Madame Bovary..................................................................................................................................................1

Gustave Flaubert......................................................................................................................................1

Dear and Illustrious Friend, Permit me to inscribe your name at the head of this book, and above its

dedication; for it is to you, before all, that I owe its publication. Reading over your magnificent defence, my

Accept, then, here, the homage of my gratitude, which, how great soever it is, will never attain the

We were in class when the headmaster came in, followed by a "new fellow," not wearing the school

uniform, and a school servant carrying a large desk. Those who had been asleep woke up, and every one rose

The headmaster made a sign to us to sit down. Then, turning to the classmaster, he said to him in a

"Monsieur Roger, here is a pupil whom I recommend to your care; he'll be in the second. If his work

and conduct are satisfactory, he will go into one of the upper classes, as becomes his age."

The "new fellow," standing in the corner behind the door so that he could hardly be seen, was a

country lad of about fifteen, and taller than any of us. His hair was cut square on his forehead like a village

chorister's; he looked reliable, but very ill at ease. Although he was not broadshouldered, his short school

jacket of green cloth with black buttons must have been tight about the armholes, and showed at the opening

of the cuffs red wrists accustomed to being bare. His legs, in blue stockings, looked out from beneath yellow

We began repeating the lesson. He listened with all his ears, as attentive as if at a sermon, not daring

even to cross his legs or lean on his elbow; and when at two o'clock the bell rang, the master was obliged to

When we came back to work, we were in the habit of throwing our caps on the ground so as to have

our hands more free; we used from the door to toss them under the form, so that they hit against the wall and

But, whether he had not noticed the trick, or did not dare to attempt it, the "new fellow," was still

holding his cap on his knees even after prayers were over. It was one of those headgears of composite order,

in which we can find traces of the bearskin, shako, billycock hat, sealskin cap, and cotton nightcap; one of

those poor things, in fine, whose dumb ugliness has depths of expression, like an imbecile's face. Oval,

stiffened with whalebone, it began with three round knobs; then came in succession lozenges of velvet and

rabbitskin separated by a red band; after that a sort of bag that ended in a cardboard polygon covered with

complicated braiding, from which hung, at the end of a long thin cord, small twisted gold threads in the

He stood up; his cap fell. The whole class began to laugh. He stooped to pick it up. A neighbor

There was a burst of laughter from the boys, which so thoroughly put the poor lad out of

countenance that he did not know whether to keep his cap in his hand, leave it on the ground, or put it on his

The same sputtering of syllables was heard, drowned by the tittering of the class.

The "new fellow" then took a supreme resolution, opened an inordinately large mouth, and shouted

A hubbub broke out, rose in crescendo with bursts of shrill voices (they yelled, barked, stamped,

repeated "Charbovari! Charbovari"), then died away into single notes, growing quieter only with great

difficulty, and now and again suddenly recommencing along the line of a form whence rose here and there,

However, amid a rain of impositions, order was gradually reestablished in the class; and the master

having succeeded in catching the name of "Charles Bovary," having had it dictated to him, spelt out, and

reread, at once ordered the poor devil to go and sit down on the punishment form at the foot of the master's

"Five hundred lines for all the class!" shouted in a furious voice stopped, like the Quos ego*, a fresh

outburst. "Silence!" continued the master indignantly, wiping his brow with his handkerchief, which he had

just taken from his cap. "As to you, 'new boy,' you will conjugate 'ridiculus sum'** twenty times."

Then, in a gentler tone, "Come, you'll find your cap again; it hasn't been stolen."

Quiet was restored. Heads bent over desks, and the "new fellow" remained for two hours in an

exemplary attitude, although from time to time some paper pellet flipped from the tip of a pen came bang in

his face. But he wiped his face with one hand and continued motionless, his eyes lowered.

In the evening, at preparation, he pulled out his pens from his desk, arranged his small belongings,

and carefully ruled his paper. We saw him working conscientiously, looking up every word in the dictionary,

and taking the greatest pains. Thanks, no doubt, to the willingness he showed, he had not to go down to the

class below. But though he knew his rules passably, he had little finish in composition. It was the cure of his

village who had taught him his first Latin; his parents, from motives of economy, having sent him to school

His father, Monsieur Charles Denis Bartolome Bovary, retired assistantsurgeonmajor,

compromised about 1812 in certain conscription scandals, and forced at this time to leave the service, had

taken advantage of his fine figure to get hold of a dowry of sixty thousand francs that offered in the person of

a hosier's daughter who had fallen in love with his good looks. A fine man, a great talker, making his spurs

ring as he walked, wearing whiskers that ran into his moustache, his fingers always garnished with rings and

dressed in loud colours, he had the dash of a military man with the easy go of a commercial traveller.

Once married, he lived for three or four years on his wife's fortune, dining well, rising late, smoking

long porcelain pipes, not coming in at night till after the theatre, and haunting cafes. The fatherinlaw died,

leaving little; he was indignant at this, "went in for the business," lost some money in it, then retired to the

But, as he knew no more about farming than calico, as he rode his horses instead of sending them to

plough, drank his cider in bottle instead of selling it in cask, ate the finest poultry in his farmyard, and

greased his huntingboots with the fat of his pigs, he was not long in finding out that he would do better to

For two hundred francs a year he managed to live on the border of the provinces of Caux and

Picardy, in a kind of place half farm, half private house; and here, soured, eaten up with regrets, cursing his

luck, jealous of everyone, he shut himself up at the age of fortyfive, sick of men, he said, and determined to

His wife had adored him once on a time; she had bored him with a thousand servilities that had only

estranged him the more. Lively once, expansive and affectionate, in growing older she had become (after the

fashion of wine that, exposed to air, turns to vinegar) illtempered, grumbling, irritable. She had suffered so

much without complaint at first, until she had seem him going after all the village drabs, and until a score of

bad houses sent him back to her at night, weary, stinking drunk. Then her pride revolted. After that she was

silent, burying her anger in a dumb stoicism that she maintained till her death. She was constantly going

about looking after business matters. She called on the lawyers, the president, remembered when bills fell

due, got them renewed, and at home ironed, sewed, washed, looked after the workmen, paid the accounts,

while he, troubling himself about nothing, eternally besotted in sleepy sulkiness, whence he only roused

himself to say disagreeable things to her, sat smoking by the fire and spitting into the cinders.

When she had a child, it had to be sent out to nurse. When he came home, the lad was spoilt as if he

were a prince. His mother stuffed him with jam; his father let him run about barefoot, and, playing the

philosopher, even said he might as well go about quite naked like the young of animals. As opposed to the

maternal ideas, he had a certain virile idea of childhood on which he sought to mould his son, wishing him to

be brought up hardily, like a Spartan, to give him a strong constitution. He sent him to bed without any fire,

taught him to drink off large draughts of rum and to jeer at religious processions. But, peaceable by nature,

the lad answered only poorly to his notions. His mother always kept him near her; she cut out cardboard for

him, told him tales, entertained him with endless monologues full of melancholy gaiety and charming

nonsense. In her life's isolation she centered on the child's head all her shattered, broken little vanities. She

dreamed of high station; she already saw him, tall, handsome, clever, settled as an engineer or in the law. She

taught him to read, and even, on an old piano, she had taught him two or three little songs. But to all this

Monsieur Bovary, caring little for letters, said, "It was not worth while. Would they ever have the means to

send him to a public school, to buy him a practice, or start him in business? Besides, with cheek a man

always gets on in the world." Madame Bovary bit her lips, and the child knocked about the village.

He went after the labourers, drove away with clods of earth the ravens that were flying about. He ate

blackberries along the hedges, minded the geese with a long switch, went haymaking during harvest, ran

about in the woods, played hopscotch under the church porch on rainy days, and at great fetes begged the

beadle to let him toll the bells, that he might hang all his weight on the long rope and feel himself borne

upward by it in its swing. Meanwhile he grew like an oak; he was strong on hand, fresh of colour.

When he was twelve years old his mother had her own way; he began lessons. The cure took him in

hand; but the lessons were so short and irregular that they could not be of much use. They were given at spare

moments in the sacristy, standing up, hurriedly, between a baptism and a burial; or else the cure, if he had not

to go out, sent for his pupil after the Angelus*. They went up to his room and settled down; the flies and

moths fluttered round the candle. It was close, the child fell asleep, and the good man, beginning to doze with

his hands on his stomach, was soon snoring with his mouth wide open. On other occasions, when Monsieur le

Cure, on his way back after administering the viaticum to some sick person in the neighbourhood, caught

sight of Charles playing about the fields, he called him, lectured him for a quarter of an hour and took

advantage of the occasion to make him conjugate his verb at the foot of a tree. The rain interrupted them or

an acquaintance passed. All the same he was always pleased with him, and even said the "young man" had a

*A devotion said at morning, noon, and evening, at the sound of a bell. Here, the evening prayer.

Charles could not go on like this. Madame Bovary took strong steps. Ashamed, or rather tired out,

Monsieur Bovary gave in without a struggle, and they waited one year longer, so that the lad should take his

Six months more passed, and the year after Charles was finally sent to school at Rouen, where his

It would now be impossible for any of us to remember anything about him. He was a youth of even

temperament, who played in playtime, worked in schoolhours, was attentive in class, slept well in the

dormitory, and ate well in the refectory. He had in loco parentis* a wholesale ironmonger in the Rue

Ganterie, who took him out once a month on Sundays after his shop was shut, sent him for a walk on the

quay to look at the boats, and then brought him back to college at seven o'clock before supper. Every

Thursday evening he wrote a long letter to his mother with red ink and three wafers; then he went over his

history notebooks, or read an old volume of "Anarchasis" that was knocking about the study. When he went

By dint of hard work he kept always about the middle of the class; once even he got a certificate in

natural history. But at the end of his third year his parents withdrew him from the school to make him study

His mother chose a room for him on the fourth floor of a dyer's she knew, overlooking the

EaudeRobec. She made arrangements for his board, got him furniture, table and two chairs, sent home for

an old cherrytree bedstead, and bought besides a small castiron stove with the supply of wood that was to

Then at the end of a week she departed, after a thousand injunctions to be good now that he was

The syllabus that he read on the noticeboard stunned him; lectures on anatomy, lectures on

pathology, lectures on physiology, lectures on pharmacy, lectures on botany and clinical medicine, and

therapeutics, without counting hygiene and materia medicaall names of whose etymologies he was

ignorant, and that were to him as so many doors to sanctuaries filled with magnificent darkness.

He understood nothing of it all; it was all very well to listen he did not follow. Still he worked; he

had bound notebooks, he attended all the courses, never missed a single lecture. He did his little daily task

like a millhorse, who goes round and round with his eyes bandaged, not knowing what work he is doing.

To spare him expense his mother sent him every week by the carrier a piece of veal baked in the

oven, with which he lunched when he came back from the hospital, while he sat kicking his feet against the

wall. After this he had to run off to lectures, to the operationroom, to the hospital, and return to his home at

the other end of the town. In the evening, after the poor dinner of his landlord, he went back to his room and

set to work again in his wet clothes, which smoked as he sat in front of the hot stove.

On the fine summer evenings, at the time when the close streets are empty, when the servants are

playing shuttlecock at the doors, he opened his window and leaned out. The river, that makes of this quarter

of Rouen a wretched little Venice, flowed beneath him, between the bridges and the railings, yellow, violet,

or blue. Working men, kneeling on the banks, washed their bare arms in the water. On poles projecting from

the attics, skeins of cotton were drying in the air. Opposite, beyond the roots spread the pure heaven with the

red sun setting. How pleasant it must be at home! How fresh under the beechtree! And he expanded his

He grew thin, his figure became taller, his face took a saddened look that made it nearly interesting.

Naturally, through indifference, he abandoned all the resolutions he had made. Once he missed a lecture; the

next day all the lectures; and, enjoying his idleness, little by little, he gave up work altogether. He got into the

habit of going to the publichouse, and had a passion for dominoes. To shut himself up every evening in the

dirty public room, to push about on marble tables the small sheep bones with black dots, seemed to him a fine

proof of his freedom, which raised him in his own esteem. It was beginning to see life, the sweetness of

stolen pleasures; and when he entered, he put his hand on the doorhandle with a joy almost sensual. Then

many things hidden within him came out; he learnt couplets by heart and sang them to his boon companions,

became enthusiastic about Beranger, learnt how to make punch, and, finally, how to make love.

Thanks to these preparatory labours, he failed completely in his examination for an ordinary degree.

He was expected home the same night to celebrate his success. He started on foot, stopped at the beginning of

the village, sent for his mother, and told her all. She excused him, threw the blame of his failure on the

injustice of the examiners, encouraged him a little, and took upon herself to set matters straight. It was only

five years later that Monsieur Bovary knew the truth; it was old then, and he accepted it. Moreover, he could

So Charles set to work again and crammed for his examination, ceaselessly learning all the old

questions by heart. He passed pretty well. What a happy day for his mother! They gave a grand dinner.

Where should he go to practice? To Tostes, where there was only one old doctor. For a long time

Madame Bovary had been on the lookout for his death, and the old fellow had barely been packed off when

But it was not everything to have brought up a son, to have had him taught medicine, and discovered

Tostes, where he could practice it; he must have a wife. She found him onethe widow of a bailiff at

Dieppewho was fortyfive and had an income of twelve hundred francs. Though she was ugly, as dry as a

bone, her face with as many pimples as the spring has buds, Madame Dubuc had no lack of suitors. To attain

her ends Madame Bovary had to oust them all, and she even succeeded in very cleverly baffling the intrigues

Charles had seen in marriage the advent of an easier life, thinking he would be more free to do as he

liked with himself and his money. But his wife was master; he had to say this and not say that in company, to

fast every Friday, dress as she liked, harass at her bidding those patients who did not pay. She opened his

letter, watched his comings and goings, and listened at the partitionwall when women came to consult him

She must have her chocolate every morning, attentions without end. She constantly complained of

her nerves, her chest, her liver. The noise of footsteps made her ill; when people left her, solitude became

odious to her; if they came back, it was doubtless to see her die. When Charles returned in the evening, she

stretched forth two long thin arms from beneath the sheets, put them round his neck, and having made him sit

down on the edge of the bed, began to talk to him of her troubles: he was neglecting her, he loved another.

She had been warned she would be unhappy; and she ended by asking him for a dose of medicine and a little

One night towards eleven o'clock they were awakened by the noise of a horse pulling up outside their

door. The servant opened the garretwindow and parleyed for some time with a man in the street below. He

came for the doctor, had a letter for him. Natasie came downstairs shivering and undid the bars and bolts one

after the other. The man left his horse, and, following the servant, suddenly came in behind her. He pulled out

from his wool cap with grey topknots a letter wrapped up in a rag and presented it gingerly to Charles, who

rested on his elbow on the pillow to read it. Natasie, standing near the bed, held the light. Madame in

This letter, sealed with a small seal in blue wax, begged Monsieur Bovary to come immediately to

the farm of the Bertaux to set a broken leg. Now from Tostes to the Bertaux was a good eighteen miles across

country by way of Longueville and SaintVictor. It was a dark night; Madame Bovary junior was afraid of

accidents for her husband. So it was decided the stableboy should go on first; Charles would start three

hours later when the moon rose. A boy was to be sent to meet him, and show him the way to the farm, and

Towards four o'clock in the morning, Charles, well wrapped up in his cloak, set out for the Bertaux.

Still sleepy from the warmth of his bed, he let himself be lulled by the quiet trot of his horse. When it stopped

of its own accord in front of those holes surrounded with thorns that are dug on the margin of furrows,

Charles awoke with a start, suddenly remembered the broken leg, and tried to call to mind all the fractures he

knew. The rain had stopped, day was breaking, and on the branches of the leafless trees birds roosted

motionless, their little feathers bristling in the cold morning wind. The flat country stretched as far as eye

could see, and the tufts of trees round the farms at long intervals seemed like dark violet stains on the cast

Charles from time to time opened his eyes, his mind grew weary, and, sleep coming upon him, he

soon fell into a doze wherein, his recent sensations blending with memories, he became conscious of a double

self, at once student and married man, lying in his bed as but now, and crossing the operation theatre as of

old. The warm smell of poultices mingled in his brain with the fresh odour of dew; he heard the iron rings

rattling along the curtainrods of the bed and saw his wife sleeping. As he passed Vassonville he came upon

And on Charles's answer he took his wooden shoes in his hands and ran on in front of him.

The general practitioner, riding along, gathered from his guide's talk that Monsieur Rouault must be

He had broken his leg the evening before on his way home from a Twelfthnight feast at a

neighbour's. His wife had been dead for two years. There was with him only his daughter, who helped him to

The little lad, slipping through a hole in the hedge, disappeared; then he came back to the end of a

courtyard to open the gate. The horse slipped on the wet grass; Charles had to stoop to pass under the

branches. The watchdogs in their kennels barked, dragging at their chains. As he entered the Bertaux, the

It was a substantiallooking farm. In the stables, over the top of the open doors, one could see great

carthorses quietly feeding from new racks. Right along the outbuildings extended a large dunghill, from

which manure liquid oozed, while amidst fowls and turkeys, five or six peacocks, a luxury in Chauchois

farmyards, were foraging on the top of it. The sheepfold was long, the barn high, with walls smooth as your

hand. Under the cartshed were two large carts and four ploughs, with their whips, shafts and harnesses

complete, whose fleeces of blue wool were getting soiled by the fine dust that fell from the granaries. The

courtyard sloped upwards, planted with trees set out symmetrically, and the chattering noise of a flock of

A young woman in a blue merino dress with three flounces came to the threshold of the door to

receive Monsieur Bovary, whom she led to the kitchen, where a large fire was blazing. The servant's

breakfast was boiling beside it in small pots of all sizes. Some damp clothes were drying inside the

chimneycorner. The shovel, tongs, and the nozzle of the bellows, all of colossal size, shone like polished

steel, while along the walls hung many pots and pans in which the clear flame of the hearth, mingling with

Charles went up the first floor to see the patient. He found him in his bed, sweating under his

bedclothes, having thrown his cotton nightcap right away from him. He was a fat little man of fifty, with

white skin and blue eyes, the forepart of his head bald, and he wore earrings. By his side on a chair stood a

large decanter of brandy, whence he poured himself a little from time to time to keep up his spirits; but as

soon as he caught sight of the doctor his elation subsided, and instead of swearing, as he had been doing for

Charles could not have hoped for an easier case. Then calling to mind the devices of his masters at

the bedsides of patients, he comforted the sufferer with all sorts of kindly remarks, those Caresses of the

surgeon that are like the oil they put on bistouries. In order to make some splints a bundle of laths was

brought up from the carthouse. Charles selected one, cut it into two pieces and planed it with a fragment of

windowpane, while the servant tore up sheets to make bandages, and Mademoiselle Emma tried to sew some

pads. As she was a long time before she found her workcase, her father grew impatient; she did not answer,

but as she sewed she pricked her fingers, which she then put to her mouth to suck them. Charles was

surprised at the whiteness of her nails. They were shiny, delicate at the tips, more polished than the ivory of

Dieppe, and almondshaped. Yet her hand was not beautiful, perhaps not white enough, and a little hard at

the knuckles; besides, it was too long, with no soft inflections in the outlines. Her real beauty was in her eyes.

Although brown, they seemed black because of the lashes, and her look came at you frankly, with a candid

The bandaging over, the doctor was invited by Monsieur Rouault himself to "pick a bit" before he

Charles went down into the room on the ground floor. Knives and forks and silver goblets were laid

for two on a little table at the foot of a huge bed that had a canopy of printed cotton with figures representing

Turks. There was an odour of irisroot and damp sheets that escaped from a large oak chest opposite the

window. On the floor in corners were sacks of flour stuck upright in rows. These were the overflow from the

neighbouring granary, to which three stone steps led. By way of decoration for the apartment, hanging to a

nail in the middle of the wall, whose green paint scaled off from the effects of the saltpetre, was a crayon

head of Minerva in gold frame, underneath which was written in Gothic letters "To dear Papa."

First they spoke of the patient, then of the weather, of the great cold, of the wolves that infested the

Mademoiselle Rouault did not at all like the country, especially now that she had to look after the

farm almost alone. As the room was chilly, she shivered as she ate. This showed something of her full lips,

Her neck stood out from a white turneddown collar. Her hair, whose two black folds seemed each

of a single piece, so smooth were they, was parted in the middle by a delicate lie that curved slightly with the

curve of the head; and, just showing the tip of the ear, it was joined behind in a thick chignon, with a wavy

movement at the temples that the country doctor saw now for the first time in his life. The upper part of her

cheek was rosecoloured. She had, like a man, thrust in between two buttons of her bodice a tortoiseshell

When Charles, after bidding farewell to old Rouault, returned to the room before leaving, he found

her standing, her forehead against the window, looking into the garden, where the bean props had been

knocked down by the wind. She turned round. "Are you looking for anything?" she asked.

He began rummaging on the bed, behind the doors, under the chairs. It had fallen to the floor,

between the sacks and the wall. Mademoiselle Emma saw it, and bent over the flour sacks.

Charles out of politeness made a dash also, and as he stretched out his arm, at the same moment felt

his breast brush against the back of the young girl bending beneath him. She drew herself up, scarlet, and

Instead of returning to the Bertaux in three days as he had promised, he went back the very next day,

then regularly twice a week, without counting the visits he paid now and then as if by accident.

Everything, moreover, went well; the patient progressed favourably; and when, at the end of

fortysix days, old Rouault was seen trying to walk alone in his "den," Monsieur Bovary began to be looked

upon as a man of great capacity. Old Rouault said that he could not have been cured better by the first doctor

As to Charles, he did not stop to ask himself why it was a pleasure to him to go to the Bertaux. Had

he done so, he would, no doubt, have attributed his zeal to the importance of the case, or perhaps to the

money he hoped to make by it. Was it for this, however, that his visits to the farm formed a delightful

exception to the meagre occupations of his life? On these days he rose early, set off at a gallop, urging on his

horse, then got down to wipe his boots in the grass and put on black gloves before entering. He liked going

into the courtyard, and noticing the gate turn against his shoulder, the cock crow on the wall, the lads run to

meet him. He liked the granary and the stables; he liked old Rouault, who pressed his hand and called him his

saviour; he like the small wooden shoes of Mademoiselle Emma on the scoured flags of the kitchenher

high heels made her a little taller; and when she walked in front of him, the wooden soles springing up

She always accompanied him to the first step of the stairs. When his horse had not yet been brought

round she stayed there. They had said "Goodbye"; there was no more talking. The open air wrapped her

round, playing with the soft down on the back of her neck, or blew to and fro on her hips the apronstrings,

that fluttered like streamers. Once, during a thaw the bark of the trees in the yard was oozing, the snow on the

roofs of the outbuildings was melting; she stood on the threshold, and went to fetch her sunshade and opened

it. The sunshade of silk of the colour of pigeons' breasts, through which the sun shone, lighted up with

shifting hues the white skin of her face. She smiled under the tender warmth, and drops of water could be

During the first period of Charles's visits to the Bertaux, Madame Bovary junior never failed to

inquire after the invalid, and she had even chosen in the book that she kept on a system of double entry a

clean blank page for Monsieur Rouault. But when she heard he had a daughter, she began to make inquiries,

and she learnt the Mademoiselle Rouault, brought up at the Ursuline Convent, had received what is called "a

good education"; and so knew dancing, geography, drawing, how to embroider and play the piano. That was

"So it is for this," she said to herself, "that his face beams when he goes to see her, and that he puts

on his new waistcoat at the risk of spoiling it with the rain. Ah! that woman! That woman!"

And she detested her instinctively. At first she solaced herself by allusions that Charles did not

understand, then by casual observations that he let pass for fear of a storm, finally by open apostrophes to

which he knew not what to answer. "Why did he go back to the Bertaux now that Monsieur Rouault was

cured and that these folks hadn't paid yet? Ah! it was because a young lady was there, some one who know

how to talk, to embroider, to be witty. That was what he cared about; he wanted town misses." And she went

"The daughter of old Rouault a town miss! Get out! Their grandfather was a shepherd, and they have

a cousin who was almost had up at the assizes for a nasty blow in a quarrel. It is not worth while making such

a fuss, or showing herself at church on Sundays in a silk gown like a countess. Besides, the poor old chap, if

it hadn't been for the colza last year, would have had much ado to pay up his arrears."

For very weariness Charles left off going to the Bertaux. Heloise made him swear, his hand on the

prayerbook, that he would go there no more after much sobbing and many kisses, in a great outburst of love.

He obeyed then, but the strength of his desire protested against the servility of his conduct; and he thought,

with a kind of naive hypocrisy, that his interdict to see her gave him a sort of right to love her. And then the

widow was thin; she had long teeth; wore in all weathers a little black shawl, the edge of which hung down

between her shoulderblades; her bony figure was sheathed in her clothes as if they were a scabbard; they

were too short, and displayed her ankles with the laces of her large boots crossed over grey stockings.

Charles's mother came to see them from time to time, but after a few days the daughterinlaw

seemed to put her own edge on her, and then, like two knives, they scarified him with their reflections and

Why did he always offer a glass of something to everyone who came? What obstinacy not to wear

flannels! In the spring it came about that a notary at Ingouville, the holder of the widow Dubuc's property,

one fine day went off, taking with him all the money in his office. Heloise, it is true, still possessed, besides a

share in a boat valued at six thousand francs, her house in the Rue St. Francois; and yet, with all this fortune

that had been so trumpeted abroad, nothing, excepting perhaps a little furniture and a few clothes, had

appeared in the household. The matter had to be gone into. The house at Dieppe was found to be eaten up

with mortgages to its foundations; what she had placed with the notary God only knew, and her share in the

boat did not exceed one thousand crowns. She had lied, the good lady! In his exasperation, Monsieur Bovary

the elder, smashing a chair on the flags, accused his wife of having caused misfortune to the son by

harnessing him to such a harridan, whose harness wasn't worth her hide. They came to Tostes. Explanations

followed. There were scenes. Heloise in tears, throwing her arms about her husband, implored him to defend

But "the blow had struck home." A week after, as she was hanging up some washing in her yard, she

was seized with a spitting of blood, and the next day, while Charles had his back turned to her drawing the

windowcurtain, she said, "O God!" gave a sigh and fainted. She was dead! What a surprise! When all was

over at the cemetery Charles went home. He found no one downstairs; he went up to the first floor to their

room; say her dress still hanging at the foot of the alcove; then, leaning against the writingtable, he stayed

One morning old Rouault brought Charles the money for setting his legseventyfive francs in

fortysou pieces, and a turkey. He had heard of his loss, and consoled him as well as he could.

"I know what it is," said he, clapping him on the shoulder; "I've been through it. When I lost my dear

departed, I went into the fields to be quite alone. I fell at the foot of a tree; I cried; I called on God; I talked

nonsense to Him. I wanted to be like the moles that I saw on the branches, their insides swarming with

worms, dead, and an end of it. And when I thought that there were others at that very moment with their nice

little wives holding them in their embrace, I struck great blows on the earth with my stick. I was pretty well

mad with not eating; the very idea of going to a cafe disgusted meyou wouldn't believe it. Well, quite

softly, one day following another, a spring on a winter, and an autumn after a summer, this wore away, piece

by piece, crumb by crumb; it passed away, it is gone, I should say it has sunk; for something always remains

at the bottom as one would saya weight here, at one's heart. But since it is the lot of all of us, one must not

give way altogether, and, because others have died, want to die too. You must pull yourself together,

Monsieur Bovary. It will pass away. Come to see us; my daughter thinks of you now and again, d'ye know,

and she says you are forgetting her. Spring will soon be here. We'll have some rabbitshooting in the warrens

Charles followed his advice. He went back to the Bertaux. He found all as he had left it, that is to

say, as it was five months ago. The pear trees were already in blossom, and Farmer Rouault, on his legs

Thinking it his duty to heap the greatest attention upon the doctor because of his sad position, he

begged him not to take his hat off, spoke to him in an undertone as if he had been ill, and even pretended to

be angry because nothing rather lighter had been prepared for him than for the others, such as a little clotted

cream or stewed pears. He told stories. Charles found himself laughing, but the remembrance of his wife

suddenly coming back to him depressed him. Coffee was brought in; he thought no more about her.

He thought less of her as he grew accustomed to living alone. The new delight of independence soon

made his loneliness bearable. He could now change his mealtimes, go in or out without explanation, and

when he was very tired stretch himself at full length on his bed. So he nursed and coddled himself and

accepted the consolations that were offered him. On the other hand, the death of his wife had not served him

ill in his business, since for a month people had been saying, "The poor young man! what a loss!" His name

had been talked about, his practice had increased; and moreover, he could go to the Bertaux just as he liked.

He had an aimless hope, and was vaguely happy; he thought himself better looking as he brushed his

One day he got there about three o'clock. Everybody was in the fields. He went into the kitchen, but

did not at once catch sight of Emma; the outside shutters were closed. Through the chinks of the wood the

sun sent across the flooring long fine rays that were broken at the corners of the furniture and trembled along

the ceiling. Some flies on the table were crawling up the glasses that had been used, and buzzing as they

drowned themselves in the dregs of the cider. The daylight that came in by the chimney made velvet of the

soot at the back of the fireplace, and touched with blue the cold cinders. Between the window and the hearth

Emma was sewing; she wore no fichu; he could see small drops of perspiration on her bare shoulders.

