Filles et les Pères (Les) (Sciences Humaines) (French Edition)

Regrettably, these images are mostly unknown to twenty-first century Anglophone readers. With a few exceptions, English translations of the Voyages include few or none of the illustrations. One translator of Verne into English has reported that his publishers protest that the images would make paperback editions too expensive for university students, presumably the primary readership of quality translations. Surely something important is lost if we must sacrifice a quarter of the work so as to save… the text , in the narrowest sense of that term. In contrast, most modern French-language editions of the Voyages at least nod in the direction of the legacy they inherit.

The covers of the inexpensive Livre de Poche LdP editions, for example, are decorated in silver and red filigree that evokes the spirit of the later cartonnages , and they include all, or nearly all, of the illustrations figure 3. The preservation of the illustrations in these editions demonstrates something about the reception of Verne that deserves careful consideration: This lateral view has its own grammar and method and way of opening the narrative to other modes of reading, even as we are aware of its indirection and liminality. When it is fanciful or dream-like, the image jolts us back from a complacency engendered by Verne's style.

The excessive character of the images plays an analogous role: With the exception of the Livre de Poche covers shown in Figure 3 , the cartonnages and illustrations shown in the first section of this essay are represenative of a single novel: The cartonnages Figure 1 are handsome, but are not the most appreciated by collectors. Most critics consider the novel's artist, George Roux, among the less accomplished of Verne's illustrators.

Its example can tell us much about potential engagements of images and texts in the Hetzel series and subsequent illustrated editions of Verne's fiction. The novel is set in A young Frenchman, Jean de Kermor, and his uncle, the sergeant Martial, set out on an expedition to the headwaters of the Orinoco, one of the great rivers of South America. The boy and his uncle join up with an impromptu band of adventurers and scientists, including three cantankerous Venezuelan geographers who animate the novel's comic scenes; and two Frenchmen, the explorer Jacques Helloch and the botanist Germain Paterne, who are cataloguing flora of the Orinoco Basin.

The journey is captivating and perilous. Framed by grassy plains and dense forests, the river and its banks present exotic and inviting panoramas. The travellers are tested by rough water, sudden storms, savage and strange animals, an earthquake, marauding natives, and a group of cutthroat bandits whose leader has an old score to settle with Jean's father. The further upstream the expedition travels, the more numerous and the greater the dangers until, in the novel's climax, Jean and Martial are kidnapped by the bandits.

All will end happily, however: Father and child are joyously reunited. The novel ends with a promise of that classic terminus of comedy: We have, in fact, been hoodwinked: Her reasons for this disguise are never made clear, though it is suggested they have to do with the perils of an Amazonian journey for a young woman. But this is, at most, an alibi for narrative and textual functions of her disguise.

Such is the providential grace of fiction that a reason for the masquerade is in the final analysis unnecessary: Yet, we still may have seen it coming. A first visual cue is the lovely young woman shown in the upper right of the novel's frontispiece Figure 2. She, of course, is Jeanne, but she never appears as such for more than half the novel and not in this dress until its penultimate chapter.

If we are not one of those readers who leafs ahead to discover whodunit before we actually read to the revelation, we will have started out wondering who this young woman is and when we will meet her. That happens at the start of chapter 3 — but she or, rather he , looks like this Figure 4 —. Verne has some fun at the reader's expense in these early chapters.

It's soon obvious that Jean and his uncle share a secret, but it is difficult to tell what it might be and Verne is exceedingly careful to keep things that way. There are textual clues. The young man interrupts his companion often, preventing him from uttering certain turns of phrase — French is a gendered language; an adjective or participle can give the game away with a single letter. Few of Verne's novels are as frequently punctuated with ellipses, especially in the early chapters, when Jean and Martial labor to speak around something that must not be mentioned… to the reader.

They, of course, know exactly what they're not talking about; their discretion, especially when alone, is the simplest dramatic device. These are also dramatic devices: Martial doesn't need to make this many fumbles for us to see that he is uncomfortable with the ruse. Verne seems to feel that his reader, on the other hand, may need the constant prodding that she's been given the slip again.

