Although he was perhaps most popularly known for his “J’accuse!” letter condemning the unlawful imprisonment of Alfred Dreyfus in 1898, it is Émile Zola’s novel about a coalminers’ strike in Northern France that is widely considered his masterpiece. Germinal was published in March 1885 as the thirteenth book in Zola’s Rougon-Macquart cycle, a series intended to explore life in France under the rule of Napoleon III. Although controversial for its socialist overtones, Germinal was a popular success that was quickly adapted to the stage, and has since spurred countless reprints, translations, and adaptations.

Like many 19th century novels, Germinal was originally published serially; a few pages per week were published in Augustin-Alexandre Dumont’s newspaper Gil Blas between November 26, 1884 – February 25, 1885. Today, we will be taking a closer look at Zola’s annotated galley proofs for the serial publication of Germinal currently held in the Library’s Berg Collection, and which have recently been made avaible in the Library's Digital Collections.

But first: what are galley proofs and why are they so oversized? John Carter’s ABC for Book Collectors defines these broadsides as “early proofs, pulled on long strips before the type has been locked up in the forme. The long galley is the printer’s tray, and galley proofs usually contain the type for about three pages (its predecessor, the galley and slice, contained but one).”

Galley proofs are challenging for both researchers and librarians; these large, often fragile sheets are both difficult to read and challenging to store. Upon closer inspection, though, there is a wealth of information available to those who are willing to rise to the challenge.

The Germinal galley proofs were created as Zola was still in the process of writing the novel (he would send chunks of text to Gil Blas as they were completed). The proofs would then be read by author, editor, and printer to check for any errors or other required corrections; extensive revision, in theory, would not be necessary. This was clearly not true in the case of Germinal, as evidenced by the heavy-handedness of Zola’s annotations on these galleys. He continued to review, revise, and rework his text, even after the French public was already reading the first chapters of his novel! 

Perhaps the most interesting annotations, though, are in regards to the text that was removed rather than revised. Dumont of Gil Blas objected specifically to a passage involving a gruesome castration at the height of the revolt and implored the author to rescind that section. Zola reluctantly agreed, but insisted the offensive text be replaced with sixteen rows of ellipses, forcing Dumont to take responsibility for the censorship. The January 28, 1885, issue of Gil Blas was printed with the ellipses. The text in question is still in place on plate twenty-three of the galley proofs (28 November 1884), though, and evidences the author's original intent for this scene. 

Although it may seem strange that such a significant French manuscript resides in a repository of English and American literature, the story of how the Germinal proofs made its way to the Berg Collection is in fact quite heartwarming. Henry and Albert Berg were lifelong bachelors and bibliophiles who filled their brownstone with treasures of English language literature. Their passion for books was well known; many of their friends and patrons presented the doctors with new additions to their library. Germinal was such a gift. The manuscript was previously owned by German-born New York businessman and philanthropist Nathan Straus, who, like the Berg brothers, was a major supporter of The New York Public Library. After his death in 1931, Straus’s children presented the manuscript to the Berg brothers, and Albert later donated it to  the Library in 1940. Curator Lola Szladits would go on to argue that Germinal was “the most significant manuscript” in the Bergs’ collection.