After the fashion of country folks she asked him to have something to drink. He said no; she insisted,

and at last laughingly offered to have a glass of liqueur with him. So she went to fetch a bottle of curacao

from the cupboard, reached down two small glasses, filled one to the brim, poured scarcely anything into the

other, and, after having clinked glasses, carried hers to her mouth. As it was almost empty she bent back to

drink, her head thrown back, her lips pouting, her neck on the strain. She laughed at getting none of it, while

with the tip of her tongue passing between her small teeth she licked drop by drop the bottom of her glass.

She sat down again and took up her work, a white cotton stocking she was darning. She worked with

her head bent down; she did not speak, nor did Charles. The air coming in under the door blew a little dust

over the flags; he watched it drift along, and heard nothing but the throbbing in his head and the faint

clucking of a hen that had laid an egg in the yard. Emma from time to time cooled her cheeks with the palms

She complained of suffering since the beginning of the season from giddiness; she asked if seabaths

would do her any good; she began talking of her convent, Charles of his school; words came to them. They

went up into her bedroom. She showed him her old musicbooks, the little prizes she had won, and the

oakleaf crowns, left at the bottom of a cupboard. She spoke to him, too, of her mother, of the country, and

even showed him the bed in the garden where, on the first Friday of every month, she gathered flowers to put

on her mother's tomb. But the gardener they had never knew anything about it; servants are so stupid! She

would have dearly liked, if only for the winter, to live in town, although the length of the fine days made the

country perhaps even more wearisome in the summer. And, according to what she was saying, her voice was

clear, sharp, or, on a sudden all languor, drawn out in modulations that ended almost in murmurs as she spoke

to herself, now joyous, opening big naive eyes, then with her eyelids half closed, her look full of boredom,

Going home at night, Charles went over her words one by one, trying to recall them, to fill out their

sense, that he might piece out the life she had lived before he knew her. But he never saw her in his thoughts

other than he had seen her the first time, or as he had just left her. Then he asked himself what would become

of herif she would be married, and to whom! Alas! Old Rouault was rich, and she!so beautiful! But

Emma's face always rose before his eyes, and a monotone, like the humming of a top, sounded in his ears, "If

you should marry after all! If you should marry!" At night he could not sleep; his throat was parched; he was

athirst. He got up to drink from the waterbottle and opened the window. The night was covered with stars, a

warm wind blowing in the distance; the dogs were barking. He turned his head towards the Bertaux.

Thinking that, after all, he should lose nothing, Charles promised himself to ask her in marriage as

soon as occasion offered, but each time such occasion did offer the fear of not finding the right words sealed

Old Rouault would not have been sorry to be rid of his daughter, who was of no use to him in the

house. In his heart he excused her, thinking her too clever for farming, a calling under the ban of Heaven,

since one never saw a millionaire in it. Far from having made a fortune by it, the good man was losing every

year; for if he was good in bargaining, in which he enjoyed the dodges of the trade, on the other hand,

agriculture properly so called, and the internal management of the farm, suited him less than most people. He

did not willingly take his hands out of his pockets, and did not spare expense in all that concerned himself,

liking to eat well, to have good fires, and to sleep well. He liked old cider, underdone legs of mutton, glorias*

well beaten up. He took his meals in the kitchen alone, opposite the fire, on a little table brought to him all

When, therefore, he perceived that Charles's cheeks grew red if near his daughter, which meant that

he would propose for her one of these days, he chewed the cud of the matter beforehand. He certainly thought

him a little meagre, and not quite the soninlaw he would have liked, but he was said to be well

broughtup, economical, very learned, and no doubt would not make too many difficulties about the dowry.

Now, as old Rouault would soon be forced to sell twentytwo acres of "his property," as he owed a good deal

to the mason, to the harnessmaker, and as the shaft of the ciderpress wanted renewing, "If he asks for her,"

The last had passed like the others in procrastinating from hour to hour. Old Rouault was seeing him

off; they were walking along the road full of ruts; they were about to part. This was the time. Charles gave

"Well, tell me your story. Don't I know all about it?" said old Rouault, laughing softly.

"I ask nothing better", the farmer went on. "Although, no doubt, the little one is of my mind, still we

must ask her opinion. So you get offI'll go back home. If it is "yes", you needn't return because of all the

people about, and besides it would upset her too much. But so that you mayn't be eating your heart, I'll open

wide the outer shutter of the window against the wall; you can see it from the back by leaning over the

Charles fastened his horse to a tree; he ran into the road and waited. Half an hour passed, then he

counted nineteen minutes by his watch. Suddenly a noise was heard against the wall; the shutter had been

The next day by nine o'clock he was at the farm. Emma blushed as he entered, and she gave a little

forced laugh to keep herself in countenance. Old Rouault embraced his future soninlaw. The discussion of

money matters was put off; moreover, there was plenty of time before them, as the marriage could not

decently take place till Charles was out of mourning, that is to say, about the spring of the next year.

The winter passed waiting for this. Mademoiselle Rouault was busy with her trousseau. Part of it was

ordered at Rouen, and she made herself chemises and nightcaps after fashionplates that she borrowed. When

Charles visited the farmer, the preparations for the wedding were talked over; they wondered in what room

they should have dinner; they dreamed of the number of dishes that would be wanted, and what should be

Emma would, on the contrary, have preferred to have a midnight wedding with torches, but old

Rouault could not understand such an idea. So there was a wedding at which fortythree persons were

present, at which they remained sixteen hours at table, began again the next day, and to some extent on the

The guests arrived early in carriages, in onehorse chaises, twowheeled cars, old open gigs,

waggonettes with leather hoods, and the young people from the nearer villages in carts, in which they stood

up in rows, holding on to the sides so as not to fall, going at a trot and well shaken up. Some came from a

All the relatives of both families had been invited, quarrels between friends arranged, acquaintances

>From time to time one heard the crack of a whip behind the hedge; then the gates opened, a chaise

entered. Galloping up to the foot of the steps, it stopped short and emptied its load. They got down from all

sides, rubbing knees and stretching arms. The ladies, wearing bonnets, had on dresses in the town fashion,

gold watch chains, pelerines with the ends tucked into belts, or little coloured fichus fastened down behind

with a pin, and that left the back of the neck bare. The lads, dressed like their papas, seemed uncomfortable in

their new clothes (many that day handsewed their first pair of boots), and by their sides, speaking never a

work, wearing the white dress of their first communion lengthened for the occasion were some big girls of

fourteen or sixteen, cousins or elder sisters no doubt, rubicund, bewildered, their hair greasy with rose

pomade, and very much afraid of dirtying their gloves. As there were not enough stableboys to unharness all

the carriages, the gentlemen turned up their sleeves and set about it themselves. According to their different

social positions they wore tailcoats, overcoats, shooting jackets, cutawaycoats; fine tailcoats, redolent of

family respectability, that only came out of the wardrobe on state occasions; overcoats with long tails

flapping in the wind and round capes and pockets like sacks; shooting jackets of coarse cloth, generally worn

with a cap with a brassbound peak; very short cutawaycoats with two small buttons in the back, close

together like a pair of eyes, and the tails of which seemed cut out of one piece by a carpenter's hatchet. Some,

too (but these, you may be sure, would sit at the bottom of the table), wore their best blousesthat is to say,

with collars turned down to the shoulders, the back gathered into small plaits and the waist fastened very low

And the shirts stood out from the chests like cuirasses! Everyone had just had his hair cut; ears stood

out from the heads; they had been closeshaved; a few, even, who had had to get up before daybreak, and not

been able to see to shave, had diagonal gashes under their noses or cuts the size of a threefranc piece along

the jaws, which the fresh air en route had enflamed, so that the great white beaming faces were mottled here

The mairie was a mile and a half from the farm, and they went thither on foot, returning in the same

way after the ceremony in the church. The procession, first united like one long coloured scarf that undulated

across the fields, along the narrow path winding amid the green corn, soon lengthened out, and broke up into

different groups that loitered to talk. The fiddler walked in front with his violin, gay with ribbons at its pegs.

Then came the married pair, the relations, the friends, all following pellmell; the children stayed behind

amusing themselves plucking the bellflowers from oatears, or playing amongst themselves unseen.

Emma's dress, too long, trailed a little on the ground; from time to time she stopped to pull it up, and then

delicately, with her gloved hands, she picked off the coarse grass and the thistledowns, while Charles, empty

handed, waited till she had finished. Old Rouault, with a new silk hat and the cuffs of his black coat covering

his hands up to the nails, gave his arm to Madame Bovary senior. As to Monsieur Bovary senior, who,

heartily despising all these folk, had come simply in a frockcoat of military cut with one row of buttonshe

was passing compliments of the bar to a fair young peasant. She bowed, blushed, and did not know what to

say. The other wedding guests talked of their business or played tricks behind each other's backs, egging one

another on in advance to be jolly. Those who listened could always catch the squeaking of the fiddler, who

went on playing across the fields. When he saw that the rest were far behind he stopped to take breath, slowly

rosined his bow, so that the strings should sound more shrilly, then set off again, by turns lowering and

raising his neck, the better to mark time for himself. The noise of the instrument drove away the little birds

The table was laid under the cartshed. On it were four sirloins, six chicken fricassees, stewed veal,

three legs of mutton, and in the middle a fine roast suckling pig, flanked by four chitterlings with sorrel. At

the corners were decanters of brandy. Sweet bottledcider frothed round the corks, and all the glasses had

been filled to the brim with wine beforehand. Large dishes of yellow cream, that trembled with the least

shake of the table, had designed on their smooth surface the initials of the newly wedded pair in nonpareil

arabesques. A confectioner of Yvetot had been intrusted with the tarts and sweets. As he had only just set up

on the place, he had taken a lot of trouble, and at dessert he himself brought in a set dish that evoked loud

cries of wonderment. To begin with, at its base there was a square of blue cardboard, representing a temple

with porticoes, colonnades, and stucco statuettes all round, and in the niches constellations of gilt paper stars;

then on the second stage was a dungeon of Savoy cake, surrounded by many fortifications in candied

angelica, almonds, raisins, and quarters of oranges; and finally, on the upper platform a green field with rocks

set in lakes of jam, nutshell boats, and a small Cupid balancing himself in a chocolate swing whose two

Until night they ate. When any of them were too tired of sitting, they went out for a stroll in the yard,

or for a game with corks in the granary, and then returned to table. Some towards the finish went to sleep and

snored. But with the coffee everyone woke up. Then they began songs, showed off tricks, raised heavy

weights, performed feats with their fingers, then tried lifting carts on their shoulders, made broad jokes,

kissed the women. At night when they left, the horses, stuffed up to the nostrils with oats, could hardly be got

into the shafts; they kicked, reared, the harness broke, their masters laughed or swore; and all night in the

light of the moon along country roads there were runaway carts at full gallop plunging into the ditches,

jumping over yard after yard of stones, clambering up the hills, with women leaning out from the tilt to catch

Those who stayed at the Bertaux spent the night drinking in the kitchen. The children had fallen

The bride had begged her father to be spared the usual marriage pleasantries. However, a

fishmonger, one of their cousins (who had even brought a pair of soles for his wedding present), began to

squirt water from his mouth through the keyhole, when old Rouault came up just in time to stop him, and

explain to him that the distinguished position of his soninlaw would not allow of such liberties. The cousin

all the same did not give in to these reasons readily. In his heart he accused old Rouault of being proud, and

he joined four or five other guests in a corner, who having, through mere chance, been several times running

served with the worst helps of meat, also were of opinion they had been badly used, and were whispering

Madame Bovary, senior, had not opened her mouth all day. She had been consulted neither as to the

dress of her daughterinlaw nor as to the arrangement of the feast; she went to bed early. Her husband,

instead of following her, sent to SaintVictor for some cigars, and smoked till daybreak, drinking

kirschpunch, a mixture unknown to the company. This added greatly to the consideration in which he was

Charles, who was not of a facetious turn, did not shine at the wedding. He answered feebly to the

puns, doubles entendres*, compliments, and chaff that it was felt a duty to let off at him as soon as the soup

The next day, on the other hand, he seemed another man. It was he who might rather have been taken

for the virgin of the evening before, whilst the bride gave no sign that revealed anything. The shrewdest did

not know what to make of it, and they looked at her when she passed near them with an unbounded

concentration of mind. But Charles concealed nothing. He called her "my wife", tutoyed* her, asked for her

of everyone, looked for her everywhere, and often he dragged her into the yards, where he could be seen from

far between the trees, putting his arm around her waist, and walking halfbending over her, ruffling the

Two days after the wedding the married pair left. Charles, on account of his patients, could not be

away longer. Old Rouault had them driven back in his cart, and himself accompanied them as far as

Vassonville. Here he embraced his daughter for the last time, got down, and went his way. When he had gone

about a hundred paces he stopped, and as he saw the cart disappearing, its wheels turning in the dust, he gave

a deep sigh. Then he remembered his wedding, the old times, the first pregnancy of his wife; he, too, had

been very happy the day when he had taken her from her father to his home, and had carried her off on a

pillion, trotting through the snow, for it was near Christmastime, and the country was all white. She held

him by one arm, her basket hanging from the other; the wind blew the long lace of her Cauchois headdress so

that it sometimes flapped across his mouth, and when he turned his head he saw near him, on his shoulder,

her little rosy face, smiling silently under the gold bands of her cap. To warm her hands she put them from

time to time in his breast. How long ago it all was! Their son would have been thirty by now. Then he looked

back and saw nothing on the road. He felt dreary as an empty house; and tender memories mingling with the

sad thoughts in his brain, addled by the fumes of the feast, he felt inclined for a moment to take a turn

towards the church. As he was afraid, however, that this sight would make him yet more sad, he went right

The old servant presented herself, curtsied to her, apologised for not having dinner ready, and

The brick front was just in a line with the street, or rather the road. Behind the door hung a cloak

with a small collar, a bridle, and a black leather cap, and on the floor, in a corner, were a pair of leggings, still

covered with dry mud. On the right was the one apartment, that was both dining and sitting room. A canary

yellow paper, relieved at the top by a garland of pale flowers, was puckered everywhere over the badly

stretched canvas; white calico curtains with a red border hung crossways at the length of the window; and on

the narrow mantelpiece a clock with a head of Hippocrates shone resplendent between two plate candlesticks

under oval shades. On the other side of the passage was Charles's consulting room, a little room about six

paces wide, with a table, three chairs, and an office chair. Volumes of the "Dictionary of Medical Science,"

uncut, but the binding rather the worse for the successive sales through which they had gone, occupied almost

The smell of melted butter penetrated through the walls when he saw patients, just as in the kitchen

one could hear the people coughing in the consulting room and recounting their histories.

Then, opening on the yard, where the stable was, came a large dilapidated room with a stove, now

used as a woodhouse, cellar, and pantry, full of old rubbish, of empty casks, agricultural implements past

The garden, longer than wide, ran between two mud walls with espaliered apricots, to a hawthorn

hedge that separated it from the field. In the middle was a slate sundial on a brick pedestal; four flower beds

with eglantines surrounded symmetrically the more useful kitchen garden bed. Right at the bottom, under the

Emma went upstairs. The first room was not furnished, but in the second, which was their bedroom,

was a mahogany bedstead in an alcove with red drapery. A shell box adorned the chest of drawers, and on the

secretary near the window a bouquet of orange blossoms tied with white satin ribbons stood in a bottle. It was

a bride's bouquet; it was the other one's. She looked at it. Charles noticed it; he took it and carried it up to the

attic, while Emma seated in an armchair (they were putting her things down around her) thought of her

bridal flowers packed up in a bandbox, and wondered, dreaming, what would be done with them if she were

During the first days she occupied herself in thinking about changes in the house. She took the

shades off the candlesticks, had new wallpaper put up, the staircase repainted, and seats made in the garden

round the sundial; she even inquired how she could get a basin with a jet fountain and fishes. Finally her

husband, knowing that she liked to drive out, picked up a secondhand dogcart, which, with new lamps and

He was happy then, and without a care in the world. A meal together, a walk in the evening on the

highroad, a gesture of her hands over her hair, the sight of her straw hat hanging from the windowfastener,

and many another thing in which Charles had never dreamed of pleasure, now made up the endless round of

his happiness. In bed, in the morning, by her side, on the pillow, he watched the sunlight sinking into the

down on her fair cheek, half hidden by the lappets of her nightcap. Seen thus closely, her eyes looked to him

enlarged, especially when, on waking up, she opened and shut them rapidly many times. Black in the shade,

dark blue in broad daylight, they had, as it were, depths of different colours, that, darker in the centre, grew

paler towards the surface of the eye. His own eyes lost themselves in these depths; he saw himself in

miniature down to the shoulders, with his handkerchief round his head and the top of his shirt open. He rose.

She came to the window to see him off, and stayed leaning on the sill between two pots of geranium, clad in

her dressing gown hanging loosely about her. Charles, in the street buckled his spurs, his foot on the

mounting stone, while she talked to him from above, picking with her mouth some scrap of flower or leaf that

she blew out at him. Then this, eddying, floating, described semicircles in the air like a bird, and was caught

before it reached the ground in the illgroomed mane of the old white mare standing motionless at the door.

Charles from horseback threw her a kiss; she answered with a nod; she shut the window, and he set off. And

then along the highroad, spreading out its long ribbon of dust, along the deep lanes that the trees bent over as

in arbours, along paths where the corn reached to the knees, with the sun on his back and the morning air in

his nostrils, his heart full of the joys of the past night, his mind at rest, his flesh at ease, he went on,

rechewing his happiness, like those who after dinner taste again the truffles which they are digesting.

Until now what good had he had of his life? His time at school, when he remained shut up within the

high walls, alone, in the midst of companions richer than he or cleverer at their work, who laughed at his

accent, who jeered at his clothes, and whose mothers came to the school with cakes in their muffs? Later on,

when he studied medicine, and never had his purse full enough to treat some little workgirl who would have

become his mistress? Afterwards, he had lived fourteen months with the widow, whose feet in bed were cold

as icicles. But now he had for life this beautiful woman whom he adored. For him the universe did not extend

beyond the circumference of her petticoat, and he reproached himself with not loving her. He wanted to see

her again; he turned back quickly, ran up the stairs with a beating heart. Emma, in her room, was dressing; he

He could not keep from constantly touching her comb, her ring, her fichu; sometimes he gave her

great sounding kisses with all his mouth on her cheeks, or else little kisses in a row all along her bare arm

from the tip of her fingers up to her shoulder, and she put him away halfsmiling, halfvexed, as you do a

Before marriage she thought herself in love; but the happiness that should have followed this love

not having come, she must, she thought, have been mistaken. And Emma tried to find out what one meant

exactly in life by the words felicity, passion, rapture, that had seemed to her so beautiful in books.

She had read "Paul and Virginia," and she had dreamed of the little bamboohouse, the nigger

Domingo, the dog Fiddle, but above all of the sweet friendship of some dear little brother, who seeks red fruit

for you on trees taller than steeples, or who runs barefoot over the sand, bringing you a bird's nest.

When she was thirteen, her father himself took her to town to place her in the convent. They stopped

at an inn in the St. Gervais quarter, where, at their supper, they used painted plates that set forth the story of

Mademoiselle de la Valliere. The explanatory legends, chipped here and there by the scratching of knives, all

Far from being bored at first at the convent, she took pleasure in the society of the good sisters, who,

to amuse her, took her to the chapel, which one entered from the refectory by a long corridor. She played very

little during recreation hours, knew her catechism well, and it was she who always answered Monsieur le

Vicaire's difficult questions. Living thus, without every leaving the warm atmosphere of the classrooms, and

amid these palefaced women wearing rosaries with brass crosses, she was softly lulled by the mystic

languor exhaled in the perfumes of the altar, the freshness of the holy water, and the lights of the tapers.

Instead of attending to mass, she looked at the pious vignettes with their azure borders in her book, and she

loved the sick lamb, the sacred heart pierced with sharp arrows, or the poor Jesus sinking beneath the cross he

carries. She tried, by way of mortification, to eat nothing a whole day. She puzzled her head to find some

When she went to confession, she invented little sins in order that she might stay there longer,

kneeling in the shadow, her hands joined, her face against the grating beneath the whispering of the priest.

The comparisons of betrothed, husband, celestial lover, and eternal marriage, that recur in sermons, stirred

In the evening, before prayers, there was some religious reading in the study. On weeknights it was

some abstract of sacred history or the Lectures of the Abbe Frayssinous, and on Sundays passages from the

"Genie du Christianisme," as a recreation. How she listened at first to the sonorous lamentations of its

romantic melancholies reechoing through the world and eternity! If her childhood had been spent in the

shopparlour of some business quarter, she might perhaps have opened her heart to those lyrical invasions of

Nature, which usually come to us only through translation in books. But she knew the country too well; she

Accustomed to calm aspects of life, she turned, on the contrary, to those of excitement. She loved the

sea only for the sake of its storms, and the green fields only when broken up by ruins.

She wanted to get some personal profit out of things, and she rejected as useless all that did not

contribute to the immediate desires of her heart, being of a temperament more sentimental than artistic,

At the convent there was an old maid who came for a week each month to mend the linen. Patronized

by the clergy, because she belonged to an ancient family of noblemen ruined by the Revolution, she dined in

the refectory at the table of the good sisters, and after the meal had a bit of chat with them before going back

to her work. The girls often slipped out from the study to go and see her. She knew by heart the love songs of

She told stories, gave them news, went errands in the town, and on the sly lent the big girls some

novel, that she always carried in the pockets of her apron, and of which the good lady herself swallowed long

chapters in the intervals of her work. They were all love, lovers, sweethearts, persecuted ladies fainting in

lonely pavilions, postilions killed at every stage, horses ridden to death on every page, sombre forests,

heartaches, vows, sobs, tears and kisses, little skiffs by moonlight, nightingales in shady groves, "gentlemen"

brave as lions, gentle as lambs, virtuous as no one ever was, always well dressed, and weeping like fountains.

For six months, then, Emma, at fifteen years of age, made her hands dirty with books from old lending

Through Walter Scott, later on, she fell in love with historical events, dreamed of old chests,

guardrooms and minstrels. She would have liked to live in some old manorhouse, like those longwaisted

chatelaines who, in the shade of pointed arches, spent their days leaning on the stone, chin in hand, watching

a cavalier with white plume galloping on his black horse from the distant fields. At this time she had a cult

for Mary Stuart and enthusiastic veneration for illustrious or unhappy women. Joan of Arc, Heloise, Agnes

Sorel, the beautiful Ferroniere, and Clemence Isaure stood out to her like comets in the dark immensity of

heaven, where also were seen, lost in shadow, and all unconnected, St. Louis with his oak, the dying Bayard,

some cruelties of Louis XI, a little of St. Bartholomew's Day, the plume of the Bearnais, and always the

In the music class, in the ballads she sang, there was nothing but little angels with golden wings,

madonnas, lagunes, gondoliers;mild compositions that allowed her to catch a glimpse athwart the obscurity

of style and the weakness of the music of the attractive phantasmagoria of sentimental realities. Some of her

companions brought "keepsakes" given them as new year's gifts to the convent. These had to be hidden; it

was quite an undertaking; they were read in the dormitory. Delicately handling the beautiful satin bindings,

Emma looked with dazzled eyes at the names of the unknown authors, who had signed their verses for the

She trembled as she blew back the tissue paper over the engraving and saw it folded in two and fall

gently against the page. Here behind the balustrade of a balcony was a young man in a short cloak, holding in

his arms a young girl in a white dress wearing an almsbag at her belt; or there were nameless portraits of

English ladies with fair curls, who looked at you from under their round straw hats with their large clear eyes.

Some there were lounging in their carriages, gliding through parks, a greyhound bounding along in front of

the equipage driven at a trot by two midget postilions in white breeches. Others, dreaming on sofas with an

open letter, gazed at the moon through a slightly open window half draped by a black curtain. The naive ones,

a tear on their cheeks, were kissing doves through the bars of a Gothic cage, or, smiling, their heads on one

side, were plucking the leaves of a marguerite with their taper fingers, that curved at the tips like peaked

shoes. And you, too, were there, Sultans with long pipes reclining beneath arbours in the arms of Bayaderes;

Djiaours, Turkish sabres, Greek caps; and you especially, pale landscapes of dithyrambic lands, that often

show us at once palm trees and firs, tigers on the right, a lion to the left, Tartar minarets on the horizon; the

whole framed by a very neat virgin forest, and with a great perpendicular sunbeam trembling in the water,

where, standing out in relief like white excoriations on a steelgrey ground, swans are swimming about.

And the shade of the argand lamp fastened to the wall above Emma's head lighted up all these

pictures of the world, that passed before her one by one in the silence of the dormitory, and to the distant

When her mother died she cried much the first few days. She had a funeral picture made with the

hair of the deceased, and, in a letter sent to the Bertaux full of sad reflections on life, she asked to be buried

later on in the same grave. The goodman thought she must be ill, and came to see her. Emma was secretly

pleased that she had reached at a first attempt the rare ideal of pale lives, never attained by mediocre hearts.

She let herself glide along with Lamartine meanderings, listened to harps on lakes, to all the songs of dying

swans, to the falling of the leaves, the pure virgins ascending to heaven, and the voice of the Eternal

discoursing down the valleys. She wearied of it, would not confess it, continued from habit, and at last was

surprised to feel herself soothed, and with no more sadness at heart than wrinkles on her brow.

The good nuns, who had been so sure of her vocation, perceived with great astonishment that

Mademoiselle Rouault seemed to be slipping from them. They had indeed been so lavish to her of prayers,

retreats, novenas, and sermons, they had so often preached the respect due to saints and martyrs, and given so

much good advice as to the modesty of the body and the salvation of her soul, that she did as tightly reined

horses; she pulled up short and the bit slipped from her teeth. This nature, positive in the midst of its

enthusiasms, that had loved the church for the sake of the flowers, and music for the words of the songs, and

literature for its passional stimulus, rebelled against the mysteries of faith as it grew irritated by discipline, a

thing antipathetic to her constitution. When her father took her from school, no one was sorry to see her go.

The Lady Superior even thought that she had latterly been somewhat irreverent to the community.

Emma, at home once more, first took pleasure in looking after the servants, then grew disgusted with

the country and missed her convent. When Charles came to the Bertaux for the first time, she thought herself

But the uneasiness of her new position, or perhaps the disturbance caused by the presence of this

man, had sufficed to make her believe that she at last felt that wondrous passion which, till then, like a great

bird with rosecoloured wings, hung in the splendour of the skies of poesy; and now she could not think that

She thought, sometimes, that, after all, this was the happiest time of her lifethe honeymoon, as

people called it. To taste the full sweetness of it, it would have been necessary doubtless to fly to those lands

with sonorous names where the days after marriage are full of laziness most suave. In post chaises behind

blue silken curtains to ride slowly up steep road, listening to the song of the postilion reechoed by the

mountains, along with the bells of goats and the muffled sound of a waterfall; at sunset on the shores of gulfs

to breathe in the perfume of lemon trees; then in the evening on the villaterraces above, hand in hand to look

at the stars, making plans for the future. It seemed to her that certain places on earth must bring happiness, as

a plant peculiar to the soil, and that cannot thrive elsewhere. Why could not she lean over balconies in Swiss

chalets, or enshrine her melancholy in a Scotch cottage, with a husband dressed in a black velvet coat with

long tails, and thin shoes, a pointed hat and frills? Perhaps she would have liked to confide all these things to

someone. But how tell an undefinable uneasiness, variable as the clouds, unstable as the winds? Words failed

If Charles had but wished it, if he had guessed it, if his look had but once met her thought, it seemed

to her that a sudden plenty would have gone out from her heart, as the fruit falls from a tree when shaken by a

hand. But as the intimacy of their life became deeper, the greater became the gulf that separated her from

Charles's conversation was commonplace as a street pavement, and everyone's ideas trooped through

it in their everyday garb, without exciting emotion, laughter, or thought. He had never had the curiosity, he

said, while he lived at Rouen, to go to the theatre to see the actors from Paris. He could neither swim, nor

fence, nor shoot, and one day he could not explain some term of horsemanship to her that she had come

A man, on the contrary, should he not know everything, excel in manifold activities, initiate you into

the energies of passion, the refinements of life, all mysteries? But this one taught nothing, knew nothing,

wished nothing. He thought her happy; and she resented this easy calm, this serene heaviness, the very

Sometimes she would draw; and it was great amusement to Charles to stand there bolt upright and

watch her bend over her cardboard, with eyes halfclosed the better to see her work, or rolling, between her

fingers, little breadpellets. As to the piano, the more quickly her fingers glided over it the more he

wondered. She struck the notes with aplomb, and ran from top to bottom of the keyboard without a break.