In retrospect, the boy is just a bit too charmant e. But we should remember here that Verne is partial to the most ostentatious wordplay, and this recurring syntagm could be another of those phonetic winks-and-a-nudge of which he is especially fond: As the novel's illustrator, Roux has to hold up his side of this scheme, dropping just enough hints to lay the groundwork for the coming revelation, but not showing so much as to give it away without some effort on the reader's part.

After Jeanne's appearance in the frontispiece — remember, the reader hasn't discovered that they are the same individual — images of Jean in the first half of the novel appear to show… well, a young man. They deflect us, then, from the textual cues, which we will assume point to some other sort of intrigue. Knowing that the reader's impulse is first to trust her eyes, author and artist thus conspire to keep the secret as long as necessary. By showing Jean unambiguously as a boy, Roux provides Verne with cover for his textual legerdemain. Until, that is, the climax of Book I, when Jean's hidden identity is revealed.

The voyagers are caught midstream in a chubasco , a species of violent thunderstorm common in the Orinoco basin, accompanied by strong winds and intense lightning. The boy is thrown from the falca a kind of canoe with a thatched roof into the roiling waters:.

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Roux's depiction of the scene Figure 5 shows Jean falling headfirst, his face submerged in the waters. Even if we assume that the image captures an instant in time, Jean's posture seems strangely mannered, as though his tumble were a signal of some other event. In fact, the fall from the falca is plainly a baptism; it is, moreover, an immersion of the part of Jean's anatomy most likely, first, to have given away the secret there has never been any question of Verne or Roux revealing other parts , and second, to anticipate a transformation after the immersion.

Cradled in Martial's arms in a blanket that looks much like a long dress, his facial features are more feminine than in earlier illustrations. Imagine, if you will that this is the first time we see Jeanne ; I think it unlikely that a reader would mistake her for a young man. Our possible confusion is doubled by Jacques Helloch's new dilemma. From early on, Helloch has felt drawn to Jean and the tragic tale of his missing father.

His friend Paterne has remarked more than once that Helloch seems more interested in the boy than in his scientific work, and Helloch agrees, complaining that he can't understand why he finds Jean so… compelling. Moments before he leaps into the river to rescue Jean, Helloch hears Martial call his nephew by "un nom… oui! The game then has moved to a new stage at the moment of Jean's fall Figure 5: We hardly have time to puzzle over this curious omission, because Helloch's restlessness becomes the focus of the next few chapters — unnaturally "pensive" and "taciturn," he avoids the boy and his uncle, grumbling to Paterne that "there are things that you can't understand": Neither of course has the reader, but she as least has read that something was heard, and that it has to do with… a name, or rather, not a name: Verne is especially careful in these passages, and Roux, with equal prudence, offers no visual explanation of Helloch's confusion beyond the ambiguous contours of the boy's face shown in Figure 6.

We can assume that Helloch must have felt that all was not as it seemed as he pulled the boy from the water, but this datum — which is never textually marked and can't be visually figured — remains the purest conjecture after the fact. In the final paragraphs of Book I, Helloch fills in the blank. He confronts Jean and Martial and pries from them the truth. His relief is… palpable.

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Long before she tumbles into the river, it is not hard to see that Helloch has fallen in love with Jeanne. Her change of sex is a happy solution to a growing tension in the text that, for all of Verne's obvious delight in such ambiguities, can only be resolved in this way if the novel is to remain the family fare that it purports to be. How many readers, surprised by the disclosure of something that was nearly obvious all along, will now turn back to look at the illustrations to confirm the quality of the deception?

More, I suspect, than will turn back to the first textual depictions of Jeanne dressed as a boy. Therein lies a sign of the importance of the dialogue of images and text and of what each is able to relate and pretend. After a chapter-long flashback that explains Jeanne's origins, the journey resumes. She returns to her disguise, keeping it up for all but the final three chapters of the novel. But Roux's illustrations dispense with every pretext that she is a boy — she remains in masculine garb, but lets down her hair a bit and jettisons the extravagantly phallic hat that she wore for nearly all of Book I Figure 7.

In contrast, textual markers of her gender in Book II are mixed: This is almost the reverse of the discretionary procedure of the earlier chapters, because we are now in on the charade, and reminded of it each time that Jean and Jeanne switch places in name only. The sexual tension of the first half of the novel is not discharged by this, only displaced: Timothy Unwin has stressed their dramatic character: Verne's absurdist intrigues, doublings and reversals, he proposes, provide templates for building and releasing narrative tensions in ways that are more typical of stage melodrama and vaudeville than of narrative prose.

