse, ayant appartenu à ses ancêtres et placée derrière les halles.

    Cette maison, revêtue d'ardoises, se trouvait entre un passage et une ruelle aboutissant à la rivière. Elle avait intérieurement des différences de niveau qui faisaient trébucher. Un vestibule étroit séparait la cuisine de la salle où Mme Aubain se tenait tout le long du jour, assise près de la croisée dans un fauteuil de paille. Contre le lambris, peint en blanc, s'alignaient huit chaises d'acajou. Un vieux piano supportait, sous un baromètre, un tas pyramidal de boîtes et de cartons. Deux bergères de tapisserie flanquaient la chemisée en marbre jaune et de style Louis XV. La pendule, au milieu, représentait un temple de Vesta, — et tout l'appartement sentait un peu le moisi, car le plancher était plus bas que le jardin.

    Au premier étage, il y avait d'abord la chambre de Madame, très grande, tendue d'un papier à fleurs pâles, et contenant le portrait de Monsieur en costume de muscadin. Elle communiquait avec une chambre plus petite, où l'on voyait deux couchettes d'enfants, sans matelas. Puis venait le salon, toujours fermé, et rempli de meubles recouverts d'un drap. Ensuite un corridor menait à un cabinet d'études; des livres et des paperasses garnissaient les rayons d'une bibliothèque entourant de ses trois côtés un large bureau de bois noir. Les deux panneaux en retour disparaissaient sous des dessins à la plume, des paysages à la gouache et des gravures d'Audran, souvenirs d'un temps meilleur et d'un luxe évanoui. Une lucarne au second étage éclairait la chambre de Félicité, ayant vue sur les prairies.

    Elle se levait dès l'aube, pour ne pas manquer la messe, et travaillait jusqu'au soir sans interruption; puis, le dîner étant fini, la vaisselle en ordre et la porte bien close, elle enfouissait la bûche sous les cendres et s'endormait devant l'âtre, son rosaire à la main. Personne, dans les marchandages, ne montrait plus d'entêtement. Quant à la propreté, le poli de ses casseroles faisait le désespoir des autres servantes. Econome, elle mangeait avec lenteur, et recueillait du doigt sur la table les miettes de son pain, — un pain de douze livres, cuit exprès pour elle, et qui durait vingt jours.

    En toute saison, elle portait un mouchoir d'indienne fixé dans le dos par une épingle, un bonnet lui cachant les cheveux, des bas gris, un jupon rouge, et par-dessus sa camisole un tablier à bavette, comme les infirmières d'hôpital.

    Son visage était maigre et sa voix aiguë. A vingt-cinq ans, on lui en donnait quarante. Dès la cinquantaine, elle ne marqua plus aucun âge; — et, toujours silencieuse, la taille droite et les gestes mesurés, semblait une femme en bois, fonctionnant d'une manière automatique.

    II

    Elle avait eu, comme une autre, son histoire d'amour.

    Son père, un maçon, s'était tué en

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