Thus shaken up, the old instrument, whose strings buzzed, could be heard at the other end of the village when

the window was open, and often the bailiff's clerk, passing along the highroad bareheaded and in list

Emma, on the other hand, knew how to look after her house. She sent the patients' accounts in

wellphrased letters that had no suggestion of a bill. When they had a neighbour to dinner on Sundays, she

managed to have some tasty dishpiled up pyramids of greengages on vine leaves, served up preserves

turned out into platesand even spoke of buying fingerglasses for dessert. From all this much

Charles finished by rising in his own esteem for possessing such a wife. He showed with pride in the

sitting room two small pencil sketched by her that he had had framed in very large frames, and hung up

against the wallpaper by long green cords. People returning from mass saw him at his door in his woolwork

He came home lateat ten o'clock, at midnight sometimes. Then he asked for something to eat, and

as the servant had gone to bed, Emma waited on him. He took off his coat to dine more at his ease. He told

her, one after the other, the people he had met, the villages where he had been, the prescriptions ha had

written, and, well pleased with himself, he finished the remainder of the boiled beef and onions, picked pieces

off the cheese, munched an apple, emptied his waterbottle, and then went to bed, and lay on his back and

As he had been for a time accustomed to wear nightcaps, his handkerchief would not keep down over

his ears, so that his hair in the morning was all tumbled pellmell about his face and whitened with the

feathers of the pillow, whose strings came untied during the night. He always wore thick boots that had two

long creases over the instep running obliquely towards the ankle, while the rest of the upper continued in a

straight line as if stretched on a wooden foot. He said that "was quite good enough for the country."

His mother approved of his economy, for she came to see him as formerly when there had been some

violent row at her place; and yet Madame Bovary senior seemed prejudiced against her daughterinlaw. She

thought "her ways too fine for their position"; the wood, the sugar, and the candles disappeared as "at a grand

establishment," and the amount of firing in the kitchen would have been enough for twentyfive courses. She

put her linen in order for her in the presses, and taught her to keep an eye on the butcher when he brought the

meat. Emma put up with these lessons. Madame Bovary was lavish of them; and the words "daughter" and

"mother" were exchanged all day long, accompanied by little quiverings of the lips, each one uttering gentle

In Madame Dubuc's time the old woman felt that she was still the favorite; but now the love of

Charles for Emma seemed to her a desertion from her tenderness, an encroachment upon what was hers, and

she watched her son's happiness in sad silence, as a ruined man looks through the windows at people dining

in his old house. She recalled to him as remembrances her troubles and her sacrifices, and, comparing these

with Emma's negligence, came to the conclusion that it was not reasonable to adore her so exclusively.

Charles knew not what to answer: he respected his mother, and he loved his wife infinitely; he

considered the judgment of the one infallible, and yet he thought the conduct of the other irreproachable.

When Madam Bovary had gone, he tried timidly and in the same terms to hazard one or two of the more

anodyne observations he had heard from his mamma. Emma proved to him with a word that he was mistaken,

And yet, in accord with theories she believed right, she wanted to make herself in love with him. By

moonlight in the garden she recited all the passionate rhymes she knew by heart, and, sighing, sang to him

many melancholy adagios; but she found herself as calm after as before, and Charles seemed no more

When she had thus for a while struck the flint on her heart without getting a spark, incapable,

moreover, of understanding what she did not experience as of believing anything that did not present itself in

conventional forms, she persuaded herself without difficulty that Charles's passion was nothing very

exorbitant. His outbursts became regular; he embraced her at certain fixed times. It was one habit among

other habits, and, like a dessert, looked forward to after the monotony of dinner.

A gamekeeper, cured by the doctor of inflammation of the lungs, had given madame a little Italian

greyhound; she took her out walking, for she went out sometimes in order to be alone for a moment, and not

to see before her eyes the eternal garden and the dusty road. She went as far as the beeches of Banneville,

near the deserted pavilion which forms an angle of the wall on the side of the country. Amidst the vegetation

She began by looking round her to see if nothing had changed since last she had been there. She

found again in the same places the foxgloves and wallflowers, the beds of nettles growing round the big

stones, and the patches of lichen along the three windows, whose shutters, always closed, were rotting away

on their rusty iron bars. Her thoughts, aimless at first, wandered at random, like her greyhound, who ran

round and round in the fields, yelping after the yellow butterflies, chasing the shrewmice, or nibbling the

Then gradually her ideas took definite shape, and, sitting on the grass that she dug up with little

prods of her sunshade, Emma repeated to herself, "Good heavens! Why did I marry?"

She asked herself if by some other chance combination it would have not been possible to meet

another man; and she tried to imagine what would have been these unrealised events, this different life, this

unknown husband. All, surely, could not be like this one. He might have been handsome, witty,

distinguished, attractive, such as, no doubt, her old companions of the convent had married. What were they

doing now? In town, with the noise of the streets, the buzz of the theatres and the lights of the ballroom, they

were living lives where the heart expands, the senses bourgeon out. But sheher life was cold as a garret

whose dormer window looks on the north, and ennui, the silent spider, was weaving its web in the darkness in

She recalled the prize days, when she mounted the platform to receive her little crowns, with her hair

in long plaits. In her white frock and open prunella shoes she had a pretty way, and when she went back to

her seat, the gentlemen bent over her to congratulate her; the courtyard was full of carriages; farewells were

called to her through their windows; the music master with his violin case bowed in passing by. How far all

of this! How far away! She called Djali, took her between her knees, and smoothed the long delicate head,

Then noting the melancholy face of the graceful animal, who yawned slowly, she softened, and

comparing her to herself, spoke to her aloud as to somebody in trouble whom one is consoling.

Occasionally there came gusts of winds, breezes from the sea rolling in one sweep over the whole

plateau of the Caux country, which brought even to these fields a salt freshness. The rushes, close to the

ground, whistled; the branches trembled in a swift rustling, while their summits, ceaselessly swaying, kept up

In the avenue a green light dimmed by the leaves lit up the short moss that crackled softly beneath

her feet. The sun was setting; the sky showed red between the branches, and the trunks of the trees, uniform,

and planted in a straight line, seemed a brown colonnade standing out against a background of gold. A fear

took hold of her; she called Djali, and hurriedly returned to Tostes by the high road, threw herself into an

But towards the end of September something extraordinary fell upon her life; she was invited by the

Secretary of State under the Restoration, the Marquis, anxious to reenter political life, set about

preparing for his candidature to the Chamber of Deputies long beforehand. In the winter he distributed a great

deal of wood, and in the Conseil General always enthusiastically demanded new roads for his arrondissement.

During the dogdays he had suffered from an abscess, which Charles had cured as if by miracle by giving a

timely little touch with the lancet. The steward sent to Tostes to pay for the operation reported in the evening

that he had seen some superb cherries in the doctor's little garden. Now cherry trees did not thrive at

Vaubyessard; the Marquis asked Bovary for some slips; made it his business to thank his personally; saw

Emma; thought she had a pretty figure, and that she did not bow like a peasant; so that he did not think he

was going beyond the bounds of condescension, nor, on the other hand, making a mistake, in inviting the

On Wednesday at three o'clock, Monsieur and Madame Bovary, seated in their dogcart, set out for

Vaubyessard, with a great trunk strapped on behind and a bonnetbox in front of the apron. Besides these

They arrived at nightfall, just as the lamps in the park were being lit to show the way for the

The chateau, a modern building in Italian style, with two projecting wings and three flights of steps,

lay at the foot of an immense greensward, on which some cows were grazing among groups of large trees

set out at regular intervals, while large beds of arbutus, rhododendron, syringas, and guelder roses bulged out

their irregular clusters of green along the curve of the gravel path. A river flowed under a bridge; through the

mist one could distinguish buildings with thatched roofs scattered over the field bordered by two gently

sloping, well timbered hillocks, and in the background amid the trees rose in two parallel lines the coach

Charles's dogcart pulled up before the middle flight of steps; servants appeared; the Marquis came

forward, and, offering his arm to the doctor's wife, conducted her to the vestibule.

It was paved with marble slabs, was very lofty, and the sound of footsteps and that of voices

Opposite rose a straight staircase, and on the left a gallery overlooking the garden led to the billiard

room, through whose door one could hear the click of the ivory balls. As she crossed it to go to the drawing

room, Emma saw standing round the table men with grave faces, their chins resting on high cravats. They all

On the dark wainscoting of the walls large gold frames bore at the bottom names written in black

letters. She read: "JeanAntoine d'Andervilliers d'Yvervonbille, Count de la Vaubyessard and Baron de la

Fresnay, killed at the battle of Coutras on the 20th of October, 1857." And on another:

"JeanAntoineHenryGuy d'Andervilliers de la Vaubyessard, Admiral of France and Chevalier of the Order

of St. Michael, wounded at the battle of the HougueSaintVaast on the 29th of May, 1692; died at

Vaubyessard on the 23rd of January 1693." One could hardly make out those that followed, for the light of

the lamps lowered over the green cloth threw a dim shadow round the room. Burnishing the horizontal

pictures, it broke up against these in delicate lines where there were cracks in the varnish, and from all these

great black squares framed in with gold stood out here and there some lighter portion of the paintinga pale

brow, two eyes that looked at you, perukes flowing over and powdering redcoated shoulders, or the buckle

The Marquis opened the drawing room door; one of the ladies (the Marchioness herself) came to

meet Emma. She made her sit down by her on an ottoman, and began talking to her as amicably as if she had

known her a long time. She was a woman of about forty, with fine shoulders, a hook nose, a drawling voice,

and on this evening she wore over her brown hair a simple guipure fichu that fell in a point at the back. A fair

young woman sat in a highbacked chair in a corner; and gentlemen with flowers in their buttonholes were

At seven dinner was served. The men, who were in the majority, sat down at the first table in the

vestibule; the ladies at the second in the dining room with the Marquis and Marchioness.

Emma, on entering, felt herself wrapped round by the warm air, a blending of the perfume of flowers

and of the fine linen, of the fumes of the viands, and the odour of the truffles. The silver dish covers reflected

the lighted wax candles in the candelabra, the cut crystal covered with light steam reflected from one to the

other pale rays; bouquets were placed in a row the whole length of the table; and in the largebordered plates

each napkin, arranged after the fashion of a bishop's mitre, held between its two gaping folds a small oval

shaped roll. The red claws of lobsters hung over the dishes; rich fruit in open baskets was piled up on moss;

there were quails in their plumage; smoke was rising; and in silk stockings, kneebreeches, white cravat, and

frilled shirt, the steward, grave as a judge, offering ready carved dishes between the shoulders of the guests,

with a touch of the spoon gave you the piece chosen. On the large stove of porcelain inlaid with copper

baguettes the statue of a woman, draped to the chin, gazed motionless on the room full of life.

Madame Bovary noticed that many ladies had not put their gloves in their glasses.

But at the upper end of the table, alone amongst all these women, bent over his full plate, and his

napkin tied round his neck like a child, an old man sat eating, letting drops of gravy drip from his mouth. His

eyes were bloodshot, and he wore a little queue tied with black ribbon. He was the Marquis's fatherinlaw,

the old Duke de Laverdiere, once on a time favourite of the Count d'Artois, in the days of the Vaudreuil

huntingparties at the Marquis de Conflans', and had been, it was said, the lover of Queen Marie Antoinette,

between Monsieur de Coigny and Monsieur de Lauzun. He had lived a life of noisy debauch, full of duels,

bets, elopements; he had squandered his fortune and frightened all his family. A servant behind his chair

named aloud to him in his ear the dishes that he pointed to stammering, and constantly Emma's eyes turned

involuntarily to this old man with hanging lips, as to something extraordinary. He had lived at court and slept

in the bed of queens! Iced champagne was poured out. Emma shivered all over as she felt it cold in her

mouth. She had never seen pomegranates nor tasted pineapples. The powdered sugar even seemed to her

Emma made her toilet with the fastidious care of an actress on her debut. She did her hair according

to the directions of the hairdresser, and put on the barege dress spread out upon the bed.

"Why, you must be mad! They would make fun of you; keep your place. Besides, it is more

He saw her from behind in the glass between two lights. Her black eyes seemed blacker than ever.

Her hair, undulating towards the ears, shone with a blue lustre; a rose in her chignon trembled on its mobile

stalk, with artificial dewdrops on the tip of the leaves. She wore a gown of pale saffron trimmed with three

One could hear the flourish of the violin and the notes of a horn. She went downstairs restraining

The quadrille over, the floor was occupied by groups of men standing up and talking and servants in

livery bearing large trays. Along the line of seated women painted fans were fluttering, bouquets half hid

smiling faces, and gold stoppered scentbottles were turned in partlyclosed hands, whose white gloves

outlined the nails and tightened on the flesh at the wrists. Lace trimmings, diamond brooches, medallion

The hair, wellsmoothed over the temples and knotted at the nape, bore crowns, or bunches, or

sprays of mytosotis, jasmine, pomegranate blossoms, ears of corn, and cornflowers. Calmly seated in their

Emma's heart beat rather faster when, her partner holding her by the tips of the fingers, she took her

place in a line with the dancers, and waited for the first note to start. But her emotion soon vanished, and,

swaying to the rhythm of the orchestra, she glided forward with slight movements of the neck. A smile rose

to her lips at certain delicate phrases of the violin, that sometimes played alone while the other instruments

were silent; one could hear the clear clink of the louis d'or that were being thrown down upon the card tables

in the next room; then all struck again, the cornetapiston uttered its sonorous note, feet marked time, skirts

swelled and rustled, hands touched and parted; the same eyes falling before you met yours again.

A few men (some fifteen or so), of twentyfive to forty, scattered here and there among the dancers

or talking at the doorways, distinguished themselves from the crowd by a certain air of breeding, whatever

Their clothes, better made, seemed of finer cloth, and their hair, brought forward in curls towards the

temples, glossy with more delicate pomades. They had the complexion of wealththat clear complexion that

is heightened by the pallor of porcelain, the shimmer of satin, the veneer of old furniture, and that an ordered

regimen of exquisite nurture maintains at its best. Their necks moved easily in their low cravats, their long

whiskers fell over their turneddown collars, they wiped their lips upon handkerchiefs with embroidered

initials that gave forth a subtle perfume. Those who were beginning to grow old had an air of youth, while

there was something mature in the faces of the young. In their unconcerned looks was the calm of passions

daily satiated, and through all their gentleness of manner pierced that peculiar brutality, the result of a

command of halfeasy things, in which force is exercised and vanity amusedthe management of

A few steps from Emma a gentleman in a blue coat was talking of Italy with a pale young woman

They were praising the breadth of the columns of St. Peter's, Tivoly, Vesuvius, Castellamare, and

Cassines, the roses of Genoa, the Coliseum by moonlight. With her other ear Emma was listening to a

conversation full of words she did not understand. A circle gathered round a very young man who the week

before had beaten "Miss Arabella" and "Romolus," and won two thousand louis jumping a ditch in England.

One complained that his racehorses were growing fat; another of the printers' errors that had disfigured the

Guests were flocking to the billiard room. A servant got upon a chair and broke the windowpanes.

At the crash of the glass Madame Bovary turned her head and saw in the garden the faces of peasants pressed

against the window looking in at them. Then the memory of the Bertaux came back to her. She saw the farm

again, the muddy pond, her father in a blouse under the apple trees, and she saw herself again as formerly,

skimming with her finger the cream off the milkpans in the dairy. But in the refulgence of the present hour

her past life, so distinct until then, faded away completely, and she almost doubted having lived it. She was

there; beyond the ball was only shadow overspreading all the rest. She was just eating a maraschino ice that

she held with her left hand in a silvergilt cup, her eyes halfclosed, and the spoon between her teeth.

"Would you be so good," said the lady, "as to pick up my fan that has fallen behind the sofa?"

The gentleman bowed, and as he moved to stretch out his arm, Emma saw the hand of a young

woman throw something white, folded in a triangle, into his hat. The gentleman, picking up the fan, offered it

to the lady respectfully; she thanked him with an inclination of the head, and began smelling her bouquet.

After supper, where were plenty of Spanish and Rhine wines, soups a la bisque and au lait

d'amandes*, puddings a la Trafalgar, and all sorts of cold meats with jellies that trembled in the dishes, the

carriages one after the other began to drive off. Raising the corners of the muslin curtain, one could see the

light of their lanterns glimmering through the darkness. The seats began to empty, some cardplayers were

still left; the musicians were cooling the tips of their fingers on their tongues. Charles was half asleep, his

At three o'clock the cotillion began. Emma did not know how to waltz. Everyone was waltzing,

Mademoiselle d'Andervilliers herself and the Marquis; only the guests staying at the castle were still there,

One of the waltzers, however, who was familiarly called Viscount, and whose low cut waistcoat

seemed moulded to his chest, came a second time to ask Madame Bovary to dance, assuring her that he

They began slowly, then went more rapidly. They turned; all around them was turningthe lamps,

the furniture, the wainscoting, the floor, like a disc on a pivot. On passing near the doors the bottom of

Their legs commingled; he looked down at her; she raised her eyes to his. A torpor seized her; she

stopped. They started again, and with a more rapid movement; the Viscount, dragging her along disappeared

with her to the end of the gallery, where panting, she almost fell, and for a moment rested her head upon his

breast. And then, still turning, but more slowly, he guided her back to her seat. She leaned back against the

When she opened them again, in the middle of the drawing room three waltzers were kneeling before

Everyone looked at them. They passed and repassed, she with rigid body, her chin bent down, and

he always in the same pose, his figure curved, his elbow rounded, his chin thrown forward. That woman

Then they talked a few moments longer, and after the goodnights, or rather good mornings, the

Charles dragged himself up by the balusters. His "knees were going up into his body." He had spent

five consecutive hours standing bolt upright at the card tables, watching them play whist, without

understanding anything about it, and it was with a deep sigh of relief that he pulled off his boots.

The night was dark; some drops of rain were falling. She breathed in the damp wind that refreshed

her eyelids. The music of the ball was still murmuring in her ears. And she tried to keep herself awake in

order to prolong the illusion that this luxurious life that she would soon have to give up.

Day began to break. She looked long at the windows of the chateau, trying to guess which were the

rooms of all those she had noticed the evening before. She would fain have known their lives, have

penetrated, blended with them. But she was shivering with cold. She undressed, and cowered down between

There were a great many people to luncheon. The repast lasted ten minutes; no liqueurs were served,

Next, Mademoiselle d"Andervilliers collected some pieces of roll in a small basket to take them to

the swans on the ornamental waters, and they went to walk in the hothouses, where strange plants, bristling

with hairs, rose in pyramids under hanging vases, whence, as from overfilled nests of serpents, fell long

green cords interlacing. The orangery, which was at the other end, led by a covered way to the outhouses of

the chateau. The Marquis, to amuse the young woman, took her to see the stables.

Above the basketshaped racks porcelain slabs bore the names of the horses in black letters. Each

animal in its stall whisked its tail when anyone went near and said "Tchk! tchk!" The boards of the harness

room shone like the flooring of a drawing room. The carriage harness was piled up in the middle against two

twisted columns, and the bits, the whips, the spurs, the curbs, were ranged in a line all along the wall.

Charles, meanwhile, went to ask a groom to put his horse to. The dogcart was brought to the foot of

the steps, and, all the parcels being crammed in, the Bovarys paid their respects to the Marquis and

Emma watched the turning wheels in silence. Charles, on the extreme edge of the seat, held the reins

with his two arms wide apart, and the little horse ambled along in the shafts that were too big for him. The

loose reins hanging over his crupper were wet with foam, and the box fastened on behind the chaise gave

They were on the heights of Thibourville when suddenly some horsemen with cigars between their

lips passed laughing. Emma thought she recognized the Viscount, turned back, and caught on the horizon

only the movement of the heads rising or falling with the unequal cadence of the trot or gallop.

A mile farther on they had to stop to mend with some string the traces that had broken.

But Charles, giving a last look to the harness, saw something on the ground between his horse's legs,

and he picked up a cigarcase with a green silk border and beblazoned in the centre like the door of a

"There are even two cigars in it," said he; "they'll do for this evening after dinner."

When they reached home the dinner was not ready. Madame lost her temper. Nastasie answered

Nastasie could be heard crying. He was rather fond of the poor girl. She had formerly, during the

wearisome time of his widowhood, kept him company many an evening. She had been his first patient, his

Then they warmed themselves in the kitchen while their room was being made ready. Charles began

to smoke. He smoked with lips protruding, spitting every moment, recoiling at every puff.

He put down his cigar and ran to swallow a glass of cold water at the pump. Emma seizing hold of

The next day was a long one. She walked about her little garden, up and down the same walks,

stopping before the beds, before the espalier, before the plaster curate, looking with amazement at all these

things of onceonatime that she knew so well. How far off the ball seemed already! What was it that thus

set so far asunder the morning of the day before yesterday and the evening of today? Her journey to

Vaubyessard had made a hole in her life, like one of those great crevices that a storm will sometimes make in

one night in mountains. Still she was resigned. She devoutly put away in her drawers her beautiful dress,

down to the satin shoes whose soles were yellowed with the slippery wax of the dancing floor. Her heart was

like these. In its friction against wealth something had come over it that could not be effaced.

Whenever the Wednesday came round she said to herself as she awoke, "Ah! I was there a weeka

She forgot the tune of the quadrilles; she no longer saw the liveries and appointments so distinctly;

Often when Charles was out she took from the cupboard, between the folds of the linen where she

had left it, the green silk cigar case. She looked at it, opened it, and even smelt the odour of the lininga

mixture of verbena and tobacco. Whose was it? The Viscount's? Perhaps it was a present from his mistress. It

had been embroidered on some rosewood frame, a pretty little thing, hidden from all eyes, that had occupied

many hours, and over which had fallen the soft curls of the pensive worker. A breath of love had passed over

the stitches on the canvas; each prick of the needle had fixed there a hope or a memory, and all those

interwoven threads of silk were but the continuity of the same silent passion. And then one morning the

Viscount had taken it away with him. Of what had they spoken when it lay upon the widemantelled

chimneys between flowervases and Pompadour clocks? She was at Tostes; he was at Paris now, far away!

What was this Paris like? What a vague name! She repeated it in a low voice, for the mere pleasure of it; it

rang in her ears like a great cathedral bell; it shone before her eyes, even on the labels of her pomadepots.

At night, when the carriers passed under her windows in their carts singing the "Marjolaine," she

awoke, and listened to the noise of the ironbound wheels, which, as they gained the country road, was soon

And she followed them in thought up and down the hills, traversing villages, gliding along the

highroads by the light of the stars. At the end of some indefinite distance there was always a confused spot,

She bought a plan of Paris, and with the tip of her finger on the map she walked about the capital.

She went up the boulevards, stopping at every turning, between the lines of the streets, in front of the white

squares that represented the houses. At last she would close the lids of her weary eyes, and see in the

darkness the gas jets flaring in the wind and the steps of carriages lowered with much noise before the

She took in "La Corbeille," a lady's journal, and the "Sylphe des Salons." She devoured, without

skipping a work, all the accounts of first nights, races, and soirees, took interest in the debut of a singer, in the

opening of a new shop. She knew the latest fashions, the addresses of the best tailors, the days of the Bois and

the Opera. In Eugene Sue she studied descriptions of furniture; she read Balzac and George Sand, seeking in

them imaginary satisfaction for her own desires. Even at table she had her book by her, and turned over the

pages while Charles ate and talked to her. The memory of the Viscount always returned as she read. Between

him and the imaginary personages she made comparisons. But the circle of which he was the centre gradually

widened round him, and the aureole that he bore, fading from his form, broadened out beyond, lighting up her

Paris, more vague than the ocean, glimmered before Emma's eyes in an atmosphere of vermilion.

The many lives that stirred amid this tumult were, however, divided into parts, classed as distinct pictures.

Emma perceived only two or three that hid from her all the rest, and in themselves represented all humanity.

The world of ambassadors moved over polished floors in drawing rooms lined with mirrors, round oval tables

covered with velvet and goldfringed cloths. There were dresses with trains, deep mysteries, anguish hidden

beneath smiles. Then came the society of the duchesses; all were pale; all got up at four o'clock; the women,

poor angels, wore English point on their petticoats; and the men, unappreciated geniuses under a frivolous

outward seeming, rode horses to death at pleasure parties, spent the summer season at Baden, and towards the

forties married heiresses. In the private rooms of restaurants, where one sups after midnight by the light of

wax candles, laughed the motley crowd of men of letters and actresses. They were prodigal as kings, full of

ideal, ambitious, fantastic frenzy. This was an existence outside that of all others, between heaven and earth,

in the midst of storms, having something of the sublime. For the rest of the world it was lost, with no

particular place and as if nonexistent. The nearer things were, moreover, the more her thoughts turned away

from them. All her immediate surroundings, the wearisome country, the middleclass imbeciles, the

mediocrity of existence, seemed to her exceptional, a peculiar chance that had caught hold of her, while

beyond stretched, as far as eye could see, an immense land of joys and passions. She confused in her desire

the sensualities of luxury with the delights of the heart, elegance of manners with delicacy of sentiment. Did

not love, like Indian plants, need a special soil, a particular temperature? Signs by moonlight, long embraces,

tears flowing over yielded hands, all the fevers of the flesh and the languors of tenderness could not be

separated from the balconies of great castles full of indolence, from boudoirs with silken curtains and thick

carpets, wellfilled flowerstands, a bed on a raised dias, nor from the flashing of precious stones and the

The lad from the posting house who came to groom the mare every morning passed through the

passage with his heavy wooden shoes; there were holes in his blouse; his feet were bare in list slippers. And

this was the groom in kneebritches with whom she had to be content! His work done, he did not come back

again all day, for Charles on his return put up his horse himself, unsaddled him and put on the halter, while

the servantgirl brought a bundle of straw and threw it as best she could into the manger.

To replace Nastasie (who left Tostes shedding torrents of tears) Emma took into her service a young

girl of fourteen, an orphan with a sweet face. She forbade her wearing cotton caps, taught her to address her

in the third person, to bring a glass of water on a plate, to knock before coming into a room, to iron, starch,

and to dress herwanted to make a lady'smaid of her. The new servant obeyed without a murmur, so as not

to be sent away; and as madame usually left the key in the sideboard, Felicite every evening took a small

Madame was in her room upstairs. She wore an open dressing gown that showed between the shawl

facings of her bodice a pleated chamisette with three gold buttons. Her belt was a corded girdle with great

tassels, and her small garnet coloured slippers had a large knot of ribbon that fell over her instep. She had

bought herself a blotting book, writing case, penholder, and envelopes, although she had no one to write to;

she dusted her whatnot, looked at herself in the glass, picked up a book, and then, dreaming between the

lines, let it drop on her knees. She longed to travel or to go back to her convent. She wished at the same time

Charles in snow and rain trotted across country. He ate omelettes on farmhouse tables, poked his arm

into damp beds, received the tepid spurt of bloodlettings in his face, listened to deathrattles, examined

basins, turned over a good deal of dirty linen; but every evening he found a blazing fire, his dinner ready,

easychairs, and a welldressed woman, charming with an odour of freshness, though no one could say

whence the perfume came, or if it were not her skin that made odorous her chemise.

She charmed him by numerous attentions; now it was some new way of arranging paper sconces for

the candles, a flounce that she altered on her gown, or an extraordinary name for some very simple dish that

the servant had spoilt, but that Charles swallowed with pleasure to the last mouthful. At Rouen she saw some

ladies who wore a bunch of charms on the watchchains; she bought some charms. She wanted for her

mantelpiece two large blue glass vases, and some time after an ivory necessaire with a silvergilt thimble.

The less Charles understood these refinements the more they seduced him. They added something to the

pleasure of the senses and to the comfort of his fireside. It was like a golden dust sanding all along the narrow

The countryfolk loved him because he was not proud. He petted the children, never went to the

public house, and, moreover, his morals inspired confidence. He was specially successful with catarrhs and

chest complaints. Being much afraid of killing his patients, Charles, in fact only prescribed sedatives, from

time to time and emetic, a footbath, or leeches. It was not that he was afraid of surgery; he bled people

copiously like horses, and for the taking out of teeth he had the "devil's own wrist."