Moreover, Verne's reliance on these devices invites the reader's attention to his programs with a directness that is consonant with his enthusiasm for popular dramatic conventions. His earliest writing was for the stage; he wrote or co-wrote several successful theatrical versions of his novels Margot Verne's applications of these forms in his fictions signals something more than his delight in exuberances of the stage; it indicates also a theory of fiction sustaining the whole of his oeuvre.

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Showing and telling in Verne are not juxtaposed or serial modes of representation. They are rather entangled such that description is overdetermined and often undone by the most contrived wordplay, and wordplay given cover by description. The mutual engagement of textual and visual programs of the illustrated Voyages can only be fully appreciated in this context.

Roux's illustrations are cannily drawn into this system. Like Clark Kent's glasses or The Lone Ranger's mask, the crux of Jeanne's costume is the more unconvincing the longer she wears it; our pleasure in the adventure is extended by our pleasure in being in on the joke. The illustrations play the role of a foil to the divagations of the text up until the closing chapter, when the game of alternating names is dropped once and for all and Jeanne dons "the garments of her sex" Figure 8.

COLLÈGE PRIVÉ JEAN-DE-BRÉBEUF

Stylistically, if not comically, this is the vaudevillian climax of the novel, when the word games and the picture games collide and the missing parts — letters and image — find their proper place. As readers, we are able to parse the significance of this moment because we remember that we've seen this pretty girl before, in the novel's frontispiece Figure 2. Jean ne 's place in this circuit is structurally consistent from start to finish: What has varied over the course of the journey is what we imagine the circuit to represent, on the basis of textual and graphic cues that in this special but important sense are distinct from the fiction of the journey.

The novel could have been a story a boy's search for his father or a girl's search for her father; the perils and rewards of the voyage would apply equally well to both. The disclosure of Jeanne's true gender adds little more than a few conspiratorial scenes involving the "boy" and his "uncle" and the girl's romance with Jacques Helloch. Verne was after something else, I think, in introducing a turnabout structure in a pattern that he had applied with success several times before.

The conceit of androgeny — it is only ever that — and the curiosity and desire it invokes are in a way incidental; their significance is realized on other registers of reading. This eccentricity of the program of the intrigue with regard to the plot that is its support and channel is, in the end, a hallmark of the most accomplished practitioners of textual and verbal arts.

Author and illustrator — together, in dialog and in opposition — have articulated a fictional imaginary that reveals to us: We read in the wink of an eye between. In the final section of this essay I examine representative examples of post-Hetzel illustrated editions and adaptations of the novel. It has never been one of Verne's popular works. As of June , only one French edition is in print; most translations appear to be out of print and difficult to obtain.

For this study, I have been able to review, or others have provided me with descriptions of nineteen illustrated editions, translations, and adaptations of the novel in Czech, Dutch, English, French post-Hetzel , German, Hebrew, Russian, and Spanish. Cover art of these editions, we may assume, is subject to material and marketing constraints different from those applying to the grands octavos.

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Especially as we move later into the twentieth and the beginning of the twenty-first centuries, the methods by which these works are designed, produced, and presented to prospective readers will have changed considerably. Grand sizes will, in general, be supplanted by smaller pocket sizes, elaborate cartonnages by paper jackets and color softcover formats. But the graphic legacy of the Hetzel series remains clear. The covers of many later editions evoke their precursors by citing traits of the cartonnages , or by incorporating Roux's illustrations into the cover art Figure This citation scheme is more pronounced between covers.

For example, the only Dutch translation includes twenty-seven of the illustrations. The quality of images in these editions varies widely. Mass-market paperbacks are usually printed on inferior paper stock in small sizes; unsurprisingly, subtle details are often lost on these surfaces.

But in most post-Hetzel editions that reprise the Roux images, they are sufficiently legible to sustain minimal engagements with the text. First, the text must be complete; an abridgement is bound to strip out elements of the textual program. If it is a translation, then it must be faithful to at least general contours of the program. No translation can reproduce every textual relay of the original — and Verne can be a particularly difficult case in this regard, given his enthusiasm for puns and anagrams — but an approximation of the decisive relays is possible, if the two languages are generally comparable with respect to their alphabets, phonemic and syntactic operations.

