By Patrick O’Brian 1970

All of this last year France has been talking about Papillon, about the phenomene Papillon,which is not merely the selling of very large numbers of an unusually long book, but the discovery of a new world and the rediscovery of a kind of direct, intensely living narrative that has scarcely ever been seen since  literature became self-conscious. The new world in question is of course the underworld, seen from within and described with extraordinary natural talent by one who knows it through and through and who accepts its values, which include among others courage, loyalty and fortitude. But this is the real underworld, as different from the underworld of fiction as the act of love is different from adolescent imaginings, a world the French have scarcely seen except here and there in the works of Jean Genet and Albertine Sarrazin, or the English since Defoe: and its startling fierce uncompromising reality, savagely contemptuous of the Establishment, has shocked and distressed many a worthy bourgeois. Indeed, we have a minister’s word for it (a minister, no less) that the present hopeless moral decline of France is due to the wearing of miniskirts and to the reading of Papillon. Nevertheless all properly equipped young women are still wearing miniskirts, in spite of the cold, and even greater numbers of Frenchman with properly equipped minds are still readingPapillon, in spite of the uncomfortable feelings it must arouse from time to time. And this is one of the most striking things about the phenomene Papillon: the book makes an immense appeal to the whole range of men of good will, from the Academie francaise to the cheerful young mason who is working at my house. The literary men are the most articulate in their praise, and I will quote from Francois Mauriac, the most literary and articulate of them all, for his praise sums up all the rest and expresses it better. The piece comes from his Bloc-notes in the Figaro litteraire.

I had heard that it was a piece of oral literature, but I do not agree at all: no, even on the literary plane I think it an extraordinary talented book. I have believed that there is no great success, no overwhelming success that is undeserved. It always has a deep underlying reason…I think thatPapillon’s immense is in exact proportion to the book’s worth and to what the author has lived through. But another man who had had the same life and had experienced the same adventures would have produced nothing from it at all. This is a literary prodigy. Merely having been a transported convict and having escaped does not mean a thing: you have to have talent to give this tale its ring of truth. It is utterly fascinating reading. This new colleague of ours is a master!

A thing that struck me very much in the book is that this man, sentenced for a killing he did not commit…takes a very sanguine view of mankind. At the beginning of his first escape he was taken in and given shelter on a lepers’ island. The charity these most unfortunate, most forsaken of men showed to the convicts is truly wonderful. And it was the lepers who saw to it that they were saved. The same applied to the way they were welcomed in Trinidad and in Curacao, not as criminals but as men who deserved admiration for having made that voyage aboard a nutshell. There is a human warmth all round them, and all through the book we never forget it. How different from those bitter, angry, disgusted books – Celine’s for example.                                                                                                                         Man’s highest virtues are to be found in what is called the gutter, the underworld, and what gangsters do is sometimes as what heroes do. I have already confessed that when I am very low in my mind I read detective stories. In these books, where everything is made up, the human aspect of the characters, the ‘humanity’, is appalling. But in Papillon’s tale which is true, we meet a humanity we love in spite of its revolting side. This book is a good book, in the deep meaning of the world.

This book, after I was wrongfully judged by the police, that cost me almost two million pounds in compensation, was my inspiration in my darkest days of 1998 once out of my coma. I turn to it now as England are in need of such inspiration a few days before their opening match against Italy. Unlike Henri Charriere, Papillon, they will not have to smoke from a lepers’ cigar or share the same pillows by any stretch of the imagination, and will be lying on a different type of beaches with no-one chasing them, not even the Paparazzi, come early July. In such times as these I watch these individuals and although they can do tricks that I could never do, they lack what is in between these pages.

Oh how our game suffers today and as Mr. Patrick O’Brian explains, incredibly at the moment of Bobby Moore’s finest hour in Mexico ’70, oh for “courage, loyalty and fortitude”.