Finally, to keep up with the times, he took in "La Ruche Medicale," a new journal whose prospectus

had been sent him. He read it a little after dinner, but in about five minutes the warmth of the room added to

the effect of his dinner sent him to sleep; and he sat there, his chin on his two hands and his hair spreading

like a mane to the foot of the lamp. Emma looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. Why, at least, was not

her husband one of those men of taciturn passions who work at their books all night, and at last, when about

sixty, the age of rheumatism sets in, wear a string of orders on their illfitting black coat? She could have

wished this name of Bovary, which was hers, had been illustrious, to see it displayed at the booksellers',

An Yvetot doctor whom he had lately met in consultation had somewhat humiliated him at the very

bedside of the patient, before the assembled relatives. When, in the evening, Charles told her this anecdote,

Emma inveighed loudly against his colleague. Charles was much touched. He kissed her forehead with a tear

in his eyes. But she was angered with shame; she felt a wild desire to strike him; she went to open the

Besides, she was becoming more irritated with him. As he grew older his manner grew heavier; at

dessert he cut the corks of the empty bottles; after eating he cleaned his teeth with his tongue; in taking soup

he made a gurgling noise with every spoonful; and, as he was getting fatter, the puffedout cheeks seemed to

Sometimes Emma tucked the red borders of his undervest unto his waistcoat, rearranged his cravat,

and threw away the dirty gloves he was going to put on; and this was not, as he fancied, for himself; it was

for herself, by a diffusion of egotism, of nervous irritation. Sometimes, too, she told him of what she had

read, such as a passage in a novel, of a new play, or an anecdote of the "upper ten" that she had seen in a

feuilleton; for, after all, Charles was something, an everopen ear, and everready approbation. She confided

many a thing to her greyhound. She would have done so to the logs in the fireplace or to the pendulum of the

At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked

sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists

of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what

shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop or a threedecker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the

portholes. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound,

sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for

Spring came round. With the first warm weather, when the pear trees began to blossom, she suffered

>From the beginning of July she counted how many weeks there were to October, thinking that

perhaps the Marquis d'Andervilliers would give another ball at Vaubyessard. But all September passed

After the ennui of this disappointment her heart once more remained empty, and then the same series

of days recommenced. So now they would thus follow one another, always the same, immovable, and

bringing nothing. Other lives, however flat, had at least the chance of some event. One adventure sometimes

brought with it infinite consequences and the scene changed. But nothing happened to her; God had willed it

She gave up music. What was the good of playing? Who would hear her? Since she could never, in a

velvet gown with short sleeves, striking with her light fingers the ivory keys of an Erard at a concert, feel the

murmur of ecstasy envelop her like a breeze, it was not worth while boring herself with practicing. Her

drawing cardboard and her embroidery she left in the cupboard. What was the good? What was the good?

Sewing irritated her. "I have read everything," she said to herself. And she sat there making the tongs

How sad she was on Sundays when vespers sounded! She listened with dull attention to each stroke

of the cracked bell. A cat slowly walking over some roof put up his back in the pale rays of the sum. The

wind on the highroad blew up clouds of dust. Afar off a dog sometimes howled; and the bell, keeping time,

But the people came out from church. The women in waxed clogs, the peasants in new blouses, the

little bareheaded children skipping along in front of them, all were going home. And till nightfall, five or six

men, always the same, stayed playing at corks in front of the large door of the inn.

The winter was severe. The windows every morning were covered with rime, and the light shining

through them, dim as through groundglass, sometimes did not change the whole day long. At four o'clock

On fine days she went down into the garden. The dew had left on the cabbages a silver lace with long

transparent threads spreading from one to the other. No birds were to be heard; everything seemed asleep, the

espalier covered with straw, and the vine, like a great sick serpent under the coping of the wall, along which,

on drawing hear, one saw the manyfooted woodlice crawling. Under the spruce by the hedgerow, the curie

in the threecornered hat reading his breviary had lost his right foot, and the very plaster, scaling off with the

Then she went up again, shut her door, put on coals, and fainting with the heat of the hearth, felt her

boredom weigh more heavily than ever. She would have like to go down and talk to the servant, but a sense

Every day at the same time the schoolmaster in a black skullcap opened the shutters of his house, and

the rural policeman, wearing his sabre over his blouse, passed by. Night and morning the posthorses, three

by three, crossed the street to water at the pond. From time to time the bell of a public house door rang, and

when it was windy one could hear the little brass basins that served as signs for the hairdresser's shop

creaking on their two rods. This shop had as decoration an old engraving of a fashionplate stuck against a

windowpane and the wax bust of a woman with yellow hair. He, too, the hairdresser, lamented his wasted

calling, his hopeless future, and dreaming of some shop in a big townat Rouen, for example, overlooking

the harbour, near the theatrehe walked up and down all day from the mairie to the church, sombre and

waiting for customers. When Madame Bovary looked up, she always saw him there, like a sentinel on duty,

Sometimes in the afternoon outside the window of her room, the head of a man appeared, a swarthy

head with black whiskers, smiling slowly, with a broad, gentle smile that showed his white teeth. A waltz

immediately began and on the organ, in a little drawing room, dancers the size of a finger, women in pink

turbans, Tyrolians in jackets, monkeys in frock coats, gentlemen in kneebreeches, turned and turned

between the sofas, the consoles, multiplied in the bits of looking glass held together at their corners by a piece

of gold paper. The man turned his handle, looking to the right and left, and up at the windows. Now and

again, while he shot out a long squirt of brown saliva against the milestone, with his knee raised his

instrument, whose hard straps tired his shoulder; and now, doleful and drawling, or gay and hurried, the

music escaped from the box, droning through a curtain of pink taffeta under a brass claw in arabesque. They

were airs played in other places at the theatres, sung in drawing rooms, danced to at night under lighted

lustres, echoes of the world that reached even to Emma. Endless sarabands ran through her head, and, like an

Indian dancing girl on the flowers of a carpet, her thoughts leapt with the notes, swung from dream to dream,

from sadness to sadness. When the man had caught some coppers in his cap, he drew down an old cover of

blue cloth, hitched his organ on to his back, and went off with a heavy tread. She watched him going.

But it was above all the mealtimes that were unbearable to her, in this small room on the ground

floor, with its smoking stove, its creaking door, the walls that sweated, the damp flags; all the bitterness in

life seemed served up on her plate, and with smoke of the boiled beef there rose from her secret soul whiffs

of sickliness. Charles was a slow eater; she played with a few nuts, or, leaning on her elbow, amused herself

She now let everything in her household take care of itself, and Madame Bovary senior, when she

came to spend part of Lent at Tostes, was much surprised at the change. She who was formerly so careful, so

dainty, now passed whole days without dressing, wore grey cotton stockings, and burnt tallow candles. She

kept saying they must be economical since they were not rich, adding that she was very contented, very

happy, that Tostes pleased her very much, with other speeches that closed the mouth of her motherinlaw.

Besides, Emma no longer seemed inclined to follow her advice; once even, Madame Bovary having thought

fit to maintain that mistresses ought to keep an eye on the religion of their servants, she had answered with so

Emma was growing difficult, capricious. She ordered dishes for herself, then she did not touch them;

one day drank only pure milk, the next cups of tea by the dozen. Often she persisted in not going out, then,

stifling, threw open the windows and put on light dresses. After she had well scolded her servant she gave her

presents or sent her out to see neighbours, just as she sometimes threw beggars all the silver in her purse,

although she was by no means tenderhearted or easily accessible to the feelings of others, like most

countrybred people, who always retain in their souls something of the horny hardness of the paternal hands.

Towards the end of February old Rouault, in memory of his cure, himself brought his soninlaw a

superb turkey, and stayed three days at Tostes. Charles being with his patients, Emma kept him company. He

smoked in the room, spat on the firedogs, talked farming, calves, cows, poultry, and municipal council, so

that when he left she closed the door on him with a feeling of satisfaction that surprised even herself.

Moreover she no longer concealed her contempt for anything or anybody, and at times she set herself to

express singular opinions, finding fault with that which others approved, and approving things perverse and

Would this misery last for ever? Would she never issue from it? Yet she was as good as all the

women who were living happily. She had seen duchesses at Vaubyessard with clumsier waists and commoner

ways, and she execrated the injustice of God. She leant her head against the walls to weep; she envied lives of

stir; longed for masked balls, for violent pleasures, with all the wildness that she did not know, but that these

Charles prescribed valerian and camphor baths. Everything that was tried only seemed to irritate her

On certain days she chatted with feverish rapidity, and this overexcitement was suddenly followed

by a state of torpor, in which she remained without speaking, without moving. What then revived her was

As she was constantly complaining about Tostes, Charles fancied that her illness was no doubt due to

some local cause, and fixing on this idea, began to think seriously of setting up elsewhere.

>From that moment she drank vinegar, contracted a sharp little cough, and completely lost her

It cost Charles much to give up Tostes after living there four years and "when he was beginning to

get on there." Yet if it must be! He took her to Rouen to see his old master. It was a nervous complaint:

After looking about him on this side and on that, Charles learnt that in the Neufchatel arrondissement

there was a considerable market town called Yonvillel'Abbaye, whose doctor, a Polish refugee, had

decamped a week before. Then he wrote to the chemist of the place to ask the number of the population, the

distance from the nearest doctor, what his predecessor had made a year, and so forth; and the answer being

satisfactory, he made up his mind to move towards the spring, if Emma's health did not improve.

One day when, in view of her departure, she was tidying a drawer, something pricked her finger. It

was a wire of her wedding bouquet. The orange blossoms were yellow with dust and the silver bordered satin

ribbons frayed at the edges. She threw it into the fire. It flared up more quickly than dry straw. Then it was,

The little pasteboard berries burst, the wire twisted, the gold lace melted; and the shriveled paper

corollas, fluttering like black butterflies at the back of the stove, at least flew up the chimney.

Yonvillel'Abbaye (so called from an old Capuchin abbey of which not even the ruins remain) is a

markettown twentyfour miles from Rouen, between the Abbeville and Beauvais roads, at the foot of a

valley watered by the Rieule, a little river that runs into the Andelle after turning three watermills near its

mouth, where there are a few trout that the lads amuse themselves by fishing for on Sundays.

We leave the highroad at La Boissiere and keep straight on to the top of the Leux hill, whence the

valley is seen. The river that runs through it makes of it, as it were, two regions with distinct

physiognomiesall on the left is pasture land, all of the right arable. The meadow stretches under a bulge of

low hills to join at the back with the pasture land of the Bray country, while on the eastern side, the plain,

gently rising, broadens out, showing as far as eye can follow its blond cornfields. The water, flowing by the

grass, divides with a white line the colour of the roads and of the plains, and the country is like a great

Before us, on the verge of the horizon, lie the oaks of the forest of Argueil, with the steeps of the

SaintJean hills scarred from top to bottom with red irregular lines; they are rain tracks, and these

bricktones standing out in narrow streaks against the grey colour of the mountain are due to the quantity of

Here we are on the confines of Normandy, Picardy, and the IledeFrance, a bastard land whose

language is without accent and its landscape is without character. It is there that they make the worst

Neufchatel cheeses of all the arrondissement; and, on the other hand, farming is costly because so much

Up to 1835 there was no practicable road for getting to Yonville, but about this time a crossroad

was made which joins that of Abbeville to that of Amiens, and is occasionally used by the Rouen wagoners

on their way to Flanders. Yonvillel'Abbaye has remained stationary in spite of its "new outlet." Instead of

improving the soil, they persist in keeping up the pasture lands, however depreciated they may be in value,

and the lazy borough, growing away from the plain, has naturally spread riverwards. It is seem from afar

At the foot of the hill beyond the bridge begins a roadway, planted with young aspens, that leads in a

straight line to the first houses in the place. These, fenced in by hedges, are in the middle of courtyards full of

straggling buildings, winepresses, cartsheds and distilleries scattered under thick trees, with ladders, poles,

or scythes hung on to the branches. The thatched roofs, like fur caps drawn over eyes, reach down over about

a third of the low windows, whose coarse convex glasses have knots in the middle like the bottoms of bottles.

Against the plaster wall diagonally crossed by black joists, a meagre peartree sometimes leans and the

groundfloors have at their door a small swinggate to keep out the chicks that come pilfering crumbs of

bread steeped in cider on the threshold. But the courtyards grow narrower, the houses closer together, and the

fences disappear; a bundle of ferns swings under a window from the end of a broomstick; there is a

blacksmith's forge and then a wheelwright's, with two or three new carts outside that partly block the way.

Then across an open space appears a white house beyond a grass mound ornamented by a Cupid, his finger

on his lips; two brass vases are at each end of a flight of steps; scutcheons* blaze upon the door. It is the

The Church is on the other side of the street, twenty paces farther down, at the entrance of the square.

The little cemetery that surrounds it, closed in by a wall breast high, is so full of graves that the old stones,

level with the ground, form a continuous pavement, on which the grass of itself has marked out regular green

squares. The church was rebuilt during the last years of the reign of Charles X. The wooden roof is beginning

to rot from the top, and here and there has black hollows in its blue colour. Over the door, where the organ

should be, is a loft for the men, with a spiral staircase that reverberates under their wooden shoes.

The daylight coming through the plain glass windows falls obliquely upon the pews ranged along the

walls, which are adorned here and there with a straw mat bearing beneath it the words in large letters, "Mr.

Soandso's pew." Farther on, at a spot where the building narrows, the confessional forms a pendant to a

statuette of the Virgin, clothed in a satin robe, coifed with a tulle veil sprinkled with silver stars, and with red

cheeks, like an idol of the Sandwich Islands; and, finally, a copy of the "Holy Family, presented by the

Minister of the Interior," overlooking the high altar, between four candlesticks, closes in the perspective. The

The market, that is to say, a tiled roof supported by some twenty posts, occupies of itself about half

the public square of Yonville. The town hall, constructed "from the designs of a Paris architect," is a sort of

Greek temple that forms the corner next to the chemist's shop. On the groundfloor are three Ionic columns

and on the first floor a semicircular gallery, while the dome that crowns it is occupied by a Gallic cock,

resting one foot upon the "Charte" and holding in the other the scales of Justice.

But that which most attracts the eye is opposite the Lion d'Or inn, the chemist's shop of Monsieur

Homais. In the evening especially its argand lamp is lit up and the red and green jars that embellish his

shopfront throw far across the street their two streams of colour; then across them as if in Bengal lights is

seen the shadow of the chemist leaning over his desk. His house from top to bottom is placarded with

inscriptions written in large hand, round hand, printed hand: "Vichy, Seltzer, Barege waters, blood purifiers,

Raspail patent medicine, Arabian racahout, Darcet lozenges, Regnault paste, trusses, baths, hygienic

chocolate," etc. And the signboard, which takes up all the breadth of the shop, bears in gold letters, "Homais,

Chemist." Then at the back of the shop, behind the great scales fixed to the counter, the word "Laboratory"

appears on a scroll above a glass door, which about halfway up once more repeats "Homais" in gold letters

Beyond this there is nothing to see at Yonville. The street (the only one) a gunshot in length and

flanked by a few shops on either side stops short at the turn of the highroad. If it is left on the right hand and

At the time of the cholera, in order to enlarge this, a piece of wall was pulled down, and three acres

of land by its side purchased; but all the new portion is almost tenantless; the tombs, as heretofore, continue

to crowd together towards the gate. The keeper, who is at once gravedigger and church beadle (thus making a

double profit out of the parish corpses), has taken advantage of the unused plot of ground to plant potatoes

there. From year to year, however, his small field grows smaller, and when there is an epidemic, he does not

"You live on the dead, Lestiboudois!" the curie at last said to him one day. This grim remark made

him reflect; it checked him for some time; but to this day he carries on the cultivation of his little tubers, and

Since the events about to be narrated, nothing in fact has changed at Yonville. The tin tricolour flag

still swings at the top of the churchsteeple; the two chintz streamers still flutter in the wind from the

linendraper's; the chemist's fetuses, like lumps of white amadou, rot more and more in their turbid alcohol,

and above the big door of the inn the old golden lion, faded by rain, still shows passersby its poodle mane.

On the evening when the Bovarys were to arrive at Yonville, Widow Lefrancois, the landlady of this

inn, was so very busy that she sweated great drops as she moved her saucepans. Tomorrow was

marketday. The meat had to be cut beforehand, the fowls drawn, the soup and coffee made. Moreover, she

had the boarders' meal to see to, and that of the doctor, his wife, and their servant; the billiardroom was

echoing with bursts of laughter; three millers in a small parlour were calling for brandy; the wood was

blazing, the brazen pan was hissing, and on the long kitchen table, amid the quarters of raw mutton, rose piles

of plates that rattled with the shaking of the block on which spinach was being chopped.

>From the poultryyard was heard the screaming of the fowls whom the servant was chasing in

A man slightly marked with smallpox, in green leather slippers, and wearing a velvet cap with a

gold tassel, was warming his back at the chimney. His face expressed nothing but selfsatisfaction, and he

appeared to take life as calmly as the goldfinch suspended over his head in its wicker cage: this was the

"Artemise!" shouted the landlady, "chop some wood, fill the water bottles, bring some brandy, look

sharp! If only I knew what dessert to offer the guests you are expecting! Good heavens! Those

furnituremovers are beginning their racket in the billiardroom again; and their van has been left before the

front door! The 'Hirondelle' might run into it when it draws up. Call Polyte and tell him to put it up. Only

think, Monsieur Homais, that since morning they have had about fifteen games, and drunk eight jars of cider!

Why, they'll tear my cloth for me," she went on, looking at them from a distance, her strainer in her hand.

"That wouldn't be much of a loss," replied Monsieur Homais. "You would buy another."

"Since that one is coming to pieces, Madame Lefrancois. I tell you again you are doing yourself

harm, much harm! And besides, players now want narrow pockets and heavy cues. Hazards aren't played

now; everything is changed! One must keep pace with the times! Just look at Tellier!"

"You may say what you like; his table is better than yours; and if one were to think, for example, of

"It isn't beggars like him that'll frighten us," interrupted the landlady, shrugging her fat shoulders.

"Come, come, Monsieur Homais; as long as the 'Lion d'Or' exists people will come to it.

We've feathered our nest; while one of these days you'll find the 'Cafe Francais' closed with a big

placard on the shutters. Change my billiardtable!" she went on, speaking to herself, "the table that comes in

so handy for folding the washing, and on which, in the hunting season, I have slept six visitors! But that

"Wait for him! And what about Monsieur Binet? As the clock strikes six you'll see him come in, for

he hasn't his equal under the sun for punctuality. He must always have his seat in the small parlour. He'd

rather die than dine anywhere else. And so squeamish as he is, and so particular about the cider! Not like

Monsieur Leon; he sometimes comes at seven, or even halfpast, and he doesn't so much as look at what he

"Well, you see, there's a great difference between an educated man and an old carabineer who is now

He wore a blue frockcoat falling in a straight line round his thin body, and his leather cap, with its

lappets knotted over the top of his head with string, showed under the turnedup peak a bald forehead,

flattened by the constant wearing of a helmet. He wore a black cloth waistcoat, a hair collar, grey trousers,

and, all the year round, wellblacked boots, that had two parallel swellings due to the sticking out of his

bigtoes. Not a hair stood out from the regular line of fair whiskers, which, encircling his jaws, framed, after

the fashion of a garden border, his long, wan face, whose eyes were small and the nose hooked. Clever at all

games of cards, a good hunter, and writing a fine hand, he had at home a lathe, and amused himself by

turning napkin rings, with which he filled up his house, with the jealousy of an artist and the egotism of a

He went to the small parlour, but the three millers had to be got out first, and during the whole time

necessary for laying the cloth, Binet remained silent in his place near the stove. Then he shut the door and

"It isn't with saying civil things that he'll wear out his tongue," said the chemist, as soon as he was

"He never talks more," she replied. "Last week two travelers in the cloth line were heresuch clever

chaps who told such jokes in the evening, that I fairly cried with laughing; and he stood there like a dab fish

"Yes," observed the chemist; "no imagination, no sallies, nothing that makes the societyman."

"Parts!" replied Monsieur Homais; "he, parts! In his own line it is possible," he added in a calmer

"Ah! That a merchant, who has large connections, a jurisconsult, a doctor, a chemist, should be thus

absentminded, that the should become whimsical or even peevish, I can understand; such cases are cited in

history. But at least it is because they are thinking of something. Myself, for example, how often has it

happened to me to look on the bureau for my pen to write a label, and to find, after all, that I had put it behind

Madame Lefrancois just then went to the door to see if the "Hirondelle" were not coming. She

started. A man dressed in black suddenly came into the kitchen. By the last gleam of the twilight one could

"What can I do for you, Monsieur le Curie?" asked the landlady, as she reached down from the

chimney one of the copper candlesticks placed with their candles in a row. "Will you take something? A

The priest declined very politely. He had come for his umbrella, that he had forgotten the other day

at the Ernemont convent, and after asking Madame Lefrancois to have it sent to him at the presbytery in the

When the chemist no longer heard the noise of his boots along the square, he thought the priest's

behaviour just now very unbecoming. This refusal to take any refreshment seemed to him the most odious

hypocrisy; all priests tippled on the sly, and were trying to bring back the days of the tithe.

Last year he helped our people to bring in the straw; he carried as many as six trusses at once, he is

"Bravo!" said the chemist. "Now just send your daughters to confess to fellows which such a

temperament! I, if I were the Government, I'd have the priests bled once a month. Yes, Madame Lefrancois,

The chemist answered: "I have a religion, my religion, and I even have more than all these others

with their mummeries and their juggling. I adore God, on the contrary. I believe in the Supreme Being, in a

Creator, whatever he may be. I care little who has placed us here below to fulfil our duties as citizens and

fathers of families; but I don't need to go to church to kiss silver plates, and fatten, out of my pocket, a lot of

goodfornothings who live better than we do. For one can know Him as well in a wood, in a field, or even

contemplating the eternal vault like the ancients. My God! Mine is the God of Socrates, of Franklin, of

Voltaire, and of Beranger! I am for the profession of faith of the 'Savoyard Vicar,' and the immortal principles

of '89! And I can't admit of an old boy of a God who takes walks in his garden with a cane in his hand, who

lodges his friends in the belly of whales, dies uttering a cry, and rises again at the end of three days; things

absurd in themselves, and completely opposed, moreover, to all physical laws, which prove to us, by the way,

that priests have always wallowed in turpid ignorance, in which they would fain engulf the people with

He ceased, looking round for an audience, for in his bubbling over the chemist had for a moment

fancied himself in the midst of the town council. But the landlady no longer heeded him; she was listening to

a distant rolling. One could distinguish the noise of a carriage mingled with the clattering of loose horseshoes

It was a yellow box on two large wheels, that, reaching to the tilt, prevented travelers from seeing the

road and dirtied their shoulders. The small panes of the narrow windows rattled in their sashes when the

coach was closed, and retained here and there patches of mud amid the old layers of dust, that not even

storms of rain had altogether washed away. It was drawn by three horses, the first a leader, and when it came

Some of the inhabitants of Yonville came out into the square; they all spoke at once, asking for news,

for explanations, for hampers. Hivert did not know whom to answer. It was he who did the errands of the

place in town. He went to the shops and brought back rolls of leather for the shoemaker, old iron for the

farrier, a barrel of herrings for his mistress, caps from the milliner's,l locks from the hairdresser's and all

along the road on his return journey he distributed his parcels, which he threw, standing upright on his seat

An accident had delayed him. Madame Bovary's greyhound had run across the field. They had

whistled for him a quarter of an hour; Hivert had even gone back a mile and a half expecting every moment

Emma had wept, grown angry; she had accused Charles of this misfortune. Monsieur Lheureux, a

draper, who happened to be in the coach with her, had tried to console her by a number of examples of lost

dogs recognizing their masters at the end of long years. One, he said had been told of, who had come back to

Paris from Constantinople. Another had gone one hundred and fifty miles in a straight line, and swum four

rivers; and his own father had possessed a poodle, which, after twelve years of absence, had all of a sudden

Emma got out first, then Felicite, Monsieur Lheureux, and a nurse, and they had to wake up Charles

Homais introduced himself; he offered his homages to madame and his respects to monsieur; said he

was charmed to have been able to render them some slight service, and added with a cordial air that he had

With the tips of her fingers she caught her dress at the knee, and having thus pulled it up to her ankle,

held out her foot in its black boot to the fire above the revolving leg of mutton. The flame lit up the whole of

her, penetrating with a crude light the woof of her gowns, the fine pores of her fair skin, and even her eyelids,

which she blinked now and again. A great red glow passed over her with the blowing of the wind through the

On the other side of the chimney a young man with fair hair watched her silently.

As he was a good deal bored at Yonville, where he was a clerk at the notary's, Monsieur Guillaumin,

Monsieur Leon Dupuis (it was he who was the second habitue of the "Lion d'Or") frequently put back his

dinnerhour in hope that some traveler might come to the inn, with whom he could chat in the evening. On

the days when his work was done early, he had, for want of something else to do, to come punctually, and

endure from soup to cheese a teteatete with Binet. It was therefore with delight that he accepted the

landlady's suggestion that he should dine in company with the newcomers, and they passed into the large

parlour where Madame Lefrancois, for the purpose of showing off, had had the table laid for four.

Homais asked to be allowed to keep on his skullcap, for fear of coryza; then, turning to his

"Madame is no doubt a little fatigued; one gets jolted so abominably in our 'Hirondelle.'"

"That is true," replied Emma; "but moving about always amuses me. I like change of place."

"It is so tedious," sighed the clerk, "to be always riveted to the same places."

"But," Leon went on, addressing himself to Madame Bovary, "nothing, it seems to me, is more

"Moreover," said the druggist, "the practice of medicine is not very hard work in our part of the

world, for the state of our roads allows us the use of gigs, and generally, as the farmers are prosperous, they

pay pretty well. We have, medically speaking, besides the ordinary cases of enteritis, bronchitis, bilious

affections, etc., now and then a few intermittent fevers at harvesttime; but on the whole, little of a serious

nature, nothing special to note, unless it be a great deal of scrofula, due, no doubt, to the deplorable hygienic

conditions of our peasant dwellings. Ah! you will find many prejudices to combat, Monsieur Bovary, much

obstinacy of routine, with which all the efforts of your science will daily come into collision; for people still

have recourse to novenas, to relics, to the priest, rather than come straight to the doctor of the chemist. The

climate, however, is not, truth to tell, bad, and we even have a few nonagenarians in our parish. The

thermometer (I have made some observations) falls in winter to 4 degrees Centigrade at the outside, which

gives us 24 degrees Reaumur as the maximum, or otherwise 54 degrees Fahrenheit (English scale), not more.

And, as a matter of fact, we are sheltered from the north winds by the forest of Argueil on the one side, from

the west winds by the St. Jean range on the other; and this heat, moreover, which, on account of the aqueous

vapours given off by the river and the considerable number of cattle in the fields, which, as you know, exhale

much ammonia, that is to say, nitrogen, hydrogen and oxygen (no, nitrogen and hydrogen alone), and which

sucking up into itself the humus from the ground, mixing together all those different emanations, unites them

into a stack, so to say, and combining with the electricity diffused through the atmosphere, when there is any,

might in the long run, as in tropical countries, engender insalubrious miasmatathis heat, I say, finds itself

perfectly tempered on the side whence it comes, or rather whence it should comethat is to say, the southern

side by the southeastern winds, which, having cooled themselves passing over the Seine, reach us

"At any rate, you have some walks in the neighbourhood?" continued Madame Bovary, speaking to

"Oh, very few," he answered. "There is a place they call La Pature, on the top of the hill, on the edge

of the forest. Sometimes, on Sundays, I go and stay there with a book, watching the sunset."

"I think there is nothing so admirable as sunsets," she resumed; "but especially by the side of the

"And then, does it not seem to you," continued Madame Bovary, "that the mind travels more freely

on this limitless expanse, the contemplation of which elevates the soul, gives ideas of the infinite, the ideal?"

"It is the same with mountainous landscapes," continued Leon. "A cousin of mine who travelled in

Switzerland last year told me that one could not picture to oneself the poetry of the lakes, the charm of the

waterfalls, the gigantic effect of the glaciers. One sees pines of incredible size across torrents, cottages

suspended over precipices, and, a thousand feet below one, whole valleys when the clouds open. Such

spectacles must stir to enthusiasm, incline to prayer, to ecstasy; and I no longer marvel at that celebrated

musician who, the better to inspire his imagination, was in the habit of playing the piano before some

"Ah! don't you listen to him, Madame Bovary," interrupted Homais, bending over his plate. "That's

sheer modesty. Why, my dear fellow, the other day in your room you were singing 'L'Ange Gardien'

Leon, in fact, lodged at the chemist's where he had a small room on the second floor, overlooking the

Place. He blushed at the compliment of his landlord, who had already turned to the doctor, and was

enumerating to him, one after the other, all the principal inhabitants of Yonville. He was telling anecdotes,

giving information; the fortune of the notary was not known exactly, and "there was the Tuvache household,"

"Not yet; but I shall go next year, when I am living at Paris to finish reading for the bar."

"As I had the honour of putting it to your husband," said the chemist, "with regard to this poor

Yanoda who has run away, you will find yourself, thanks to his extravagance, in the possession of one of the

most comfortable houses of Yonville. Its greatest convenience for a doctor is a door giving on the Walk,

where one can go in and out unseen. Moreover, it contains everything that is agreeable in a householda

laundry, kitchen with offices, sittingroom, fruitroom, and so on. He was a gay dog, who didn't care what

he spent. At the end of the garden, by the side of the water, he had an arbour built just for the purpose of

"My wife doesn't care about it," said Charles; "although she has been advised to take exercise, she

"Like me," replied Leon. "And indeed, what is better than to sit by one's fireside in the evening with

"One thinks of nothing," he continued; "the hours slip by. Motionless we traverse countries we fancy

we see, and your thought, blinding with the fiction, playing with the details, follows the outline of the

adventures. It mingles with the characters, and it seems as if it were yourself palpitating beneath their

"Has it ever happened to you," Leon went on, "to come across some vague idea of one's own in a

book, some dim image that comes back to you from afar, and as the completest expression of your own

"That is why," he said, "I especially love the poets. I think verse more tender than prose, and that it

"Still in the long run it is tiring," continued Emma. Now I, on the contrary, adore stories that rush

breathlessly along, that frighten one. I detest commonplace heroes and moderate sentiments, such as there are

"In fact," observed the clerk, "these works, not touching the heart, miss, it seems to me, the true end

of art. It is so sweet, amid all the disenchantments of life, to be able to dwell in thought upon noble

characters, pure affections, and pictures of happiness. For myself, living here far from the world, this is my

"Like Tostes, no doubt," replied Emma; "and so I always subscribed to a lending library."