Second, the selection of the illustrations and their positions in the sequence of the reading must conform generally to the model of the edition. When a later edition reproduces all of his images in the sequence in which they originally occurred, we may assume that their part of the work's careful charade has been repeated. When only a subset of the images is included, the selection of images will be decisive. On the one hand, the exclusion of any of the images shown in Figure 9 would fracture the fundamental circuit they represent.

On the other hand, other illustrations more closely associated with the "color" of the landscape and the adventure might be excised without disturbing this circuit. The effects of exclusions must be determined on a case-by-case basis. These constraints on the selection and position of the images are set aside for editions in which Roux's images are replaced by those of another artist.

Then, the new artist — whether or not she is aware of it or chooses to act on it — carries a certain responsibility with regard to the novel's requirement of a graphic program keyed to its textual programs. My survey of such editions suggests that few artists, even some with considerable talent, have given careful attention to this aspect of their contribution. In , newly-illustrated Spanish and French editions of the novel were issued in Venezuela in commemoration of the th anniversary of its first publication.

Pancho Quilici's sepia watercolors for the Spanish-language volume are quite beautiful Figure 11 , but are too abstract to support the calculated scheme of disguise and disclosure that Roux's more realist style sustains. Daniel Maja's illustrations for the French-language volume are less abstract than Quilici's, but still too nonobjective to activate textual programs of the novel Figure Despite their subtlety and grace, images by both artists are less engaged with operations of those programs than are Roux's technically less accomplished illustrations: As I have already observed, strict fidelity to textual programs is impossible in such a format.

Moreover, fidelity to graphic programs or an homology of textual and graphic programs is often not a concern of illustrators of these works. They begin their project with an sharply constrained foundation, making complex engagements of image and text unlikely if not impossible. Or they are tasked with boosting the book's shelf appeal, which usually means sensationalism and melodrama at the cost of narrative and stylistic accuracy.

For example, the cover and frontispiece of a Russian translation of the novel Figure 13 recast it in hackneyed conventions of the boy's adventure tale — exotic locales and menacing fauna, treacherous natives, intrepid explorers and their well-armed derring-do. With some modifications, these elements are present in the original, but they figure there a kind of window-dressing for the fundamental circuits of the work.

Here, Jean ne has simply gone missing — she is shown in none of the illustrations — and there is no hint of a Telemachiad or its gendered turnabout. Verne's text includes no mention of this reptile. The edition replaces Faivre's images with twelve of Roux's original engravings, crudely reproduced on the book's very poor stock. Faivre's frontispiece shows a banal river scene Figure Jean is depicted as frankly girlish from the start.

He is not shown falling into the river during the chubasco , and seems little changed after being rescued Figure Jeanne is never shown in "the garments of her sex. None of the images of Jean in masculine dress is included. Roux's frontispiece Figure 2 is used for the book's jacket but the companion illustration of Jeanne "charmante en fille" Figure 8 is omitted, thus requiring the reader to resolve the puzzle of her first appearance as a woman without its double at the adventure's end. In both editions, the illustrations have been re fitted to an at best accessory relation to the text — which is to say, they are "illustrations" in a trivial, uninteresting sense of that term, leaving little room for more complex engagements.

A abridgement of the novel in Hebrew multiplies infelicities of the earlier BV edition. It reprises four of Faivre's illustrations uncredited, they include two full-page images shown in Figure These are augmented with two modern-day photographs of forests of the Orinoco region — supplied, the colophon notes, by the Shell Oil Corporation!

The final image of the book — roughly in the position where Jeanne is shown in the edition in a full dress Figure 8 — shows three men establishing a riverbank camp at the edge of a forest. The drawing is labeled, in English, "Lewis River. It is not a South American scene. Most of his images are of natural landscapes or distant views of an episode in which the adventurers appear as tiny, near-stick figures.

Jeanne is never shown dressed as a young woman, even at the novel's end. The few close-up images of people are all of bearded men — Martial, Helloch, Colonel de Kermor, etc. But the boy is not only missing from the illustrations; he seems to be missing in a calculated way. He is notably absent from scenes in which other illustrators — including Roux — have placed him at the center, and where the text indicates explicitly that he should be present.