"If madame will do me the honour of making use of it", said the chemist, who had just caught the last

words, "I have at her disposal a library composed of the best authors, Voltaire, Rousseau, Delille, Walter

Scott, the 'Echo des Feuilletons'; and in addition I receive various periodicals, among them the 'Fanal de

Rouen' daily, having the advantage to be its correspondent for the districts of Buchy, Forges, Neufchatel,

For two hours and a half they had been at table; for the servant Artemis, carelessly dragging her old

list slippers over the flags, brought one plate after the other, forgot everything, and constantly left the door of

Unconsciously, Leon, while talking, had placed his foot on one of the bars of the chair on which

Madame Bovary was sitting. She wore a small blue silk necktie, that kept up like a ruff a gauffered cambric

collar, and with the movements of her head the lower part of her face gently sunk into the linen or came out

from it. Thus side by side, while Charles and the chemist chatted, they entered into one of those vague

conversations where the hazard of all that is said brings you back to the fixed centre of a common sympathy.

The Paris theatres, titles of novels, new quadrilles, and the world they did not know; Tostes, where she had

lived, and Yonville, where they were; they examined all, talked of everything till to the end of dinner.

When coffee was served Felicite went away to get ready the room in the new house, and the guests

soon raised the siege. Madame Lefrancois was asleep near the cinders, while the stableboy, lantern in hand,

was waiting to show Monsieur and Madame Bovary the way home. Bits of straw stuck in his red hair, and he

limped with his left leg. When he had taken in his other hand the cure's umbrella, they started.

The town was asleep; the pillars of the market threw great shadows; the earth was all grey as on a

summer's night. But as the doctor's house was only some fifty paces from the inn, they had to say goodnight

As soon as she entered the passage, Emma felt the cold of the plaster fall about her shoulders like

damp linen. The walls were new and the wooden stairs creaked. In their bedroom, on the first floor, a whitish

She could catch glimpses of tree tops, and beyond, the fields, halfdrowned in the fog that lay

reeking in the moonlight along the course of the river. In the middle of the room, pellmell, were scattered

drawers, bottles, curtainrods, gilt poles, with mattresses on the chairs and basins on the groundthe two

The first was the day of her going to the convent; the second, of her arrival at Tostes; the third, at

Vaubyessard; and this was the fourth. And each one had marked, as it were, the inauguration of a new phase

in her life. She did not believe that things could present themselves in the same way in different places, and

since the portion of her life lived had been bad, no doubt that which remained to be lived would be better.

The next day, as she was getting up, she saw the clerk on the Place. She had on a dressinggown. He

Leon waited all day for six o'clock in the evening to come, but on going to the inn, he found no one

but Monsieur Binet, already at table. The dinner of the evening before had been a considerable event for him;

he had never till then talked for two hours consecutively to a "lady." How then had he been able to explain,

and in such language, the number of things that he could not have said so well before? He was usually shy,

and maintained that reserve which partakes at once of modesty and dissimulation.

At Yonville he was considered "wellbred." He listened to the arguments of the older people, and

did not seem hot about politicsa remarkable thing for a young man. Then he had some accomplishments;

he painted in watercolours, could read the key of G, and readily talked literature after dinner when he did

not play cards. Monsieur Homais respected him for his education; Madame Homais liked him for his

goodnature, for he often took the little Homais into the gardenlittle brats who were always dirty, very

much spoilt, and somewhat lymphatic, like their mother. Besides the servant to look after them, they had

Justin, the chemist's apprentice, a second cousin of Monsieur Homais, who had been taken into the house

The druggist proved the best of neighbours. He gave Madame Bovary information as to the

tradespeople, sent expressly for his own cider merchant, tasted the drink himself, and saw that the casks

were properly placed in the cellar; he explained how to set about getting in a supply of butter cheap, and

made an arrangement with Lestiboudois, the sacristan, who, besides his sacerdotal and funeral functions,

looked after the principal gardens at Yonville by the hour or the year, according to the taste of the customers.

The need of looking after others was not the only thing that urged the chemist to such obsequious

He had infringed the law of the 19th Ventose, year xi., article I, which forbade all persons not having

a diploma to practise medicine; so that, after certain anonymous denunciations, Homais had been summoned

to Rouen to see the procurer of the king in his own private room; the magistrate receiving him standing up,

ermine on shoulder and cap on head. It was in the morning, before the court opened. In the corridors one

heard the heavy boots of the gendarmes walking past, and like a faroff noise great locks that were shut. The

druggist's ears tingled as if he were about to have an apoplectic stroke; he saw the depths of dungeons, his

family in tears, his shop sold, all the jars dispersed; and he was obliged to enter a cafe and take a glass of rum

Little by little the memory of this reprimand grew fainter, and he continued, as heretofore, to give

anodyne consultations in his backparlour. But the mayor resented it, his colleagues were jealous, everything

was to be feared; gaining over Monsieur Bovary by his attentions was to earn his gratitude, and prevent his

speaking out later on, should he notice anything. So every morning Homais brought him "the paper," and

often in the afternoon left his shop for a few moments to have a chat with the Doctor.

Charles was dull: patients did not come. He remained seated for hours without speaking, went into

his consulting room to sleep, or watched his wife sewing. Then for diversion he employed himself at home as

a workman; he even tried to do up the attic with some paint which had been left behind by the painters. But

money matters worried him. He had spent so much for repairs at Tostes, for madame's toilette, and for the

moving, that the whole dowry, over three thousand crowns, had slipped away in two years.

Then how many things had been spoilt or lost during their carriage from Tostes to Yonville, without

counting the plaster cure, who falling out of the coach at an oversevere jolt, had been dashed into a thousand

fragments on the pavements of Quincampoix! A pleasanter trouble came to distract him, namely, the

pregnancy of his wife. As the time of her confinement approached he cherished her the more. It was another

bond of the flesh establishing itself, and, as it were, a continued sentiment of a more complex union. When

from afar he saw her languid walk, and her figure without stays turning softly on her hips; when opposite one

another he looked at her at his ease, while she took tired poses in her armchair, then his happiness knew no

bounds; he got up, embraced her, passed his hands over her face, called her little mamma, wanted to make her

dance, and halflaughing, halfcrying, uttered all kinds of caressing pleasantries that came into his head. The

idea of having begotten a child delighted him. Now he wanted nothing. He knew human life from end to end,

Emma at first felt a great astonishment; then was anxious to be delivered that she might know what it

was to be a mother. But not being able to spend as much as she would have liked, to have a swingbassinette

with rose silk curtains, and embroidered caps, in a fit of bitterness she gave up looking after the trousseau,

and ordered the whole of it from a village needlewoman, without choosing or discussing anything. Thus she

did not amuse herself with those preparations that stimulate the tenderness of mothers, and so her affection

As Charles, however, spoke of the boy at every meal, she soon began to think of him more

She hoped for a son; he would be strong and dark; she would call him George; and this idea of

having a male child was like an expected revenge for all her impotence in the past. A man, at least, is free; he

may travel over passions and over countries, overcome obstacles, taste of the most faraway pleasures. But a

woman is always hampered. At once inert and flexible, she has against her the weakness of the flesh and legal

dependence. Her will, like the veil of her bonnet, held by a string, flutters in every wind; there is always some

Madame Homais, as well as Madame Lefrancois of the Lion d'Or, almost immediately came running

in to embrace her. The chemist, as man of discretion, only offered a few provincial felicitations through the

Whilst she was getting well she occupied herself much in seeking a name for her daughter. First she

went over all those that have Italian endings, such as Clara, Louisa, Amanda, Atala; she liked Galsuinde

Charles wanted the child to be called after her mother; Emma opposed this. They ran over the

"Monsieur Leon," said the chemist, "with whom I was talking about it the other day, wonders you do

But Madame Bovary, senior, cried out loudly against this name of a sinner. As to Monsieur Homais,

he had a preference for all those that recalled some great man, an illustrious fact, or a generous idea, and it

was on this system that he had baptized his four children. Thus Napoleon represented glory and Franklin

liberty; Irma was perhaps a concession to romanticism, but Athalie was a homage to the greatest masterpiece

of the French stage. For his philosophical convictions did not interfere with his artistic tastes; in him the

thinker did not stifle the man of sentiment; he could make distinctions, make allowances for imagination and

fanaticism. In this tragedy, for example, he found fault with the ideas, but admired the style; he detested the

conception, but applauded all the details, and loathed the characters while he grew enthusiastic over their

dialogue. When he read the fine passages he was transported, but when he thought that mummers would get

something out of them for their show, he was disconsolate; and in this confusion of sentiments in which he

was involved he would have like at once to crown Racine with both his hands and discuss with him for a

At last Emma remembered that at the chateau of Vaubyessard she had heard the Marchioness call a

young lady Berthe; from that moment this name was chosen; and as old Rouault could not come, Monsieur

Homais was requested to stand godfather. His gifts were all products from his establishment, to wit: six boxes

of jujubes, a whole jar of racahout, three cakes of marshmallow paste, and six sticks of sugarcandy into the

bargain that he had come across in a cupboard. On the evening of the ceremony there was a grand dinner; the

cure was present; there was much excitement. Monsieur Homais towards liqueurtime began singing "Le

Dieu des bonnes gens." Monsieur Leon sang a barcarolle, and Madame Bovary, senior, who was godmother,

a romance of the time of the Empire; finally, M. Bovary, senior, insisted on having the child brought down,

and began baptizing it with a glass of champagne that he poured over its head. This mockery of the first of

the sacraments made the Abbe Bournisien angry; old Bovary replied by a quotation from "La Guerre des

Dieux"; the cure wanted to leave; the ladies implored, Homais interfered; and they succeeded in making the

priest sit down again, and he quietly went on with the halffinished coffee in his saucer.

Monsieur Bovary, senior, stayed at Yonville a month, dazzling the native by a superb policeman's

cap with silver tassels that he wore in the morning when he smoked his pipe in the square. Being also in the

habit of drinking a good deal of brandy, he often sent the servant to the Lion d'Or to buy him a bottle, which

was put down to his son's account, and to perfume his handkerchiefs he used up his daughterinlaw's whole

The latter did not at all dislike his company. He had knocked about the world, he talked about Berlin,

Vienna, and Strasbourg, of his soldier times, of the mistresses he had had, the grand luncheons of which he

had partaken; then he was amiable, and sometimes even, either on the stairs, or in the garden, would seize

Then Madame Bovary, senior, became alarmed for her son's happiness, and fearing that her husband

might in the longrun have an immoral influence upon the ideas of the young woman, took care to hurry their

departure. Perhaps she had more serious reasons for uneasiness. Monsieur Bovary was not the man to respect

One day Emma was suddenly seized with the desire to see her little girl, who had been put to nurse

with the carpenter's wife, and, without looking at the calendar to see whether the six weeks of the Virgin were

yet passed, she set out for the Rollets' house, situated at the extreme end of the village, between the highroad

It was midday, the shutters of the houses were closed and the slate roofs that glittered beneath the

fierce light of the blue sky seemed to strike sparks from the crest of the gables. A heavy wind was blowing;

Emma felt weak as she walked; the stones of the pavement hurt her; she was doubtful whether she would not

At this moment Monsieur Leon came out from a neighbouring door with a bundle of papers under

his arm. He came to greet her, and stood in the shade in front of the Lheureux's shop under the projecting

Madame Bovary said she was going to see her baby, but that she was beginning to grow tired.

And on the clerk's answer, she begged him to accompany her. That same evening this was known in

Yonville, and Madame Tuvache, the mayor's wife, declared in the presence of her servant that "Madame

To get to the nurse's it was necessary to turn to the left on leaving the street, as if making for the

cemetery, and to follow between little houses and yards a small path bordered with privet hedges. They were

in bloom, and so were the speedwells, eglantines, thistles, and the sweetbriar that sprang up from the thickets.

Through openings in the hedges one could see into the huts, some pigs on a dungheap, or tethered cows

rubbing their horns against the trunk of trees. The two, side by side walked slowly, she leaning upon him, and

he restraining his pace, which he regulated by hers; in front of them a swarm of midges fluttered, buzzing in

Low and covered with brown tiles, there hung outside it, beneath the dormerwindow of the garret, a

string of onions. Faggots upright against a thorn fence surrounded a bed of lettuce, a few square feet of

lavender, and sweet peas stung on sticks. Dirty water was running here and there on the grass, and all round

were several indefinite rags, knitted stockings, a red calico jacket, and a large sheet of coarse linen spread

over the hedge. At the noise of the gate the nurse appeared with a baby she was suckling on one arm. With

her other hand she was pulling along a poor puny little fellow, his face covered with scrofula, the son of a

Rouen hosier, whom his parents, too taken up with their business, left in the country.

The room on the groundfloor, the only one in the dwelling, had at its farther end, against the wall, a

large bed without curtains, while a kneadingtrough took up the side by the window, one pane of which was

mended with a piece of blue paper. In the corner behind the door, shining hobnailed shoes stood in a row

under the slab of the washstand, near a bottle of oil with a feather stuck in its mouth; a Matthieu Laensberg

Finally, the last luxury in the apartment was a "Fame" blowing her trumpets, a picture cut out, no

doubt, from some perfumer's prospectus and nailed to the wall with six wooden shoepegs.

Emma's child was asleep in a wickercradle. She took it up in the wrapping that enveloped it and

Leon walked up and down the room; it seemed strange to him to see this beautiful woman in her

nankeen dress in the midst of all this poverty. Madam Bovary reddened; he turned away, thinking perhaps

there had been an impertinent look in his eyes. Then she put back the little girl, who had just been sick over

"She gives me other doses," she said: "I am always awashing of her. If you would have the

goodness to order Camus, the grocer, to let me have a little soap, it would really be more convenient for you,

"Very well! very well!" said Emma. "Good morning, Madame Rollet," and she went out, wiping her

The good woman accompanied her to the end of the garden, talking all the time of the trouble she

"I'm that worn out sometimes as I drop asleep on my chair. I'm sure you might at least give me just a

pound of ground coffee; that'd last me a month, and I'd take it of a morning with some milk."

After having submitted to her thanks, Madam Bovary left. She had gone a little way down the path

Then the peasant woman, taking her aside behind an elm tree, began talking to her of her husband,

"Well," the nurse went on, heaving sighs between each word, "I'm afraid he'll be put out seeing me

"But you are to have some," Emma repeated; "I will give you some. You bother me!"

"Oh, dear! my poor, dear lady! you see in consequence of his wounds he has terrible cramps in the

"Well," the latter continued, making a curtsey, "if it weren't asking too much," and she curtsied once

more, "if you would"and her eyes begged"a jar of brandy," she said at last, "and I'd rub your little one's

Once rid of the nurse, Emma again took Monsieur Leon's arm. She walked fast for some time, then

more slowly, and looking straight in front of her, her eyes rested on the shoulder of the young man, whose

frockcoat had a blackvelvety collar. His brown hair fell over it, straight and carefully arranged. She

noticed his nails which were longer than one wore them at Yonville. It was one of the clerk's chief

occupations to trim them, and for this purpose he kept a special knife in his writing desk.

They returned to Yonville by the waterside. In the warm season the bank, wider than at other times,

showed to their foot the garden walls whence a few steps led to the river. It flowed noiselessly, swift, and

cold to the eye; long, thin grasses huddled together in it as the current drove them, and spread themselves

upon the limpid water like streaming hair; sometimes at the tip of the reeds or on the leaf of a waterlily an

insect with fine legs crawled or rested. The sun pierced with a ray the small blue bubbles of the waves that,

breaking, followed each other; branchless old willows mirrored their grey backs in the water; beyond, all

around, the meadows seemed empty. It was the dinnerhour at the farms, and the young woman and her

companion heard nothing as they walked but the fall of their steps on the earth of the path, the words they

The walls of the gardens with pieces of bottle on their coping were hot as the glass windows of a

conservatory. Wallflowers had sprung up between the bricks, and with the tip of her open sunshade Madame

Bovary, as she passed, made some of their faded flowers crumble into a yellow dust, or a spray of

overhanging honeysuckle and clematis caught in its fringe and dangled for a moment over the silk.

They were talking of a troupe of Spanish dancers who were expected shortly at the Rouen theatre.

Had they nothing else to say to one another? Yet their eyes were full of more serious speech, and

while they forced themselves to find trivial phrases, they felt the same languor stealing over them both. It was

the whisper of the soul, deep, continuous, dominating that of their voices. Surprised with wonder at this

strange sweetness, they did not think of speaking of the sensation or of seeking its cause. Coming joys, like

tropical shores, throw over the immensity before them their inborn softness, an odorous wind, and we are

lulled by this intoxication without a thought of the horizon that we do not even know.

In one place the ground had been trodden down by the cattle; they had to step on large green stones

She often stopped a moment to look where to place her foot, and tottering on a stone that shook, her

arms outspread, her form bent forward with a look of indecision, she would laugh, afraid of falling into the

When they arrived in front of her garden, Madame Bovary opened the little gate, ran up the steps and

Leon returned to his office. His chief was away; he just glanced at the briefs, then cut himself a pen,

He went to La Pature at the top of the Argueil hills at the beginning of the forest; he threw himself

He thought he was to be pitied for living in this village, with Homais for a friend and Monsieru

Guillaumin for master. The latter, entirely absorbed by his business, wearing goldrimmed spectacles and red

whiskers over a white cravat, understood nothing of mental refinements, although he affected a stiff English

As to the chemist's spouse, she was the best wife in Normandy, gentle as a sheep, loving her

children, her father, her mother, her cousins, weeping for other's woes, letting everything go in her household,

and detesting corsets; but so slow of movement, such a bore to listen to, so common in appearance, and of

such restricted conversation, that although she was thirty, he only twenty, although they slept in rooms next

each other and he spoke to her daily, he never thought that she might be a woman for another, or that she

And what else was there? Binet, a few shopkeepers, two or three publicans, the cure, and finally,

Monsieur Tuvache, the mayor, with his two sons, rich, crabbed, obtuse persons, who farmed their own lands

and had feasts among themselves, bigoted to boot, and quite unbearable companions.

But from the general background of all these human faces Emma's stood out isolated and yet farthest

In the beginning he had called on her several times along with the druggist. Charles had not appeared

particularly anxious to see him again, and Leon did not know what to do between his fear of being indiscreet

When the first cold days set in Emma left her bedroom for the sittingroom, a long apartment with a

low ceiling, in which there was on the mantelpiece a large bunch of coral spread out against the

lookingglass. Seated in her arm chair near the window, she could see the villagers pass along the pavement.

Twice a day Leon went from his office to the Lion d'Or. Emma could hear him coming from afar;

she leant forward listening, and the young man glided past the curtain, always dressed in the same way, and

without turning his head. But in the twilight, when, her chin resting on her left hand, she let the embroidery

she had begun fall on her knees, she often shuddered at the apparition of this shadow suddenly gliding past.

Monsieur Homais called at dinnertime. Skullcap in hand, he came in on tiptoe, in order to disturb

no one, always repeating the same phrase, "Good evening, everybody." Then, when he had taken his seat at

the table between the pair, he asked the doctor about his patients, and the latter consulted his as to the

Homais by this hour knew it almost by heart, and he repeated it from end to end, with the reflections

of the pennyaliners, and all the stories of individual catastrophes that had occurred in France or abroad.

But the subject becoming exhausted, he was not slow in throwing out some remarks on the dishes before him.

Sometimes even, halfrising, he delicately pointed out to madame the tenderest morsel, or turning to

the servant, gave her some advice on the manipulation of stews and the hygiene of seasoning.

He talked aroma, osmazome, juices, and gelatine in a bewildering manner. Moreover, Homais, with

his head fuller of recipes than his shop of jars, excelled in making all kinds of preserves, vinegars, and sweet

liqueurs; he knew also all the latest inventions in economic stoves, together with the art of preserving cheese

Then Monsieur Homais gave him a sly look, especially if Felicite was there, for he half noticed that

"The young dog," he said, "is beginning to have ideas, and the devil take me if I don't believe he's in

But a more serious fault with which he reproached Justin was his constantly listening to

conversation. On Sunday, for example, one could not get him out of the drawingroom, whither Madame

Homais had called him to fetch the children, who were falling asleep in the armchairs, and dragging down

Not many people came to these soirees at the chemist's, his scandalmongering and political

opinions having successfully alienated various respectable persons from him. The clerk never failed to be

there. As soon as he heard the bell he ran to meet Madame Bovary, took her shawl, and put away under the

shopcounter the thick list shoes that she wore over her boots when there was snow.

First they played some hands at trenteetun; next Monsieur Homais played ecarte with Emma;

Standing up with his hands on the back of her chair he saw the teeth of her comb that bit into her

chignon. With every movement that she made to throw her cards the right side of her dress was drawn up.

From her turnedup hair a dark colour fell over her back, and growing gradually paler, lost itself little by

little in the shade. Then her dress fell on both sides of her chair, puffing out full of folds, and reached the

ground. When Leon occasionally felt the sole of his boot resting on it, he drew back as if he had trodden upon

When the game of cards was over, the druggist and the Doctor played dominoes, and Emma,

changing her place, leant her elbow on the table, turning over the leaves of L'Illustration." She had brought

her ladies' journal with her. Leon sat down near her; they looked at the engravings together, and waited for

one another at the bottom of the pages. She often begged him to read her the verses; Leon declaimed them in

a languid voice, to which he carefully gave a dying fall in the love passages. But the noise of the dominoes

annoyed him. Monsieur Homais was strong at the game; he could beat Charles and give him a doublesix.

Then the three hundred finished, they both stretched themselves out in front of the fire, and were soon asleep.

The fire was dying out in the cinders; the teapot was empty, Leon was still reading.

Emma listened to him, mechanically turning around the lampshade, on the gauze of which were

painted clowns in carriages, and tightrope dances with their balancingpoles. Leon stopped, pointing with a

gesture to his sleeping audience; then they talked in low tones, and their conversation seemed the more sweet

Thus a kind of bond was established between them, a constant commerce of books and of romances.

On his birthday he received a beautiful phrenological head, all marked with figures to the thorax and

painted blue. This was an attention of the clerk's. He showed him many others, even to doing errands for him

at Rouen; and the book of a novelist having made the mania for cactuses fashionable, Leon bought some for

Madame Bovary, bringing them back on his knees in the "Hirondelle," pricking his fingers on their hard

She had a board with a balustrade fixed against her window to hold the pots. The clerk, too, had his

small hanging garden; they saw each other tending their flowers at their windows.

Of the windows of the village there was one yet more often occupied; for on Sundays from morning

to night, and every morning when the weather was bright, one could see at the dormerwindow of the garret

the profile of Monsieur Binet bending over his lathe, whose monotonous humming could be heard at the Lion

One evening on coming home Leon found in his room a rug in velvet and wool with leaves on a pale

ground. He called Madame Homais, Monsieur Homais, Justin, the children, the cook; he spoke of it to his

chief; every one wanted to see this rug. Why did the doctor's wife give the clerk presents? It looked queer.

He made this seem likely, so ceaselessly did he talk of her charms and of her wit; so much so, that

He tortured himself to find out how he could make his declaration to her, and always halting between

the fear of displeasing her and the shame of being such a coward, he wept with discouragement and desire.

Then he took energetic resolutions, wrote letters that he tore up, put it off to times that he again deferred.

Often he set out with the determination to dare all; but this resolution soon deserted him in Emma's

presence, and when Charles, dropping in, invited him to jump into his chaise to go with him to see some

patient in the neighbourhood, he at once accepted, bowed to madame, and went out. Her husband, was he not

something belonging to her? As to Emma, she did not ask herself whether she loved. Love, she thought, must

come suddenly, with great outbursts and lightnings a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life,

revolutionises it, roots up the will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss. She did not know

that on the terrace of houses it makes lakes when the pipes are choked, and she would thus have remained in

They had all, Monsieur and Madame Bovary, Homais, and Monsieur Leon, gone to see a yarnmill

that was being built in the valley a mile and a half from Yonville. The druggist had taken Napoleon and

Athalie to give them some exercise, and Justin accompanied them, carrying the umbrellas on his shoulder.

Nothing, however, could be less curious than this curiosity. A great piece of waste ground, on which

pellmell, amid a mass of sand and stones, were a few breakwheels, already rusty, surrounded by a

quadrangular building pierced by a number of little windows. The building was unfinished; the sky could be

seen through the joists of the roofing. Attached to the stopplank of the gable a bunch of straw mixed with

Homais was talking. He explained to the company the future importance of this establishment,

computed the strength of the floorings, the thickness of the walls, and regretted extremely not having a

Emma, who had taken his arm, bent lightly against his shoulder, and she looked at the sun's disc

shedding afar through the mist his pale splendour. She turned. Charles was there. His cap was drawn down

over his eyebrows, and his two thick lips were trembling, which added a look of stupidity to his face; his very

back, his calm back, was irritating to behold, and she saw written upon his coat all the platitude of the bearer.

While she was considering him thus, tasting in her irritation a sort of depraved pleasure, Leon made

a step forward. The cold that made him pale seemed to add a more gentle languor to his face; between his

cravat and his neck the somewhat loose collar of his shirt showed the skin; the lobe of his ear looked out from

beneath a lock of hair, and his large blue eyes, raised to the clouds, seemed to Emma more limpid and more

And he ran to his son, who had just precipitated himself into a heap of lime in order to whiten his

boots. At the reproaches with which he was being overwhelmed Napoleon began to roar, while Justin dried

In the evening Madame Bovary did not go to her neighbour's, and when Charles had left and she felt

herself alone, the comparison rebegan with the clearness of a sensation almost actual, and with that

lengthening of perspective which memory gives to things. Looking from her bed at the clean fire that was

burning, she still saw, as she had down there, Leon standing up with one hand behind his cane, and with the

other holding Athalie, who was quietly sucking a piece of ice. She thought him charming; she could not tear

herself away from him; she recalled his other attitudes on other days, the words he had spoken, the sound of

his voice, his whole person; and she repeated, pouting out her lips as if for a kiss

"Yes, charming! charming! Is he not in love?" she asked herself; "but with whom? With me?"

All the proofs arose before her at once; her heart leapt. The flame of the fire threw a joyous light

Then began the eternal lamentation: "Oh, if Heaven had out willed it! And why not? What prevented

When Charles came home at midnight, she seemed to have just awakened, and as he made a noise

undressing, she complained of a headache, then asked carelessly what had happened that evening.

She could not help smiling, and she fell asleep, her soul filled with a new delight.

The next day, at dusk, she received a visit from Monsieur Lherueux, the draper. He was a man of

ability, was this shopkeeper. Born a Gascon but bred a Norman, he grafted upon his southern volubility the

cunning of the Cauchois. His fat, flabby, beardless face seemed dyed by a decoction of liquorice, and his

white hair made even more vivid the keen brilliance of his small black eyes. No one knew what he had been

formerly; a pedlar said some, a banker at Routot according to others. What was certain was that he made

complex calculations in his head that would have frightened Binet himself. Polite to obsequiousness, he

always held himself with his back bent in the position of one who bows or who invites.

After leaving at the door his hat surrounded with crape, he put down a green bandbox on the table,

and began by complaining to madame, with many civilities, that he should have remained till that day

without gaining her confidence. A poor shop like his was not made to attract a "fashionable lady"; he

emphasized the words; yet she had only to command, and he would undertake to provide her with anything

she might wish, either in haberdashery or linen, millinery or fancy goods, for he went to town regularly four

times a month. He was connected with the best houses. You could speak of him at the "Trois Freres," at the

"Barbe d'Or," or at the "Grand Sauvage"; all these gentlemen knew him as well as the insides of their pockets.

Today, then he had come to show madame, in passing, various articles he happened to have, thanks to the

most rare opportunity. And he pulled out halfadozen embroidered collars from the box.

Then Monsieur Lheureux delicately exhibited three Algerian scarves, several packet of English

needles, a pair of straw slippers, and finally, four eggcups in cocoanut wood, carved in open work by

convicts. Then, with both hands on the table, his neck stretched out, his figure bent forward, openmouthed,

he watched Emma's look, who was walking up and down undecided amid these goods. From time to time, as

if to remove some dust, he filliped with his nail the silk of the scarves spread out at full length, and they

rustled with a little noise, making in the green twilight the gold spangles of their tissue scintillate like little

"A mere nothing," he replied, "a mere nothing. But there's no hurry; whenever it's convenient. We

She reflected for a few moments, and ended by again declining Monsieur Lheureux's offer. He

"Very well. We shall understand one another by and by. I have always got on with ladiesif I didn't

"I wanted to tell you," he went on goodnaturedly, after his joke, "that it isn't the money I should

"Ah!" said he quickly and in a low voice, "I shouldn't have to go far to find you some, rely on that."

And he began asking after Pere Tellier, the proprietor of the "Cafe Francais," whom Monsieur

"What's the matter with Pere Tellier? He coughs so that he shakes his whole house, and I'm afraid

he'll soon want a deal covering rather than a flannel vest. He was such a rake as a young man! Those sort of

people, madame, have not the least regularity; he's burnt up with brandy. Still it's sad, all the same, to see an

"It's the weather, no doubt," he said, looking frowningly at the floor, "that causes these illnesses. I,

too, don't feel the thing. One of these days I shall even have to consult the doctor for a pain I have in my

back. Well, goodbye, Madame Bovary. At your service; your very humble servant." And he closed the door

Emma had her dinner served in her bedroom on a tray by the fireside; she was a long time over it;

She heard some steps on the stairs. It was Leon. She got up and took from the chest of drawers the

The conversation languished; Madame Bovary gave it up every few minutes, whilst he himself

seemed quite embarrassed. Seated on a low chair near the fire, he turned round in his fingers the ivory

thimblecase. She stitched on, or from time to time turned down the hem of the cloth with her nail. She did

not speak; he was silent, captivated by her silence, as he would have been by her speech.

At last, however, Leon said that he should have, one of these days, to go to Rouen on some office

This work irritated Leon. It seemed to roughen the ends of her fingers. A gallant phrase came into his

"What?" she asked hurriedly. "Music? Ah! yes! Have I not my house to look after, my husband to

attend to, a thousand things, in fact, many duties that must be considered first?"

She looked at the clock. Charles was late. Then, she affected anxiety. Two or three times she even

The clerk was fond of Monsieur Bovary. But this tenderness on his behalf astonished him

unpleasantly; nevertheless he took up on his praises, which he said everyone was singing, especially the

And he began talking of Madame Homais, whose very untidy appearance generally made them

"What does it matter?" interrupted Emma. "A good housewife does not trouble about her

It was the same on the following days; her talks, her manners, everything changed. She took interest

in the housework, went to church regularly, and looked after her servant with more severity.

She took Berthe from nurse. When visitors called, Felicite brought her in, and Madame Bovary

undressed her to show off her limbs. She declared she adored children; this was her consolation, her joy, her

passion, and she accompanied her caresses with lyrical outburst which would have reminded anyone but the

When Charles came home he found his slippers put to warm near the fire. His waistcoat now never

wanted lining, nor his shirt buttons, and it was quite a pleasure to see in the cupboard the nightcaps arranged

in piles of the same height. She no longer grumbled as formerly at taking a turn in the garden; what he

proposed was always done, although she did not understand the wishes to which she submitted without a

murmur; and when Leon saw him by his fireside after dinner, his two hands on his stomach, his two feet on

the fender, his two cheeks red with feeding, his eyes moist with happiness, the child crawling along the

carpet, and this woman with the slender waist who came behind his armchair to kiss his forehead: "What

And thus she seemed so virtuous and inaccessible to him that he lost all hope, even the faintest. But

by this renunciation he placed her on an extraordinary pinnacle. To him she stood outside those fleshly

attributes from which he had nothing to obtain, and in his heart she rose ever, and became farther removed

from him after the magnificent manner of an apotheosis that is taking wing. It was one of those pure feelings

that do not interfere with life, that are cultivated because they are rare, and whose loss would afflict more

Emma grew thinner, her cheeks paler, her face longer. With her black hair, her large eyes, her

aquiline nose, her birdlike walk, and always silent now, did she not seem to be passing through life scarcely

touching it, and to bear on her brow the vague impress of some divine destiny? She was so sad and so calm,

at once so gentle and so reserved, that near her one felt oneself seized by an icy charm, as we shudder in

churches at the perfume of the flowers mingling with the cold of the marble. The others even did not escape

The housewives admired her economy, the patients her politeness, the poor her charity.

But she was eaten up with desires, with rage, with hate. That dress with the narrow folds hid a

distracted fear, of whose torment those chaste lips said nothing. She was in love with Leon, and sought

solitude that she might with the more ease delight in his image. The sight of his form troubled the

voluptuousness of this mediation. Emma thrilled at the sound of his step; then in his presence the emotion

subsided, and afterwards there remained to her only an immense astonishment that ended in sorrow.

Leon did not know that when he left her in despair she rose after he had gone to see him in the street.

She concerned herself about his comings and goings; she watched his face; she invented quite a history to

find an excuse for going to his room. The chemist's wife seemed happy to her to sleep under the same roof,

and her thoughts constantly centered upon this house, like the "Lion d'Or" pigeons, who came there to dip

their red feet and white wings in its gutters. But the more Emma recognised her love, the more she crushed it

down, that it might not be evident, that she might make it less. She would have liked Leon to guess it, and she

What restrained her was, no doubt, idleness and fear, and a sense of shame also. She thought she had

repulsed him too much, that the time was past, that all was lost. Then, pride, and joy of being able to say to

herself, "I am virtuous," and to look at herself in the glass taking resigned poses, consoled her a little for the

Then the lusts of the flesh, the longing for money, and the melancholy of passion all blended

themselves into one suffering, and instead of turning her thoughts from it, she clave to it the more, urging

herself to pain, and seeking everywhere occasion for it. She was irritated by an illserved dish or by a

halfopen door; bewailed the velvets she had not, the happiness she had missed, her too exalted dreams, her

What exasperated her was that Charles did not seem to notice her anguish. His conviction that he was

making her happy seemed to her an imbecile insult, and his sureness on this point ingratitude. For whose

sake, then was she virtuous? Was it not for him, the obstacle to all felicity, the cause of all misery, and, as it

On him alone, then, she concentrated all the various hatreds that resulted from her boredom, and

every effort to diminish only augmented it; for this useless trouble was added to the other reasons for despair,

and contributed still more to the separation between them. Her own gentleness to herself made her rebel

against him. Domestic mediocrity drove her to lewd fancies, marriage tenderness to adulterous desires. She

would have like Charles to beat her, that she might have a better right to hate him, to revenge herself upon

him. She was surprised sometimes at the atrocious conjectures that came into her thoughts, and she had to go

on smiling, to hear repeated to her at all hours that she was happy, to pretend to be happy, to let it be

Yet she had loathing of this hypocrisy. She was seized with the temptation to flee somewhere with

Leon to try a new life; but at once a vague chasm full of darkness opened within her soul.

"Besides, he no longer loves me," she thought. "What is to become of me? What help is to be hoped

She was left broken, breathless, inert, sobbing in a low voice, with flowing tears.

"Why don't you tell master?" the servant asked her when she came in during these crises.

"Ah! yes," Felicite went on, "you are just like La Guerine, Pere Guerin's daughter, the fisherman at

Pollet, that I used to know at Dieppe before I came to you. She was so sad, so sad, to see her standing upright

on the threshold of her house, she seemed to you like a windingsheet spread out before the door. Her illness,

it appears, was a kind of fog that she had in her head, and the doctors could not do anything, nor the priest

either. When she was taken too bad she went off quite alone to the seashore, so that the customs officer,

going his rounds, often found her lying flat on her face, crying on the shingle. Then, after her marriage, it

One evening when the window was open, and she, sitting by it, had been watching Lestiboudois, the

It was the beginning of April, when the primroses are in bloom, and a warm wind blows over the

flowerbeds newly turned, and the gardens, like women, seem to be getting ready for the summer fetes.

Through the bars of the arbour and away beyond, the river seen in the fields, meandering through the grass in

wandering curves. The evening vapours rose between the leafless poplars, touching their outlines with a

violet tint, paler and more transparent than a subtle gauze caught athwart their branches. In the distance cattle

moved about; neither their steps nor their lowing could be heard; and the bell, still ringing through the air,

With this repeated tinkling the thoughts of the young woman lost themselves in old memories of her

youth and schooldays. She remembered the great candlesticks that rose above the vases full of flowers on

the altar, and the tabernacle with its small columns. She would have liked to be once more lost in the long

line of white veils, marked off here and there by the stuff black hoods of the good sisters bending over their

prieDieu. At mass on Sundays, when she looked up, she saw the gentle face of the Virgin amid the blue

smoke of the rising incense. Then she was moved; she felt herself weak and quite deserted, like the down of a

bird whirled by the tempest, and it was unconsciously that she went towards the church, included to no matter

On the Place she met Lestivoudois on his way back, for, in order not to shorten his day's labour, he

preferred interrupting his work, then beginning it again, so that he rang the Angelus to suit his own

convenience. Besides, the ringing over a little earlier warned the lads of catechism hour.

Already a few who had arrived were playing marbles on the stones of the cemetery. Others, astride

the wall, swung their legs, kicking with their clogs the large nettles growing between the little enclosure and

the newest graves. This was the only green spot. All the rest was but stones, always covered with a fine

The children in list shoes ran about there as if it were an enclosure made for them. The shouts of

their voices could be heard through the humming of the bell. This grew less and less with the swinging of the

great rope that, hanging from the top of the belfry, dragged its end on the ground. Swallows flitted to and fro

uttering little cries, cut the air with the edge of their wings, and swiftly returned to their yellow nests under

the tiles of the coping. At the end of the church a lamp was burning, the wick of a nightlight in a glass hung

up. Its light from a distance looked like a white stain trembling in the oil. A long ray of the sun fell across the

"Where is the cure?" asked Madame Bovary of one of the lads, who was amusing himself by shaking

And in fact the door of the presbytery grated; Abbe Bournisien appeared; the children, pellmell,

Then, picking up a catechism all in rags that he had struck with is foot, "They respect nothing!" But

as soon as he caught sight of Madame Bovary, "Excuse me," he said; "I did not recognise you."

He thrust the catechism into his pocket, and stopped short, balancing the heavy vestry key between

The light of the setting sun that fell full upon his face paled the lasting of his cassock, shiny at the

elbows, unravelled at the hem. Grease and tobacco stains followed along his broad chest the lines of the

buttons, and grew more numerous the farther they were from his neckcloth, in which the massive folds of his

red chin rested; this was dotted with yellow spots, that disappeared beneath the coarse hair of his greyish

"Well, and so am I," answered the priest. "These first warm days weaken one most remarkably, don't

they? But, after all, we are born to suffer, as St. Paul says. But what does Monsieur Bovary think of it?"

"What!" replied the good fellow, quite astonished, doesn't he prescribe something for you?"

But the cure from time to time looked into the church, where the kneeling boys were shouldering one

"You look out, Riboudet," cried the priest in an angry voice; "I'll warm your ears, you imp!" Then

turning to Emma, "He's Boudet the carpenter's son; his parents are well off, and let him do just as he pleases.

Yet he could learn quickly if he would, for he is very sharp. And so sometimes for a joke I call him Riboudet

(like the road one takes to go to Maromme) and I even say 'Mon Riboudet.' Ha! Ha! 'Mont Riboudet.' The

other day I repeated that just to Monsignor, and he laughed at it; he condescended to laugh at it. And how is

"Always very busy, no doubt; for he and I are certainly the busiest people in the parish. But he is

She fixed her pleading eyes upon the priest. "Yes," she said, "you solace all sorrows."

"Ah! don't talk to me of it, Madame Bovary. This morning I had to go to BasDiauville for a cow

that was ill; they thought it was under a spell. All their cows, I don't know how it isBut pardon me!

The boys were just then clustering round the large desk, climbing over the precentor's footstool,

opening the missal; and others on tiptoe were just about to venture into the confessional. But the priest

suddenly distributed a shower of cuffs among them. Seizing them by the collars of their coats, he lifted them

from the ground, and deposited them on their knees on the stones of the choir, firmly, as if he meant planting

"Yes," said he, when he returned to Emma, unfolding his large cotton handkerchief, one corner of

"Pardon! I've there known poor mothers of families, virtuous women, I assure you, real saints, who

"But those," replied Emma, and the corners of her mouth twitched as she spoke, "those, Monsieur le

"What! What does it matter? It seems to me that when one has firing and foodfor, after all"

"It is indigestion, no doubt? You must get home, Madame Bovary; drink a little tea, that will

"Well, you see, you were putting your hand to your forehead. I thought you felt faint." Then,

bethinking himself, "But you were asking me something? What was it? I really don't remember."

And the glance she cast round her slowly fell upon the old man in the cassock. They looked at one

"Then, Madame Bovary," he said at last, "excuse me, but duty first, you know; I must look after my

goodfornothings. The first communion will soon be upon us, and I fear we shall be behind after all. So

after Ascension Day I keep them recta* an extra hour every Wednesday. Poor children! One cannot lead them

too soon into the path of the Lord, as, moreover, he has himself recommended us to do by the mouth of his

And he went into the church making a genuflexion as soon as he reached the door.

Emma saw him disappear between the double row of forms, walking with a heavy tread, his head a

Then she turned on her heel all of one piece, like a statue on a pivot, and went homewards. But the

loud voice of the priest, the clear voices of the boys still reached her ears, and went on behind her.

She went up the steps of the staircase holding on to the banisters, and when she was in her room

The furniture in its place seemed to have become more immobile, and to lose itself in the shadow as

in an ocean of darkness. The fire was out, the clock went on ticking, and Emma vaguely marvelled at this

calm of all things while within herself was such tumult. But little Berthe was there, between the window and

the worktable, tottering on her knitted shoes, and trying to come to her mother to catch hold of the ends of

The little girl soon came up closer against her knees, and leaning on them with her arms, she looked

up with her large blue eyes, while a small thread of pure saliva dribbled from her lips on to the silk apron.

Berthe fell at the foot of the drawers against the brass handle, cutting her cheek, which began to

bleed, against it. Madame Bovary sprang to lift her up, broke the bellrope, called for the servant with all her

might, and she was just going to curse herself when Charles appeared. It was the dinnerhour; he had come

"Look, dear!" said Emma, in a calm voice, "the little one fell down while she was playing, and has

Charles reassured her; the case was not a serious one, and he went for some sticking plaster.

Madame Bovary did not go downstairs to the diningroom; she wished to remain alone to look after

the child. Then watching her sleep, the little anxiety she felt gradually wore off, and she seemed very stupid

to herself, and very good to have been so worried just now at so little. Berthe, in fact, no longer sobbed.

Her breathing now imperceptibly raised the cotton covering. Big tears lay in the corner of the

halfclosed eyelids, through whose lashes one could see two pale sunken pupils; the plaster stuck on her

When at eleven o'clock Charles came back from the chemist's shop, whither he had gone after dinner

to return the remainder of the stickingplaster, he found his wife standing by the cradle.

"I assure you it's nothing." he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Don't worry, my poor darling; you

He had stayed a long time at the chemist's. Although he had not seemed much moved, Homais,

nevertheless, had exerted himself to buoy him up, to "keep up his spirits." Then they had talked of the various

dangers that threaten childhood, of the carelessness of servants. Madame Homais knew something of it,

having still upon her chest the marks left by a basin full of soup that a cook had formerly dropped on her

pinafore, and her good parents took no end of trouble for her. The knives were not sharpened, nor the floors

waxed; there were iron gratings to the windows and strong bars across the fireplace; the little Homais, in spite

of their spirit, could not stir without someone watching them; at the slightest cold their father stuffed them

with pectorals; and until they were turned four they all, without pity, had to wear wadded headprotectors.

This, it is true, was a fancy of Madame Homais'; her husband was inwardly afflicted at it. Fearing the

possible consequences of such compression to the intellectual organs. He even went so far as to say to her,

Charles, however, had several times tried to interrupt the conversation. "I should like to speak to

"Can he suspect anything?" Leon asked himself. His heart beat, and he racked his brain with

At last, Charles, having shut the door, asked him to see himself what would be the price at Rouen of

a fine daguerreotypes. It was a sentimental surprise he intended for his wife, a delicate attentionhis portrait

in a frockcoat. But he wanted first to know "how much it would be." The inquiries would not put Monsieur

Why? Monsieur Homais suspected some "young man's affair" at the bottom of it, an intrigue. But he

was mistaken. Leon was after no lovemaking. He was sadder than ever, as Madame Lefrancois saw from the

amount of food he left on his plate. To find out more about it she questioned the taxcollector. Binet

All the same, his companion seemed very strange to him, for Leon often threw himself back in his

"Ah! that's true," said the other, rubbing his chin with an air of mingled contempt and satisfaction.

Leon was weary of loving without any result; moreover he was beginning to feel that depression

caused by the repetition of the same kind of life, when no interest inspires and no hope sustains it. He was so

bored with Yonville and its inhabitants, that the sight of certain persons, of certain houses, irritated him

beyond endurance; and the chemist, good fellow though he was, was becoming absolutely unbearable to him.

Yet the prospect of a new condition of life frightened as much as it seduced him.

This apprehension soon changed into impatience, and then Paris from afar sounded its fanfare of

masked balls with the laugh of grisettes. As he was to finish reading there, why not set out at once? What

prevented him? And he began making homepreparations; he arranged his occupations beforehand. He

furnished in his head an apartment. He would lead an artist's life there! He would take lessons on the guitar!

He would have a dressinggown, a Basque cap, blue velvet slippers! He even already was admiring two

crossed foils over his chimneypiece, with a death's head on the guitar above them.

The difficulty was the consent of his mother; nothing, however, seemed more reasonable. Even his

employer advised him to go to some other chambers where he could advance more rapidly. Taking a middle

course, then, Leon looked for some place as second clerk at Rouen; found none, and at last wrote his mother a

long letter full of details, in which he set forth the reasons for going to live at Paris immediately. She

He did not hurry. Every day for a month Hivert carried boxes, valises, parcels for him from Yonville

to Rouen and from Rouen to Yonville; and when Leon had packed up his wardrobe, had his three armchairs

restuffed, bought a stock of neckties, in a word, had made more preparations than for a voyage around the

world, he put it off from week to week, until he received a second letter from his mother urging him to leave,

When the moment for the farewells had come, Madame Homais wept, Justin sobbed; Homais, as a

man of nerve, concealed his emotion; he wished to carry his friend's overcoat himself as far as the gate of the

When he reached the head of the stairs, he stopped, he was so out of breath. As he came in, Madame

She bit her lips, and a rush of blood flowing under her skin made her red from the roots of her hair to

the top of her collar. She remained standing, leaning with her shoulder against the wainscot.

Then there was silence. They looked at one another and their thoughts, confounded in the same

He threw one long look around him that took in the walls, the decorations, the fireplace, as if to

penetrate everything, carry away everything. But she returned, and the servant brought Berthe, who was

swinging a windmill roof downwards at the end of a string. Leon kissed her several times on the neck.

"Goodbye, poor child! goodbye, dear little one! goodbye!" And he gave her back to her mother.

They remained aloneMadame Bovary, her back turned, her face pressed against a windowpane;

The light fell on it as on a piece of marble, to the curve of the eyebrows, without one's being able to

guess what Emma was seeing on the horizon or what she was thinking within herself.

"In the English fashion, then," she said, giving her own hand wholly to him, and forcing a laugh.

Leon felt it between his fingers, and the very essence of all his being seemed to pass down into that

When he reached the marketplace, he stopped and hid behind a pillar to look for the last time at this

white house with the four green blinds. He thought he saw a shadow behind the window in the room; but the

curtain, sliding along the pole as though no one were touching it, slowly opened its long oblique folds that

spread out with a single movement, and thus hung straight and motionless as a plaster wall. Leon set off

>From afar he saw his employer's gig in the road, and by it a man in a coarse apron holding the

"Embrace me," said the druggist with tears in his eyes. "Here is your coat, my good friend. Mind the

Homais bend over the splashboard, and in a voice broken by sobs uttered these three sad words

"Goodnight," said Monsieur Guillaumin. "Give him his head." They set out, and Homais went back.

Madame Bovary had opened her window overlooking the garden and watched the clouds. They

gathered around the sunset on the side of Rouen and then swiftly rolled back their black columns, behind

which the great rays of the sun looked out like the golden arrows of a suspended trophy, while the rest of the

empty heavens was white as porcelain. But a gust of wind bowed the poplars, and suddenly the rain fell; it

Then the sun reappeared, the hens clucked, sparrows shook their wings in the damp thickets, and the

pools of water on the gravel as they flowed away carried off the pink flowers of an acacia.

"So it seems," replied the doctor. Then turning on his chair; "Any news at home?"

You know womena nothing upsets them, especially my wife. And we should be wrong to object

"Get along!" said the chemist, smacking his lips. "The outings at restaurants, the masked balls, the

"Nor do I," said Monsieur Homais quickly; "although he'll have to do like the rest for fear of passing

for a Jesuit. And you don't know what a life those dogs lead in the Latin quarter with actresses. Besides,

students are thought a great deal of in Paris. Provided they have a few accomplishments, they are received in

the best society; there are even ladies of the Faubourg SaintGermain who fall in love with them, which

"You are right," interrupted the chemist; "that is the reverse of the medal. And one is constantly

obliged to keep one's hand in one's pocket there. Thus, we will suppose you are in a public garden. An

individual presents himself, well dressed, even wearing an order, and whom one would take for a diplomatist.

He approaches you, he insinuates himself; offers you a pinch of snuff, or picks up your hat. Then you become

more intimate; he takes you to a cafe, invites you to his countryhouse, introduces you, between two drinks,

to all sorts of people; and threefourths of the time it's only to plunder your watch or lead you into some

"That is true," said Charles; "but I was thinking especially of illnessesof typhoid fever, for

"Because of the change of regimen," continued the chemist, "and of the perturbation that results

therefrom in the whole system. And then the water at Paris, don't you know! The dishes at restaurants, all the

spiced food, end by heating the blood, and are not worth, whatever people may say of them, a good soup. For

my own part, I have always preferred plain living; it is more healthy. So when I was studying pharmacy at

And thus he went on, expounding his opinions generally and his personal likings, until Justin came to

"Not a moment's peace!" he cried; "always at it! I can't go out for a minute! Like a ploughhorse, I

have always to be moiling and toiling. What drudgery!" Then, when he was at the door, "By the way, do you

"That it is very likely," Homais went on, raising his eyebrows and assuming one of his most serious

expression, "that the agricultural meeting of the SeineInferieure will be held this year at Yonvillel'Abbaye.

The rumour, at all events, is going the round. This morning the paper alluded to it. It would be of the utmost

importance for our district. But we'll talk it over later on. I can see, thank you; Justin has the lantern."

The next day was a dreary one for Emma. Everything seemed to her enveloped in a black atmosphere

floating confusedly over the exterior of things, and sorrow was engulfed within her soul with soft shrieks

such as the winter wind makes in ruined castles. It was that reverie which we give to things that will not

return, the lassitude that seizes you after everything was done; that pain, in fine, that the interruption of every

As on the return from Vaubyessard, when the quadrilles were running in her head, she was full of a

gloomy melancholy, of a numb despair. Leon reappeared, taller, handsomer, more charming, more vague.

Though separated from her, he had not left her; he was there, and the walls of the house seemed to hold his

She could not detach her eyes from the carpet where he had walked, from those empty chairs where

he had sat. The river still flowed on, and slowly drove its ripples along the slippery banks.

They had often walked there to the murmur of the waves over the mosscovered pebbles. How

bright the sun had been! What happy afternoons they had seen along in the shade at the end of the garden! He

read aloud, bareheaded, sitting on a footstool of dry sticks; the fresh wind of the meadow set trembling the

leaves of the book and the nasturtiums of the arbour. Ah! he was gone, the only charm of her life, the only

possible hope of joy. Why had she not seized this happiness when it came to her? Why not have kept hold of

it with both hands, with both knees, when it was about to flee from her? And she cursed herself for not having

loved Leon. She thirsted for his lips. The wish took possession of her to run after and rejoin him, throw

herself into his arms and say to him, "It is I; I am yours." But Emma recoiled beforehand at the difficulties of

the enterprise, and her desires, increased by regret, became only the more acute.

Henceforth the memory of Leon was the centre of her boredom; it burnt there more brightly than the

fire travellers have left on the snow of a Russian steppe. She sprang towards him, she pressed against him,

she stirred carefully the dying embers, sought all around her anything that could revive it; and the most

distant reminiscences, like the most immediate occasions, what she experienced as well as what she

imagined, her voluptuous desires that were unsatisfied, her projects of happiness that crackled in the wind

like dead boughs, her sterile virtue, her lost hopes, the domestic teteateteshe gathered it all up, took

The flames, however, subsided, either because the supply had exhausted itself, or because it had been

piled up too much. Love, little by little, was quelled by absence; regret stifled beneath habit; and this

incendiary light that had empurpled her pale sky was overspread and faded by degrees. In the supineness of

her conscience she even took her repugnance towards her husband for aspirations towards her lover, the

burning of hate for the warmth of tenderness; but as the tempest still raged, and as passion burnt itself down

to the very cinders, and no help came, no sun rose, there was night on all sides, and she was lost in the terrible

Then the evil days of Tostes began again. She thought herself now far more unhappy; for she had the

A woman who had laid on herself such sacrifices could well allow herself certain whims. She bought

a Gothic priedieu, and in a month spent fourteen francs on lemons for polishing her nails; she wrote to

Rouen for a blue cashmere gown; she chose one of Lheureux's finest scarves, and wore it knotted around her

waist over her dressinggown; and, with closed blinds and a book in her hand, she lay stretched out on a

She often changed her coiffure; she did her hair a la Chinoise, in flowing curls, in plaited coils; she

She wanted to learn Italian; she bought dictionaries, a grammar, and a supply of white paper. She

tried serious reading, history, and philosophy. Sometimes in the night Charles woke up with a start, thinking

he stammered; and it was the noise of a match Emma had struck to relight the lamp. But her reading

fared like her piece of embroidery, all of which, only just begun, filled her cupboard; she took it up, left it,

She had attacks in which she could easily have been driven to commit any folly. She maintained one

day, in opposition to her husband, that she could drink off a large glass of brandy, and, as Charles was stupid

In spite of her vapourish airs (as the housewives of Yonville called them), Emma, all the same, never

seemed gay, and usually she had at the corners of her mouth that immobile contraction that puckers the faces

of old maids, and those of men whose ambition has failed. She was pale all over, white as a sheet; the skin of

her nose was drawn at the nostrils, her eyes looked at you vaguely. After discovering three grey hairs on her

She often fainted. One day she even spat blood, and, as Charles fussed around her showing his

Charles fled to his study and wept there, both his elbows on the table, sitting in an armchair at his

Then he wrote to his mother begging her to come, and they had many long consultations together on

What should they decide? What was to be done since she rejected all medical treatment? "Do you

If she were obliged, like so many others, to earn her living, she wouldn't have these vapours, that

come to her from a lot of ideas she stuffs into her head, and from the idleness in which she lives.

"Ah! always busy at what? Reading novels, bad books, works against religion, and in which they

mock at priests in speeches taken from Voltaire. But all that leads you far astray, my poor child. Anyone who

So it was decided to stop Emma reading novels. The enterprise did not seem easy. The good lady

undertook it. She was, when she passed through Rouen, to go herself to the lendinglibrary and represent that

Emma had discontinued her subscription. Would they not have a right to apply to the police if the librarian

persisted all the same in his poisonous trade? The farewells of mother and daughterinlaw were cold.

During the three weeks that they had been together they had not exchanged halfadozen words apart from

the inquiries and phrases when they met at table and in the evening before going to bed.

The Place since morning had been blocked by a row of carts, which, on end and their shafts in the

air, spread all along the line of houses from the church to the inn. On the other side there were canvas booths,

where cotton checks, blankets, and woollen stockings were sold, together with harness for horses, and packets

of blue ribbon, whose ends fluttered in the wind. The coarse hardware was spread out on the ground between

Near the cornmachines clucking hens passed their necks through the bars of flat cages. The people,

crowding in the same place and unwilling to move thence, sometimes threatened to smash the shop front of

the chemist. On Wednesdays his shop was never empty, and the people pushed in less to buy drugs than for

consultations. So great was Homais' reputation in the neighbouring villages. His robust aplomb had

fascinated the rustics. They considered him a greater doctor than all the doctors.

Emma was leaning out at the window; she was often there. The window in the provinces replaces the

theatre and the promenade, she was amusing herself with watching the crowd of boors when she saw a

gentleman in a green velvet coat. He had on yellow gloves, although he wore heavy gaiters; he was coming

towards the doctor's house, followed by a peasant walking with a bent head and quite a thoughtful air.

"Can I see the doctor?" he asked Justin, who was talking on the doorsteps with Felicite, and, taking

him for a servant of the house"Tell him that Monsieur Rodolphe Boulanger of La Huchette is here."

It was not from territorial vanity that the new arrival added "of La Huchette" to his name, but to

La Huchette, in fact, was an estate near Yonville, where he had just bought the chateau and two

farms that he cultivated himself, without, however, troubling very much about them. He lived as a bachelor,

Charles came into the room. Monsieur Boulanger introduced his man, who wanted to be bled

So Bovary ordered a bandage and a basin, and asked Justin to hold it. Then addressing the peasant,

And with an air of bravado he held out his great arm. At the prick of the lancet the blood spurted out,

"Lor!" said the peasant, "one would swear it was a little fountain flowing. How red my blood is!