The illustration shown in Figure 15 middle right , for example, corresponds to a passage early in the novel I. Roux's illustration Figure 15 , far right shows the two of them in conversation. Martial is shown in profile and Jean's back is to the reader. In Stoye's version of this scene, however, Jean is not present and Martial looks directly quizzically? He can't be looking thus at Jean — the boy is not the narrating consciousness of this passage; in practical terms, the image can't be focalized through him. Martial must be looking, then, at the reader.

This is, in fact, a recurring trait of Stoye's illustrations, several of which include a person or an animal staring out from the page. The most striking examples of these are the two figures of the frontispiece and the half-submerged crocodiles of the book's jacket [ Figure 15 ]. Stoye has found thus an interesting solution to the illustrator's thorniest problem: The boy is, after all, a principal character of the adventure: The eyes looking out from the illustrations displace the locus of these questions and the riddle of the boy's identity away from the surface of the page and into the field of the reader's gaze.

The effect is not as interesting as it might have been were the translation more correct — Martial is reported to cry out "Jeanne, mein Kind! The comic format often requires drastic alterations of storyline; substantial liberties may be taken in this regard to heighten dramatic action or delete material presumed to be of no interest to the target audience, usually young readers. Crude halftoning techniques, inconsistent color registration, and poor paper quality limit the complexity and subtlety of images and push the artist's contributions toward simpler forms, brighter colors, and sharper contrasts.

Though fragments of description and dialogue may be preserved, it is more common that the author's textual programs are subjected almost entirely to systems of the graphic image and the unforgiving spatial constraints of the panel. Conversely, it demonstrates that the comic artist, in order to sustain narrative tensions, is obliged to rely on programs that an illustrator such as Roux might trust to his author. Her exchanges with Marcial Martial in these early panels suggest that there is a secret between them, but there is no sign that her clothing hides it.

Juana, in fact, never changes out of these clothes, though at the comic's conclusion she can't be mistaken for a young man Figure 16 , right. The frankness of her femininity in the closing panels provides the justification for a crucial punctuation marked in the dialogue: With his final exclamation, Helloch insists on the textual supplement by which young Juan has become Juana — the visual proof of which the reader may easily discern in the girl's profile, clearest in this panel than in any proceeding it.

In the comic, the structure corresponding to Paterne's tautology — a complex linguistic object that had to be sustained as much textually as graphically in the Hetzel edition — has been split and redistributed. The last term — "charmante en fille" — corresponds to the dialogue of the final frame. In the comic, Juan's fall into the river during the chubasco is, as it was in the original, the event that sets apart the boy of Book I from the young woman of Book II Figure We may observe, however, that instead of crying out the name that is not Juan, Marcial here remembers to keep the secret.

Juan is shown with his head above water — a practical consideration, perhaps: But this alignment of his speech and body has another effect: If Marcial were to call out a young woman's name at this moment, this would effect a break in the mimetic logic of the comic frame, which depends on the conceit that events are shown to us in the sequence and the manner in which they occur.

Verne, in contrast, is more free to multiply structures of ambiguity and deferral in this moment, because he has already put in place textual feints and safeguards that have no correlate in the comic medium. Because visual registers of the fiction are given a greater priority here, it makes little sense that Marcial should tell us Juan's real name, and thus gender. It is more fitting that we be shown these data. Elle fait cependant davantage: Le premier touche au statut du politique.

Le second basculement concerne le statut du religieux. Elle perd son monopole d'expression. Lamennais le dit dans L'Avenir en On le voit, en premier lieu, dans les discours pontificaux. Des raisons de droit, d'une part. Si la loi est inacceptable, c'est principalement , explique le pape, parce qu'elle transgresse la loi de Dieu.

En outre, elle contredit le droit des gens. Des raisons de fait, d'autre part. Issu du Cartel des Gauches, le gouvernement Herriot reprend alors les combats de l'avant-guerre: Nombre de questions la divisent: Le langage scolastique rend compte de cette position: Cette ouverture n'est pas dissociable du contexte dans lequel elle se produit. Deux arguments justifient cette posture.