"Sometimes," answered the doctor, "one feels nothing at first, and then syncope sets in, and more

At these words the rustic let go the lancetcase he was twisting between his fingers. A shudder of his

The basin was beginning to tremble in Justin's hands; his knees shook, he turned pale.

"It is nothing," said Monsieur Boulanger quietly, taking Justin in his arms. He seated him on the

Madame Bovary began taking off his cravat. The strings of his shirt had got into a knot, and she was

for some minutes moving her light fingers about the young fellow's neck. Then she poured some vinegar on

her cambric handkerchief; she moistened his temples with little dabs, and then blew upon them softly. The

ploughman revived, but Justin's syncope still lasted, and his eyeballs disappeared in the pale sclerotics like

Madame Bovary took the basin to put it under the table. With the movement she made in bending

down, her dress (it was a summer dress with four flounces, yellow, long in the waist and wide in the skirt)

spread out around her on the flags of the room; and as Emma stooping, staggered a little as she stretched out

Then she went to fetch a bottle of water, and she was melting some pieces of sugar when the chemist

arrived. The servant had been to fetch him in the tumult. Seeing his pupil's eyes staring he drew a long breath;

"Fool!" he said, "really a little fool! A fool in four letters! A phlebotomy's a big affair, isn't it! And a

fellow who isn't afraid of anything; a kind of squirrel, just as he is who climbs to vertiginous heights to shake

down nuts. Oh, yes! you just talk to me, boast about yourself! Here's a fine fitness for practising pharmacy

later on; for under serious circumstances you may be called before the tribunals in order to enlighten the

minds of the magistrates, and you would have to keep your head then, to reason, show yourself a man, or else

"Who asked you to come? You are always pestering the doctor and madame. On Wednesday,

moreover, your presence is indispensable to me. There are now twenty people in the shop. I left everything

because of the interest I take in you. Come, get along! Sharp! Wait for me, and keep an eye on the jars."

When Justin, who was rearranging his dress, had gone, they talked for a little while about

"That is extraordinary for a lady," said Monsieur Boulanger; "but some people are very susceptible.

Thus in a duel, I have seen a second lose consciousness at the mere sound of the loading of pistols."

"For my part," said the chemist, "the sight of other people's blood doesn't affect me at all, but the

mere thought of my own flowing would make me faint if I reflected upon it too much."

Monsieur Boulanger, however, dismissed his servant, advising him to calm himself, since his fancy

"It procured me the advantage of making your acquaintance," he added, and he looked at Emma as

he said this. Then he put three francs on the corner of the table, bowed negligently, and went out.

He was soon on the other side of the river (this was his way back to La Huchette), and Emma saw

him in the meadow, walking under the poplars, slackening his pace now and then as one who reflects.

"She is very pretty," he said to himself; "she is very pretty, this doctor's wife. Fine teeth, black eyes,

a dainty foot, a figure like a Parisienne's. Where the devil does she come from? Wherever did that fat fellow

Monsieur Rodolphe Boulanger was thirtyfour; he was of brutal temperament and intelligent

perspicacity, having, moreover, had much to do with women, and knowing them well. This one had seemed

"I think he is very stupid. She is tired of him, no doubt. He has dirty nails, and hasn't shaved for three

days. While he is trotting after his patients, she sits there botching socks. And she gets bored! She would like

to live in town and dance polkas every evening. Poor little woman! She is gaping after love like a carp after

water on a kitchentable. With three words of gallantry she'd adore one, I'm sure of it. She'd be tender,

Then the difficulties of lovemaking seen in the distance made him by contrast think of his mistress.

She was an actress at Rouen, whom he kept; and when he had pondered over this image, with which, even in

"Ah! Madame Bovary," he thought, "is much prettier, especially fresher. Virginie is decidedly

beginning to grow fat. She is so finikin about her pleasures; and, besides, she has a mania for prawns."

The fields were empty, and around him Rodolphe only heard the regular beating of the grass striking

against his boots, with a cry of the grasshopper hidden at a distance among the oats. He again saw Emma in

"Oh, I will have her," he cried, striking a blow with his stick at a clod in front of him. And he at once

"Where shall we meet? By what means? We shall always be having the brat on our hands, and the

servant, the neighbours, and husband, all sorts of worries. Pshaw! one would lose too much time over it."

Then he resumed, "She really has eyes that pierce one's heart like a gimlet. And that pale

When he reached the top of the Arguiel hills he had made up his mind. "It's only finding the

opportunities. Well, I will call in now and then. I'll send them venison, poultry; I'll have myself bled, if need

be. We shall become friends; I'll invite them to my place. By Jove!" added he, "there's the agricultural show

coming on. She'll be there. I shall see her. We'll begin boldly, for that's the surest way."

At last it came, the famous agricultural show. On the morning of the solemnity all the inhabitants at

their doors were chatting over the preparations. The pediment of the town hall had been hung with garlands

of ivy; a tent had been erected in a meadow for the banquet; and in the middle of the Place, in front of the

church, a kind of bombarde was to announce the arrival of the prefect and the names of the successful

farmers who had obtained prizes. The National Guard of Buchy (there was none at Yonville) had come to

join the corps of firemen, of whom Binet was captain. On that day he wore a collar even higher than usual;

and, tightly buttoned in his tunic, his figure was so stiff and motionless that the whole vital portion of his

person seemed to have descended into his legs, which rose in a cadence of set steps with a single movement.

As there was some rivalry between the taxcollector and the colonel, both, to show off their talents, drilled

their men separately. One saw the red epaulettes and the black breastplates pass and repass alternately; there

was no end to it, and it constantly began again. There had never been such a display of pomp. Several citizens

had scoured their houses the evening before; tricoloured flags hung from halfopen windows; all the

publichouses were full; and in the lovely weather the starched caps, the golden crosses, and the coloured

neckerchiefs seemed whiter than snow, shone in the sun, and relieved with the motley colours the sombre

monotony of the frockcoats and blue smocks. The neighbouring farmers' wives, when they got off their

horses, pulled out the long pins that fastened around them their dresses, turned up for fear of mud; and the

husbands, for their part, in order to save their hats, kept their handkerchiefs around them, holding one corner

The crowd came into the main street from both ends of the village. People poured in from the lanes,

the alleys, the houses; and from time to time one heard knockers banging against doors closing behind

women with their gloves, who were going out to see the fete. What was most admired were two long

lampstands covered with lanterns, that flanked a platform on which the authorities were to sit. Besides this

there were against the four columns of the town hall four kinds of poles, each bearing a small standard of

On one was written, "To Commerce"; on the other, "To Agriculture"; on the third, "To Industry"; and

But the jubilation that brightened all faces seemed to darken that of Madame Lefrancois, the

innkeeper. Standing on her kitchensteps she muttered to herself, "What rubbish! what rubbish! With their

canvas booth! Do they think the prefect will be glad to dine down there under a tent like a gipsy? They call

all this fussing doing good to the place! Then it wasn't worth while sending to Neufchatel for the keeper of a

The druggist was passing. He had on a frockcoat, nankeen trousers, beaver shoes, and, for a

"Your servant! Excuse me, I am in a hurry." And as the fat widow asked where he was going

"It seems odd to you, doesn't it, I who am always more cooped up in my laboratory than the man's rat

"Oh, nothing! nothing!" Homais continued. "I merely wished to convey to you, Madame Lefrancois,

that I usually live at home like a recluse. Today, however, considering the circumstances, it is necessary"

"Yes, I am going," replied the druggist, astonished. "Am I not a member of the consulting

Mere Lefrancois looked at him for a few moments, and ended by saying with a smile

"That's another pair of shoes! But what does agriculture matter to you? Do you understand anything

"Certainly I understand it, since I am a druggistthat is to say, a chemist. And the object of

chemistry, Madame Lefrancois, being the knowledge of the reciprocal and molecular action of all natural

bodies, it follows that agriculture is comprised within its domain. And, in fact, the composition of the

manure, the fermentation of liquids, the analyses of gases, and the influence of miasmata, what, I ask you, is

"Do you think that to be an agriculturist it is necessary to have tilled the earth or fattened fowls

oneself? It is necessary rather to know the composition of the substances in questionthe geological strata,

the atmospheric actions, the quality of the soil, the minerals, the waters, the density of the different bodies,

their capillarity, and what not. And one must be master of all the principles of hygiene in order to direct,

criticize the construction of buildings, the feeding of animals, the diet of domestics. And, moreover, Madame

Lefrancois, one must know botany, be able to distinguish between plants, you understand, which are the

wholesome and those that are deleterious, which are unproductive and which nutritive, if it is well to pull

them up here and resow them there, to propagate some, destroy others; in brief, one must keep pace with

science by means of pamphlets and public papers, be always on the alert to find out improvements."

The landlady never took her eyes off the "Cafe Francois" and the chemist went on

"Would to God our agriculturists were chemists, or that at least they would pay more attention to the

counsels of science. Thus lately I myself wrote a considerable tract, a memoir of over seventytwo pages,

entitled, 'Cider, its Manufacture and its Effects, together with some New Reflections on the Subject,' that I

sent to the Agricultural Society of Rouen, and which even procured me the honour of being received among

Well, if my work had been given to the public" But the druggist stopped, Madame Lefrancois

"Just look at them!" she said. "It's past comprehension! Such a cookshop as that!" And with a shrug

of the shoulders that stretched out over her breast the stitches of her knitted bodice, she pointed with both

hands at her rival's inn, whence songs were heard issuing. "Well, it won't last long," she added. "It'll be over

Homais drew back with stupefaction. She came down three steps and whispered in his ear

"What! you didn't know it? There is to be an execution in next week. It's Lheureux who is selling

"What a terrible catastrophe!" cried the druggist, who always found expressions in harmony with all

Then the landlady began telling him the story that she had heard from Theodore, Monsieur

Guillaumin's servant, and although she detested Tellier, she blamed Lheureux. He was "a wheedler, a sneak."

"There!" she said. "Look at him! he is in the market; he is bowing to Madame Bovary, who's got on a

"Madame Bovary!" exclaimed Homais. "I must go at once and pay her my respects. Perhaps she'll be

very glad to have a seat in the enclosure under the peristyle." And, without heeding Madame Lefrancois, who

was calling him back to tell him more about it, the druggist walked off rapidly with a smile on his lips, with

straight knees, bowing copiously to right and left, and taking up much room with the large tails of his

Rodolphe, having caught sight of him from afar, hurried on, but Madame Bovary lost her breath; so

"It's only to get away from that fat fellow, you know, the druggist." She pressed his elbow.

"What's the meaning of that?" he asked himself. And he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.

Her profile was so calm that one could guess nothing from it. It stood out in the light from the oval of

her bonnet, with pale ribbons on it like the leaves of weeds. Her eyes with their long curved lashes looked

straight before her, and though wide open, they seemed slightly puckered by the cheekbones, because of the

blood pulsing gently under the delicate skin. A pink line ran along the partition between her nostrils. Her

head was bent upon her shoulder, and the pearl tips of her white teeth were seen between her lips.

Emma's gesture, however, had only been meant for a warning; for Monsieur Lheureux was

accompanying them, and spoke now and again as if to enter into the conversation.

And neither Madame Bovary nor Rodolphe answered him, whilst at the slightest movement made by

When they reached the farrier's house, instead of following the road up to the fence, Rodolphe

"Why," he went on, "allow oneself to be intruded upon by others? And as today I have the

Emma blushed. He did not finish his sentence. Then he talked of the fine weather and of the pleasure

"Here are some pretty Easter daisies," he said, "and enough of them to furnish oracles to all the

The meadow began to fill, and the housewives hustled you with their great umbrellas, their baskets,

and their babies. One had often to get out of the way of a long file of country folk, servantmaids with blue

stockings, flat shoes, silver rings, and who smelt of milk, when one passed close to them. They walked along

holding one another by the hand, and thus they spread over the whole field from the row of open trees to the

But this was the examination time, and the farmers one after the other entered a kind of enclosure

The beasts were there, their noses towards the cord, and making a confused line with their unequal

rumps. Drowsy pigs were burrowing in the earth with their snouts, calves were bleating, lambs baaing; the

cows, on knees folded in, were stretching their bellies on the grass, slowly chewing the cud, and blinking

their heavy eyelids at the gnats that buzzed round them. Ploughmen with bare arms were holding by the

halter prancing stallions that neighed with dilated nostrils looking towards the mares. These stood quietly,

stretching out their heads and flowing manes, while their foals rested in their shadow, or now and then came

and sucked them. And above the long undulation of these crowded animals one saw some white mane rising

in the wind like a wave, or some sharp horns sticking out, and the heads of men running about. Apart, outside

the enclosure, a hundred paces off, was a large black bull, muzzled, with an iron ring in its nostrils, and who

moved no more than if he had been in bronze. A child in rags was holding him by a rope.

Between the two lines the committeemen were walking with heavy steps, examining each animal,

then consulting one another in a low voice. One who seemed of more importance now and then took notes in

a book as he walked along. This was the president of the jury, Monsieur Derozerays de la Panville. As soon

Rodolphe protested that he was just coming. But when the president had disappeared

And while poking fun at the show, Rodolphe, to move about more easily, showed the gendarme his

blue card, and even stopped now and then in front of some fine beast, which Madame Bovary did not at all

admire. He noticed this, and began jeering at the Yonville ladies and their dresses; then he apologised for the

negligence of his own. He had that incongruity of common and elegant in which the habitually vulgar think

they see the revelation of an eccentric existence, of the perturbations of sentiment, the tyrannies of art, and

always a certain contempt for social conventions, that seduces or exasperates them. Thus his cambric shirt

with plaited cuffs was blown out by the wind in the opening of his waistcoat of grey ticking, and his

broadstriped trousers disclosed at the ankle nankeen boots with patent leather gaiters.

These were so polished that they reflected the grass. He trampled on horses's dung with them, one

"That is true," replied Rodolphe. "To think that not one of these people is capable of understanding

Then they talked about provincial mediocrity, of the lives it crushed, the illusions lost there.

"Ah! yes. I seem so, because in the midst of the world I know how to wear the mask of a scoffer

upon my face; and yet, how many a time at the sight of a cemetery by moonlight have I not asked myself

"My friends! What friends? Have I any? Who cares for me?" And he accompanied the last words

But they were obliged to separate from each other because of a great pile of chairs that a man was

carrying behind them. He was so overladen with them that one could only see the tips of his wooden shoes

and the ends of his two outstretched arms. It was Lestiboudois, the gravedigger, who was carrying the church

chairs about amongst the people. Alive to all that concerned his interests, he had hit upon this means of

turning the show to account; and his idea was succeeding, for he no longer knew which way to turn. In fact,

the villagers, who were hot, quarreled for these seats, whose straw smelt of incense, and they leant against the

"Yes, I have missed so many things. Always alone! Ah! if I had some aim in life, if I had met some

love, if I had found someone! Oh, how I would have spent all the energy of which I am capable, surmounted

And she protested that she was not mocking him, when the report of a cannon resounded.

It was a false alarm. The prefect seemed not to be coming, and the members of the jury felt much

At last at the end of the Place a large hired landau appeared, drawn by two thin horses, which a

coachman in a white hat was whipping lustily. Binet had only just time to shout, "Present arms!" and the

colonel to imitate him. All ran towards the enclosure; everyone pushed forward. A few even forgot their

collars; but the equipage of the prefect seemed to anticipate the crowd, and the two yoked jades, trapesing in

their harness, came up at a little trot in front of the peristyle of the town hall at the very moment when the

And after presenting arms, during which the clang of the band, letting loose, rang out like a brass

kettle rolling downstairs, all the guns were lowered. Then was seen stepping down from the carriage a

gentleman in a short coat with silver braiding, with bald brow, and wearing a tuft of hair at the back of his

head, of a sallow complexion and the most benign appearance. His eyes, very large and covered by heavy

lids, were halfclosed to look at the crowd, while at the same time he raised his sharp nose, and forced a

smile upon his sunken mouth. He recognised the mayor by his scarf, and explained to him that the prefect

was not able to come. He himself was a councillor at the prefecture; then he added a few apologies. Monsieur

Tuvache answered them with compliments; the other confessed himself nervous; and they remained thus,

face to face, their foreheads almost touching, with the members of the jury all round, the municipal council,

the notable personages, the National Guard and the crowd. The councillor pressing his little cocked hat to his

breast repeated his bows, while Tuvache, bent like a bow, also smiled, stammered, tried to say something,

protested his devotion to the monarchy and the honour that was being done to Yonville.

Hippolyte, the groom from the inn, took the head of the horses from the coachman, and, limping

along with his clubfoot, led them to the door of the "Lion d'Or", where a number of peasants collected to

look at the carriage. The drum beat, the howitzer thundered, and the gentlemen one by one mounted the

platform, where they sat down in red utrecht velvet armchairs that had been lent by Madame Tuvache.

All these people looked alike. Their fair flabby faces, somewhat tanned by the sun, were the colour

of sweet cider, and their puffy whiskers emerged from stiff collars, kept up by white cravats with broad bows.

All the waistcoats were of velvet, doublebreasted; all the watches had, at the end of a long ribbon, an oval

cornelian seal; everyone rested his two hands on his thighs, carefully stretching the stride of their trousers,

whose unsponged glossy cloth shone more brilliantly than the leather of their heavy boots.

The ladies of the company stood at the back under the vestibule between the pillars while the

common herd was opposite, standing up or sitting on chairs. As a matter of fact, Lestiboudois had brought

thither all those that he had moved from the field, and he even kept running back every minute to fetch others

from the church. He caused such confusion with this piece of business that one had great difficulty in getting

"I think," said Monsieur Lheureux to the chemist, who was passing to his place, "that they ought to

have put up two Venetian masts with something rather severe and rich for ornaments; it would have been a

"To be sure," replied Homais; "but what can you expect? The mayor took everything on his own

shoulders. He hasn't much taste. Poor Tuvache! and he is even completely destitute of what is called the

Rodolphe, meanwhile, with Madame Bovary, had gone up to the first floor of the town hall, to the

"councilroom," and, as it was empty, he declared that they could enjoy the sight there more comfortably. He

fetched three stools from the round table under the bust of the monarch, and having carried them to one of the

There was commotion on the platform, long whisperings, much parleying. At last the councillor got

up. They knew now that his name was Lieuvain, and in the crowd the name was passed from one to the other.

"Gentlemen! May I be permitted first of all (before addressing you on the object of our meeting

today, and this sentiment will, I am sure, be shared by you all), may I be permitted, I say, to pay a tribute to

the higher administration, to the government to the monarch, gentle men, our sovereign, to that beloved king,

to whom no branch of public or private prosperity is a matter of indifference, and who directs with a hand at

once so firm and wise the chariot of the state amid the incessant perils of a stormy sea, knowing, moreover,

how to make peace respected as well as war, industry, commerce, agriculture, and the fine arts?"

But at this moment the voice of the councillor rose to an extraordinary pitch. He declaimed

"This is no longer the time, gentlemen, when civil discord ensanguined our public places, when the

landlord, the businessman, the workingman himself, falling asleep at night, lying down to peaceful sleep,

trembled lest he should be awakened suddenly by the noise of incendiary tocsins, when the most subversive

"Well, someone down there might see me," Rodolphe resumed, "then I should have to invent excuses

"But, gentlemen," continued the councillor, "if, banishing from my memory the remembrance of

these sad pictures, I carry my eyes back to the actual situation of our dear country, what do I see there?

Everywhere commerce and the arts are flourishing; everywhere new means of communication, like so many

new arteries in the body of the state, establish within it new relations. Our great industrial centres have

recovered all their activity; religion, more consolidated, smiles in all hearts; our ports are full, confidence is

"Besides," added Rodolphe, "perhaps from the world's point of view they are right."

"What!" said he. "Do you not know that there are souls constantly tormented? They need by turns to

dream and to act, the purest passions and the most turbulent joys, and thus they fling themselves into all sorts

Then she looked at him as one looks at a traveller who has voyaged over strange lands, and went

"You, farmers, agricultural labourers! you pacific pioneers of a work that belongs wholly to

civilization! you, men of progress and morality, you have understood, I say, that political storms are even

"It comes one day," repeated Rodolphe, "one day suddenly, and when one is despairing of it. Then

the horizon expands; it is as if a voice cried, 'It is here!' You feel the need of confiding the whole of your life,

of giving everything, sacrificing everything to this being. There is no need for explanations; they understand

(And he looked at her.) "In fine, here it is, this treasure so sought after, here before you. It glitters, it

flashes; yet one still doubts, one does not believe it; one remains dazzled, as if one went out iron darkness

And as he ended Rodolphe suited the action to the word. He passed his hand over his face, like a man

"And who would be surprised at it, gentlemen? He only who is so blind, so plunged (I do not fear to

say it), so plunged in the prejudices of another age as still to misunderstand the spirit of agricultural

populations. Where, indeed, is to be found more patriotism than in the country, greater devotion to the public

welfare, more intelligence, in a word? And, gentlemen, I do not mean that superficial intelligence, vain

ornament of idle minds, but rather that profound and balanced intelligence that applies itself above all else to

useful objects, thus contributing to the good of all, to the common amelioration and to the support of the

"Ah! again!" said Rodolphe. "Always 'duty.' I am sick of the word. They are a lot of old blockheads

in flannel vests and of old women with footwarmers and rosaries who constantly drone into our ears 'Duty,

duty!' Ah! by Jove! one's duty is to feel what is great, cherish the beautiful, and not accept all the conventions

"No, no! Why cry out against the passions? Are they not the one beautiful thing on the earth, the

source of heroism, of enthusiasm, of poetry, music, the arts, of everything, in a word?"

"But one must," said Emma, "to some extent bow to the opinion of the world and accept its moral

"Ah! but there are two," he replied. "The small, the conventional, that of men, that which constantly

changes, that brays out so loudly, that makes such a commotion here below, of the earth earthly, like the mass

But the other, the eternal, that is about us and above, like the landscape that surrounds us, and the

Monsieur Lieuvain had just wiped his mouth with a pockethandkerchief. He continued

"And what should I do here gentlemen, pointing out to you the uses of agriculture? Who supplies our

wants? Who provides our means of subsistence? Is it not the agriculturist? The agriculturist, gentlemen, who,

sowing with laborious hand the fertile furrows of the country, brings forth the corn, which, being ground, is

made into a powder by means of ingenious machinery, comes out thence under the name of flour, and from

there, transported to our cities, is soon delivered at the baker's, who makes it into food for poor and rich alike.

Again, is it not the agriculturist who fattens, for our clothes, his abundant flocks in the pastures? For how

should we clothe ourselves, how nourish ourselves, without the agriculturist? And, gentlemen, is it even

necessary to go so far for examples? Who has not frequently reflected on all the momentous things that we

get out of that modest animal, the ornament of poultryyards, that provides us at once with a soft pillow for

our bed, with succulent flesh for our tables, and eggs? But I should never end if I were to enumerate one after

the other all the different products which the earth, well cultivated, like a generous mother, lavishes upon her

children. Here it is the vine, elsewhere the apple tree for cider, there colza, farther on cheeses and flax.

Gentlemen, let us not forget flax, which has made such great strides of late years, and to which I will more

He had no need to call it, for all the mouths of the multitude were wide open, as if to drink in his

words. Tuvache by his side listened to him with staring eyes. Monsieur Derozerays from time to time softly

closed his eyelids, and farther on the chemist, with his son Napoleon between his knees, put his hand behind

his ear in order not to lose a syllable. The chins of the other members of the jury went slowly up and down in

their waistcoats in sign of approval. The firemen at the foot of the platform rested on their bayonets; and

Binet, motionless, stood with outturned elbows, the point of his sabre in the air. Perhaps he could hear, but

certainly he could see nothing, because of the visor of his helmet, that fell down on his nose. His lieutenant,

the youngest son of Monsieur Tuvache, had a bigger one, for his was enormous, and shook on his head, and

from it an end of his cotton scarf peeped out. He smiled beneath it with a perfectly infantine sweetness, and

his pale little face, whence drops were running, wore an expression of enjoyment and sleepiness.

The square as far as the houses was crowded with people. One saw folk leaning on their elbows at all

the windows, others standing at doors, and Justin, in front of the chemist's shop, seemed quite transfixed by

the sight of what he was looking at. In spite of the silence Monsieur Lieuvain's voice was lost in the air. It

reached you in fragments of phrases, and interrupted here and there by the creaking of chairs in the crowd;

then you suddenly heard the long bellowing of an ox, or else the bleating of the lambs, who answered one

another at street corners. In fact, the cowherds and shepherds had driven their beasts thus far, and these lowed

from time to time, while with their tongues they tore down some scrap of foliage that hung above their

Rodolphe had drawn nearer to Emma, and said to her in a low voice, speaking rapidly

"Does not this conspiracy of the world revolt you? Is there a single sentiment it does not condemn?

The noblest instincts, the purest sympathies are persecuted, slandered; and if at length two poor souls do

meet, all is so organised that they cannot blend together. Yet they will make the attempt; they will flutter their

wings; they will call upon each other. Oh! no matter. Sooner or later, in six months, ten years, they will come

together, will love; for fate has decreed it, and they are born one for the other."

His arms were folded across his knees, and thus lifting his face towards Emma, close by her, he

looked fixedly at her. She noticed in his eyes small golden lines radiating from black pupils; she even smelt

Then a faintness came over her; she recalled the Viscount who had waltzed with her at Vaubyessard,

and his beard exhaled like this air an odour of vanilla and citron, and mechanically she halfclosed her eyes

the better to breathe it in. But in making this movement, as she leant back in her chair, she saw in the

distance, right on the line of the horizon, the old diligence, the "Hirondelle," that was slowly descending the

hill of Leux, dragging after it a long trail of dust. It was in this yellow carriage that Leon had so often come

back to her, and by this route down there that he had gone for ever. She fancied she saw him opposite at his

windows; then all grew confused; clouds gathered; it seemed to her that she was again turning in the waltz

under the light of the lustres on the arm of the Viscount, and that Leon was not far away, that he was coming;

and yet all the time she was conscious of the scent of Rodolphe's head by her side. This sweetness of

sensation pierced through her old desires, and these, like grains of sand under a gust of wind, eddied to and

fro in the subtle breath of the perfume which suffused her soul. She opened wide her nostrils several times to

drink in the freshness of the ivy round the capitals. She took off her gloves, she wiped her hands, then fanned

her face with her handkerchief, while athwart the throbbing of her temples she heard the murmur of the

crowd and the voice of the councillor intoning his phrases. He said"Continue, persevere; listen neither to

Apply yourselves, above all, to the amelioration of the soil, to good manures, to the development of

the equine, bovine, ovine, and porcine races. Let these shows be to you pacific arenas, where the victor in

leaving it will hold forth a hand to the vanquished, and will fraternise with him in the hope of better success.

And you, aged servants, humble domestics, whose hard labour no Government up to this day has taken into

consideration, come hither to receive the reward of your silent virtues, and be assured that the state

henceforward has its eye upon you; that it encourages you, protects you; that it will accede to your just

demands, and alleviate as much as in it lies the burden of your painful sacrifices."

Monsieur Lieuvain then sat down; Monsieur Derozerays got up, beginning another speech. His was

not perhaps so florid as that of the councillor, but it recommended itself by a more direct style, that is to say,

by more special knowledge and more elevated considerations. Thus the praise of the Government took up less

space in it; religion and agriculture more. He showed in it the relations of these two, and how they had always

contributed to civilisation. Rodolphe with Madame Bovary was talking dreams, presentiments, magnetism.

Going back to the cradle of society, the orator painted those fierce times when men lived on acorns in the

heart of woods. Then they had left off the skins of beasts, had put on cloth, tilled the soil, planted the vine.

Was this a good, and in this discovery was there not more of injury than of gain? Monsieur Derozerays set

himself this problem. From magnetism little by little Rodolphe had come to affinities, and while the president

was citing Cincinnatus and his plough, Diocletian, planting his cabbages, and the Emperors of China

inaugurating the year by the sowing of seed, the young man was explaining to the young woman that these

"Thus we," he said, "why did we come to know one another? What chance willed it? It was because

across the infinite, like two streams that flow but to unite; our special bents of mind had driven us towards

"For I have never in the society of any other person found so complete a charm."

"Porcine race; prizesequal, to Messrs. Leherisse and Cullembourg, sixty francs!"

Rodolphe was pressing her hand, and he felt it all warm and quivering like a captive dove that wants

to fly away; but, whether she was trying to take it away or whether she was answering his pressure; she made

"Oh, I thank you! You do not repulse me! You are good! You understand that I am yours! Let me

A gust of wind that blew in at the window ruffled the cloth on the table, and in the square below all

the great caps of the peasant women were uplifted by it like the wings of white butterflies fluttering.

Rodolphe was no longer speaking. They looked at one another. A supreme desire made their dry lips

"Catherine Nicaise Elizabeth Leroux, of SassetotlaGuerriere, for fiftyfour years of service at the

Then there came forward on the platform a little old woman with timid bearing, who seemed to

shrink within her poor clothes. On her feet she wore heavy wooden clogs, and from her hips hung a large blue

apron. Her pale face framed in a borderless cap was more wrinkled than a withered russet apple. And from

the sleeves of her red jacket looked out two large hands with knotty joints, the dust of barns, the potash of

washing the grease of wools had so encrusted, roughened, hardened these that they seemed dirty, although

they had been rinsed in clear water; and by dint of long service they remained half open, as if to bear humble

witness for themselves of so much suffering endured. Something of monastic rigidity dignified her face.

Nothing of sadness or of emotion weakened that pale look. In her constant living with animals she had caught

their dumbness and their calm. It was the first time that she found herself in the midst of so large a company,

and inwardly scared by the flags, the drums, the gentlemen in frockcoats, and the order of the councillor,

she stood motionless, not knowing whether to advance or run away, nor why the crowd was pushing her and

"Approach, venerable Catherine Nicaise Elizabeth Leroux!" said the councillor, who had taken the

list of prizewinners from the president; and, looking at the piece of paper and the old woman by turns, he

"Are you deaf?" said Tuvache, fidgeting in his armchair; and he began shouting in her ear,

Then, when she had her medal, she looked at it, and a smile of beatitude spread over her face; and as

she walked away they could hear her muttering "I'll give it to our cure up home, to say some masses for me!"

The meeting was over, the crowd dispersed, and now that the speeches had been read, each one fell

back into his place again, and everything into the old grooves; the masters bullied the servants, and these

struck the animals, indolent victors, going back to the stalls, a greencrown on their horns.

The National Guards, however, had gone up to the first floor of the town hall with buns spitted on

their bayonets, and the drummer of the battalion carried a basket with bottles. Madame Bovary took

Rodolphe's arm; he saw her home; they separated at her door; then he walked about alone in the meadow

The feast was long, noisy, ill served; the guests were so crowded that they could hardly move their

elbows; and the narrow planks used for forms almost broke down under their weight. They ate hugely. Each

one stuffed himself on his own account. Sweat stood on every brow, and a whitish steam, like the vapour of a

stream on an autumn morning, floated above the table between the hanging lamps. Rodolphe, leaning against

the calico of the tent was thinking so earnestly of Emma that he heard nothing. Behind him on the grass the

servants were piling up the dirty plates, his neighbours were talking; he did not answer them; they filled his

glass, and there was silence in his thoughts in spite of the growing noise. He was dreaming of what she had

said, of the line of her lips; her face, as in a magic mirror, shone on the plates of the shakos, the folds of her

gown fell along the walls, and days of love unrolled to all infinity before him in the vistas of the future.

He saw her again in the evening during the fireworks, but she was with her husband, Madame

Homais, and the druggist, who was worrying about the danger of stray rockets, and every moment he left the

The pyrotechnic pieces sent to Monsieur Tuvache had, through an excess of caution, been shut up in

his cellar, and so the damp powder would not light, and the principal set piece, that was to represent a dragon

biting his tail, failed completely. Now and then a meagre Romancandle went off; then the gaping crowd sent

up a shout that mingled with the cry of the women, whose waists were being squeezed in the darkness. Emma

silently nestled against Charles's shoulder; then, raising her chin, she watched the luminous rays of the

rockets against the dark sky. Rodolphe gazed at her in the light of the burning lanterns.

They went out one by one. The stars shone out. A few crops of rain began to fall. She knotted her

His coachman, who was drunk, suddenly dozed off, and one could see from the distance, above the

hood, between the two lanterns, the mass of his body, that swayed from right to left with the giving of the

"Truly," said the druggist, "one ought to proceed most rigorously against drunkenness! I should like

to see written up weekly at the door of the town hall on a board ad hoc* the names of all those who during the

week got intoxicated on alcohol. Besides, with regard to statistics, one would thus have, as it were, public

And he once more ran off to the captain. The latter was going back to see his lathe again.

"Perhaps you would not do ill," Homais said to him, "to send one of your men, or to go yourself"

"Do not be uneasy," said the druggist, when he returned to his friends. "Monsieur Binet has assured

me that all precautions have been taken. No sparks have fallen; the pumps are full. Let us go to rest."

"Ma foi! I want it," said Madame Homais, yawning at large. "But never mind; we've had a beautiful

Rodolphe repeated in a low voice, and with a tender look, "Oh, yes! very beautiful!"

Two days later, in the "Final de Rouen," there was a long article on the show. Homais had composed

"Why these festoons, these flowers, these garlands? Whither hurries this crowd like the waves of a

furious sea under the torrents of a tropical sun pouring its heat upon our heads?"

Then he spoke of the condition of the peasants. Certainly the Government was doing much, but not

enough. "Courage!" he cried to it; "a thousand reforms are indispensable; let us accomplish them!" Then

touching on the entry of the councillor, he did not forget "the martial air of our militia;" nor "our most merry

village maidens;" nor the "baldheaded old men like patriarchs who were there, and of whom some, the

remnants of our phalanxes, still felt their hearts beat at the manly sound of the drums." He cited himself

among the first of the members of the jury, and he even called attention in a note to the fact that Monsieur

When he came to the distribution of the prizes, he painted the joy of the prizewinners in

dithyrambic strophes. "The father embraced the son, the brother the brother, the husband his consort. More

than one showed his humble medal with pride; and no doubt when he got home to his good housewife, he

"About six o'clock a banquet prepared in the meadow of Monsieur Leigeard brought together the

The greatest cordiality reigned here. Divers toasts were proposed: Monsieur Lieuvain, the King;

Monsieur Tuvache, the Prefect; Monsieur Derozerays, Agriculture; Monsieur Homais, Industry and the Fine

Arts, those twin sisters; Monsieur Leplichey, Progress. In the evening some brilliant fireworks on a sudden

illumined the air. One would have called it a veritable kaleidoscope, a real operatic scene; and for a moment

our little locality might have thought itself transported into the midst of a dream of the 'Thousand and One

Nights.' "Let us state that no untoward event disturbed this family meeting." And he added "Only the absence

of the clergy was remarked. No doubt the priests understand progress in another fashion. Just as you please,

The day after the show he had said to himself"We mustn't go back too soon; that would be a

And at the end of a week he had gone off hunting. After the hunting he had thought it was too late,

"If from the first day she loved me, she must from impatience to see me again love me more. Let's go

And he knew that his calculation had been right when, on entering the room, he saw Emma turn pale.

She was alone. The day was drawing in. The small muslin curtain along the windows deepened the

twilight, and the gilding of the barometer, on which the rays of the sun fell, shone in the lookingglass

Rodolphe remained standing, and Emma hardly answered his first conventional phrases.

"Well," said Rodolphe, sitting down at her side on a footstool, "no; it was because I did not want to

He looked at her again, but so hard that she lowered her head, blushing. He went on

"Ah! you see," replied he in a melancholy voice, "that I was right not to come back; for this name,

this name that fills my whole soul, and that escaped me, you forbid me to use! Madame Bovary! why all the

"Yes, I think of you constantly. The memory of you drives me to despair. Ah! forgive me! I will

leave you! Farewell! I will go far away, so far that you will never hear of me again; and yet todayI

know not what force impelled me towards you. For one does not struggle against Heaven; one cannot resist

the smile of angels; one is carried away by that which is beautiful, charming, adorable."

It was the first time that Emma had heard such words spoken to herself, and her pride, like one who

"But if I did not come," he continued, "if I could not see you, at least I have gazed long on all that

surrounds you. At nightevery nightI arose; I came hither; I watched your house, its glimmering in the

moon, the trees in the garden swaying before your window, and the little lamp, a gleam shining through the

windowpanes in the darkness. Ah! you never knew that there, so near you, so far from you, was a poor

"No, I love you, that is all! You do not doubt that! Tell meone wordonly one word!"

And Rodolphe imperceptibly glided from the footstool to the ground; but a sound of wooden shoes

"How kind it would be of you," he went on, rising, "if you would humour a whim of mine." It was to

go over her house; he wanted to know it; and Madame Bovary seeing no objection to this, they both rose,

The doctor, flattered at this unexpected title, launched out into obsequious phrases. Of this the other

Charles interrupted him; he had indeed a thousand anxieties; his wife's palpitations of the heart were

"Certainly! excellent! just the thing! There's an idea! You ought to follow it up."

And as she objected that she had no horse, Monsieur Rodolphe offered one. She refused his offer; he

did not insist. Then to explain his visit he said that his ploughman, the man of the bloodletting, still suffered

"No, no! I'll send him to you; we'll come; that will be more convenient for you."

And as soon as they were alone, "Why don't you accept Monsieur Boulanger's kind offer?"

She assumed a sulky air, invented a thousand excuses, and finally declared that perhaps it would look

"Well, what the deuce do I care for that?" said Charles, making a pirouette. "Health before

When the habit was ready, Charles wrote to Monsieur Boulanger that his wife was at his command,

The next day at noon Rodolphe appeared at Charles's door with two saddlehorses. One had pink

Rodolphe had put on high soft boots, saying to himself that no doubt she had never seen anything

like them. In fact, Emma was charmed with his appearance as he stood on the landing in his great velvet coat

Justin escaped from the chemist's to see her start, and the chemist also came out. He was giving

"An accident happens so easily. Be careful! Your horses perhaps are mettlesome."

She heard a noise above her; it was Felicite drumming on the windowpanes to amuse little Berthe.

"A pleasant ride!" cried Monsieur Homais. "Prudence! above all, prudence!" And he flourished his

Rodolphe galloped by her side. Now and then they exchanged a word. Her figure slightly bent, her

hand well up, and her right arm stretched out, she gave herself up to the cadence of the movement that rocked

her in her saddle. At the bottom of the hill Rodolphe gave his horse its head; they started together at a bound,

then at the top suddenly the horses stopped, and her large blue veil fell about her.

It was early in October. There was fog over the land. Hazy clouds hovered on the horizon between

the outlines of the hills; others, rent asunder, floated up and disappeared. Sometimes through a rift in the

clouds, beneath a ray of sunshine, gleamed from afar the roots of Yonville, with the gardens at the water's

edge, the yards, the walls and the church steeple. Emma half closed her eyes to pick out her house, and never

had this poor village where she lived appeared so small. From the height on which they were the whole valley

seemed an immense pale lake sending off its vapour into the air. Clumps of trees here and there stood out like

black rocks, and the tall lines of the poplars that rose above the mist were like a beach stirred by the wind.

By the side, on the turf between the pines, a brown light shimmered in the warm atmosphere. The

earth, ruddy like the powder of tobacco, deadened the noise of their steps, and with the edge of their shoes the

Rodolphe and Emma thus went along the skirt of the wood. She turned away from time to time to

avoid his look, and then she saw only the pine trunks in lines, whose monotonous succession made her a little

Rodolphe leant forward and removed them as they rode along. At other times, to turn aside the

branches, he passed close to her, and Emma felt his knee brushing against her leg. The sky was now blue, the

leaves no longer stirred. There were spaces full of heather in flower, and plots of violets alternated with the

confused patches of the trees that were grey, fawn, or golden coloured, according to the nature of their leaves.

Often in the thicket was heard the fluttering of wings, or else the hoarse, soft cry of the ravens flying off

They dismounted. Rodolphe fastened up the horses. She walked on in front on the moss between the

paths. But her long habit got in her way, although she held it up by the skirt; and Rodolphe, walking behind

her, saw between the black cloth and the black shoe the fineness of her white stocking, that seemed to him as

Then some hundred paces farther on she again stopped, and through her veil, that fell sideways from

her man's hat over her hips, her face appeared in a bluish transparency as if she were floating under azure

He did not answer. She was breathing irregularly. Rodolphe looked round him biting his moustache.

They came to a larger space where the coppice had been cut. They sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and

Rodolphe began speaking to her of his love. He did not begin by frightening her with compliments. He was

Emma listened to him with bowed head, and stirred the bits of wood on the ground with the tip of her

She rose to go. He seized her by the wrist. She stopped. Then, having gazed at him for a few

Then smiling a strange smile, his pupil fixed, his teeth set, he advanced with outstretched arms. She

"If it must be," he went on, his face changing; and he again became respectful, caressing, timid. She

"What was the matter with you? Why? I do not understand. You were mistaken, no doubt. In my soul

you are as a Madonna on a pedestal, in a place lofty, secure, immaculate. But I need you to live! I must have

And he put out his arm round her waist. She feebly tried to disengage herself. He supported her thus

He drew her farther on to a small pool where duckweeds made a greenness on the water. Faded water

lilies lay motionless between the reeds. At the noise of their steps in the grass, frogs jumped away to hide

The cloth of her habit caught against the velvet of his coat. She threw back her white neck, swelling

with a sigh, and faltering, in tears, with a long shudder and hiding her face, she gave herself up to him

The shades of night were falling; the horizontal sun passing between the branches dazzled the eyes.

Here and there around her, in the leaves or on the ground, trembled luminous patches, as it hummingbirds

flying about had scattered their feathers. Silence was everywhere; something sweet seemed to come forth

from the trees; she felt her heart, whose beating had begun again, and the blood coursing through her flesh

like a stream of milk. Then far away, beyond the wood, on the other hills, she heard a vague prolonged cry, a

voice which lingered, and in silence she heard it mingling like music with the last pulsations of her throbbing

nerves. Rodolphe, a cigar between his lips, was mending with his penknife one of the two broken bridles.

They returned to Yonville by the same road. On the mud they saw again the traces of their horses

side by side, the same thickets, the same stones to the grass; nothing around them seemed changed; and yet

for her something had happened more stupendous than if the mountains had moved in their places. Rodolphe

She was charming on horsebackupright, with her slender waist, her knee bent on the mane of her

On entering Yonville she made her horse prance in the road. People looked at her from the windows.

At dinner her husband thought she looked well, but she pretended not to hear him when he inquired

about her ride, and she remained sitting there with her elbow at the side of her plate between the two lighted

"Well, I spent the afternoon at Monsieur Alexandre's. He has an old cob, still very fine, only a little

brokenkneed, and that could be bought; I am sure, for a hundred crowns." He added, "And thinking it might

And as soon as she had got rid of Charles she went and shut herself up in her room.

At first she felt stunned; she saw the trees, the paths, the ditches, Rodolphe, and she again felt the

But when she saw herself in the glass she wondered at her face. Never had her eyes been so large, so

black, of so profound a depth. Something subtle about her being transfigured her. She repeated, "I have a

lover! a lover!" delighting at the idea as if a second puberty had come to her. So at last she was to know those

joys of love, that fever of happiness of which she had despairedl She was entering upon marvels where all

would be passion, ecstasy, delirium. An azure infinity encompassed her, the heights of sentiment sparkled

under her thought, and ordinary existence appeared only afar off, down below in the shade, through the

Then she recalled the heroines of the books that she had read, and the lyric legion of these adulterous

women began to sing in her memory with the voice of sisters that charmed her. She became herself, as it

were, an actual part of these imaginings, and realised the lovedream of her youth as she saw herself in this

type of amorous women whom she had so envied. Besides, Emma felt a satisfaction of revenge. Had she not

suffered enough? But now she triumphed, and the love so long pent up burst forth in full joyous bubblings.

The day following passed with a new sweetness. They made vows to one another She told him of her

sorrows. Rodolphe interrupted her with kisses; and she looking at him through halfclosed eyes, asked him to

call her again by her nameto say that he loved her They were in the forest, as yesterday, in the shed of

some woodenshoe maker. The walls were of straw, and the roof so low they had to stoop. They were seated

>From that day forth they wrote to one another regularly every evening. Emma placed her letter at

the end of the garden, by the river, in a fissure of the wall. Rodolphe came to fetch it, and put another there,

One morning, when Charles had gone out before day break, she was seized with the fancy to see

Rodolphe at once. She would go quickly to La Huchette, stay there an hour, and be back again at Yonville

while everyone was still asleep. This idea made her pant with desire, and she soon found herself in the middle

Day was just breaking. Emma from afar recognised her lover's house. Its two dovetailed

Beyond the farmyard there was a detached building that she thought must be the chateau She

enteredit was if the doors at her approach had opened wide of their own accord. A large straight staircase

led up to the corridor. Emma raised the latch of a door, and suddenly at the end of the room she saw a man

"You here? You here?" he repeated. "How did you manage to come? Ah! your dress is damp."

This first piece of daring successful, now every time Charles went out early Emma dressed quickly

But when the plank for the cows was taken up, she had to go by the walls alongside of the river; the

bank was slippery; in order not to fall she caught hold of the tufts of faded wallflowers. Then she went across

ploughed fields, in which she sank, stumbling; and clogging her thin shoes. Her scarf, knotted round her

head, fluttered to the wind in the meadows. She was afraid of the oxen; she began to run; she arrived out of

breath, with rosy cheeks, and breathing out from her whole person a fresh perfume of sap, of verdure, of the

open air. At this hour Rodolphe still slept. It was like a spring morning coming into his room.

The yellow curtains along the windows let a heavy, whitish light enter softly. Emma felt about,

opening and closing her eyes, while the drops of dew hanging from her hair formed, as it were, a topaz

aureole around her face. Rodolphe, laughing, drew her to him, and pressed her to his breast.

Then she examined the apartment, opened the drawers of the tables, combed her hair with his comb,

and looked at herself in his shavingglass. Often she even put between her teeth the big pipe that lay on the

It took them a good quarter of an hour to say goodbye. Then Emma cried. She would have wished

never to leave Rodolphe. Something stronger than herself forced her to him; so much so, that one day, seeing

At last he declared with a serious air that her visits were becoming imprudentthat she was

Gradually Rodolphe's fears took possession of her. At first, love had intoxicated her; and she had

thought of nothing beyond. But now that he was indispensable to her life, she feared to lose anything of this,

or even that it should be disturbed. When she came back from his house she looked all about her, anxiously

watching every form that passed in the horizon, and every village window from which she could be seen. She

listened for steps, cries, the noise of the ploughs, and she stopped short, white, and trembling more than the

One morning as she was thus returning, she suddenly thought she saw the long barrel of a carbine

that seemed to be aimed at her. It stuck out sideways from the end of a small tub halfburied in the grass on

the edge of a ditch. Emma, halffainting with terror, nevertheless walked on, and a man stepped out of the

tub like a Jackinthebox. He had gaiters buckled up to the knees, his cap pulled down over his eyes,

trembling lips, and a red nose. It was Captain Binet lying in ambush for wild ducks.

"You ought to have called out long ago!" he exclaimed; "When one sees a gun, one should always

The taxcollector was thus trying to hide the fright he had had, for a prefectorial order having

prohibited duckhunting except in boats, Monsieur Binet, despite his respect for the laws, was infringing them,

and so he every moment expected to see the rural guard turn up. But this anxiety whetted his pleasure, and,

all alone in his tub, he congratulated himself on his luck and on his cuteness. At sight of Emma he seemed

"Yes," she said stammering; "I am just coming from the nurse where my child is."

"Ah! very good! very good! For myself, I am here, just as you see me, since break of day; but the

Emma regretted having left the taxcollector so abruptly. No doubt he would form unfavourable

conjectures. The story about the nurse was the worst possible excuse, everyone at Yonville knowing that the

little Bovary had been at home with her parents for a year. Besides, no one was living in this direction; this

path led only to La Huchette. Binet, then, would guess whence she came, and he would not keep silence; he

would talk, that was certain. She remained until evening racking her brain with every conceivable lying

Charles after dinner, seeing her gloomy, proposed, by way of distraction, to take her to the chemist's,

and the first person she caught sight of in the shop was the taxcollector again. He was standing in front of the

"Justin," cried the druggist, "bring us the sulphuric acid." Then to Emma, who was going up to

Madame Homais' room, "No, stay here; it isn't worth while going up; she is just coming down. Warm

yourself at the stove in the meantime. Excuse me. Goodday, doctor," (for the chemist much enjoyed

pronouncing the word "doctor," as if addressing another by it reflected on himself some of the grandeur that

he found in it). "Now, take care not to upset the mortars! You'd better fetch some chairs from the little room;

you know very well that the armchairs are not to be taken out of the drawingroom."

And to put his armchair back in its place he was darting away from the counter, when Binet asked

"Sugar acid!" said the chemist contemptuously, "don't know it; I'm ignorant of it! But perhaps you

Binet explained that he wanted a corrosive to make himself some copperwater with which to remove

"Nevertheless," replied the taxcollector, with a sly look, "there are people who like it."

"Half an ounce of resin and turpentine, four ounces of yellow wax, and three half ounces of animal

The druggist was beginning to cut the wax when Madame Homais appeared, Irma in her arms,

Napoleon by her side, and Athalie following. She sat down on the velvet seat by the window, and the lad

squatted down on a footstool, while his eldest sister hovered round the jujube box near her papa. The latter

was filling funnels and corking phials, sticking on labels, making up parcels. Around him all were silent; only

from time to time, were heard the weights jingling in the balance, and a few low words from the chemist

"Silence!" exclaimed her husband, who was writing down some figures in his wastebook.

But Binet, quite absorbed in looking over his bill, had probably heard nothing. At last he went out.

So the next day they talked over how to arrange their rendezvous. Emma wanted to bribe her servant

with a present, but it would be better to find some safe house at Yonville. Rodolphe promised to look for one.

All through the winter, three or four times a week, in the dead of night he came to the garden. Emma

To call her, Rodolphe threw a sprinkle of sand at the shutters. She jumped up with a start; but

sometimes he had to wait, for Charles had a mania for chatting by the fireside, and he would not stop. She

was wild with impatience; if her eyes could have done it, she would have hurled him out at the window. At

last she would begin to undress, then take up a book, and go on reading very quietly as if the book amused

Then, as the candles dazzled him; he turned to the wall and fell asleep. She escaped, smiling,

palpitating, undressed. Rodolphe had a large cloak; he wrapped her in it, and putting his arm round her waist,

It was in the arbour, on the same seat of old sticks where formerly Leon had looked at her so

The stars shone through the leafless jasmine branches. Behind them they heard the river flowing, and

now and again on the bank the rustling of the dry reeds. Masses of shadow here and there loomed out in the

darkness, and sometimes, vibrating with one movement, they rose up and swayed like immense black waves

pressing forward to engulf them. The cold of the nights made them clasp closer; the sighs of their lips seemed

to them deeper; their eyes that they could hardly see, larger; and in the midst of the silence low words were

spoken that fell on their souls sonorous, crystalline, and that reverberated in multiplied vibrations.

When the night was rainy, they took refuge in the consultingroom between the cartshed and the

stable. She lighted one of the kitchen candles that she had hidden behind the books. Rodolphe settled down

there as if at home. The sight of the library, of the bureau, of the whole apartment, in fine, excited his

merriment, and he could not refrain from making jokes about Charles, which rather embarrassed Emma. She

would have liked to see him more serious, and even on occasions more dramatic; as, for example, when she

"From your husband? Oh, poor devil!" And Rodolphe finished his sentence with a gesture that said,

She was wonderstricken at his bravery, although she felt in it a sort of indecency and a naive

Rodolphe reflected a good deal on the affair of the pistols. If she had spoken seriously, it was very

ridiculous, he thought, even odious; for he had no reason to hate the good Charles, not being what is called

devoured by jealousy; and on this subject Emma had taken a great vow that he did not think in the best of

Besides, she was growing very sentimental. She had insisted on exchanging miniatures; they had cut

off handfuls of hair, and now she was asking for a ringa real weddingring, in sign of an eternal union.

She often spoke to him of the evening chimes, of the voices of nature. Then she talked to him of her

motherhers! and of his motherhis! Rodolphe had lost his twenty years ago. Emma none the less

consoled him with caressing words as one would have done a lost child, and she sometimes even said to him,

But she was so pretty. He had possessed so few women of such ingenuousness. This love without

debauchery was a new experience for him, and, drawing him out of his lazy habits, caressed at once his pride

and his sensuality. Emma's enthusiasm, which his bourgeois good sense disdained, seemed to him in his heart

of hearts charming, since it was lavished on him. Then, sure of being loved, he no longer kept up

He had no longer, as formerly, words so gentle that they made her cry, nor passionate caresses that

made her mad, so that their great love, which engrossed her life, seemed to lessen beneath her like the water

of a stream absorbed into its channel, and she could see the bed of it. She would not believe it; she redoubled

She did not know if she regretted having yielded to him, or whether she did not wish, on the

contrary, to enjoy him the more. The humiliation of feeling herself weak was turning to rancour, tempered by

their voluptuous pleasures. It was not affection; it was like a continual seduction. He subjugated her; she

Appearances, nevertheless, were calmer than ever, Rodolphe having succeeded in carrying out the

adultery after his own fancy; and at the end of six months, when the springtime came, they were to one

It was the time of year when old Rouault sent his turkey in remembrance of the setting of his leg.

The present always arrived with a letter. Emma cut the string that tied it to the basket, and read the following

"My Dear ChildrenI hope this will find you well, and that this one will be as good as the others.

For it seems to me a little more tender, if I may venture to say so, and heavier. But next time, for a change, I'll

give you a turkeycock, unless you have a preference for some dabs; and send me back the hamper, if you

please, with the two old ones. I have had an accident with my cartsheds, whose covering flew off one windy

night among the trees. The harvest has not been overgood either. Finally, I don't know when I shall come to

see you. It is so difficult now to leave the house since I am alone, my poor Emma."

Here there was a break in the lines, as if the old fellow had dropped his pen to dream a little while.

"For myself, I am very well, except for a cold I caught the other day at the fair at Yvetot, where I had

gone to hire a shepherd, having turned away mine because he was too dainty. How we are to be pitied with

such a lot of thieves! Besides, he was also rude. I heard from a pedlar, who, travelling through your part of

the country this winter, had a tooth drawn, that Bovary was as usual working hard. That doesn't surprise me;

and he showed me his tooth; we had some coffee together. I asked him if he had seen you, and he said not,

but that he had seen two horses in the stables, from which I conclude that business is looking up. So much the

better, my dear children, and may God send you every imaginable happiness! It grieves me not yet to have

seen my dear little granddaughter, Berthe Bovary. I have planted an Orleans plumtree for her in the garden

under your room, and I won't have it touched unless it is to have jam made for her by and bye, that I will keep

"Goodbye, my dear children. I kiss you, my girl, you too, my soninlaw, and the little one on both

She held the coarse paper in her fingers for some minutes. The spelling mistakes were interwoven

one with the other, and Emma followed the kindly thought that cackled right through it like a hen half hidden

in the hedge of thorns. The writing had been dried with ashes from the hearth, for a little grey powder slipped

from the letter on to her dress, and she almost thought she saw her father bending over the hearth to take up

the tongs. How long since she had been with him, sitting on the footstool in the chimneycorner, where she

used to burn the end of a bit of wood in the great flame of the seasedges! She remembered the summer

evenings all full of sunshine. The colts neighed when anyone passed by, and galloped, galloped. Under her

window there was a beehive, and sometimes the bees wheeling round in the light struck against her window

like rebounding balls of gold. What happiness there had been at that time, what freedom, what hope! What an

abundance of illusions! Nothing was left of them now. She had got rid of them all in her soul's life, in all her

successive conditions of lifemaidenhood, her marriage, and her lovethus constantly losing them all her life

through, like a traveller who leaves something of his wealth at every inn along his road.

But what then, made her so unhappy? What was the extraordinary catastrophe that had transformed

her? And she raised her head, looking round as if to seek the cause of that which made her suffer.

An April ray was dancing on the china of the whatnot; the fire burned; beneath her slippers she felt

the softness of the carpet; the day was bright, the air warm, and she heard her child shouting with laughter.

In fact, the little girl was just then rolling on the lawn in the midst of the grass that was being turned.

She was lying flat on her stomach at the top of a rick. The servant was holding her by her skirt. Lestiboudois

was raking by her side, and every time he came near she lent forward, beating the air with both her arms.

"Bring her to me," said her mother, rushing to embrace her. "How I love you, my poor child! How I

Then noticing that the tips of her ears were rather dirty, she rang at once for warm water, and washed

her, changed her linen, her stockings, her shoes, asked a thousand questions about her health, as if on the

return from a long journey, and finally, kissing her again and crying a little, she gave her back to the servant,

And he missed three rendezvous running. When he did come, she showed herself cold and almost

And he pretended not to notice her melancholy sighs, nor the handkerchief she took out.

Then Emma repented. She even asked herself why she detested Charles; if it had not been better to

have been able to love him? But he gave her no opportunities for such a revival of sentiment, so that she was

much embarrassed by her desire for sacrifice, when the druggist came just in time to provide her with an

He had recently read a eulogy on a new method for curing clubfoot, and as he was a partisan of

progress, he conceived the patriotic idea that Yonville, in order to keep to the fore, ought to have some

"For," said he to Emma, "what risk is there? See" (and he enumerated on his fingers the

advantages of the attempt), "success, almost certain relief and beautifying of the patient, celebrity acquired by

the operator. Why, for example, should not your husband relieve poor Hippolyte of the 'Lion d'Or'? Note that

he would not fail to tell about his cure to all the travellers, and then" (Homais lowered his voice and looked

round him) "who is to prevent me from sending a short paragraph on the subject to the paper? Eh! goodness

me! an article gets about; it is talked of; it ends by making a snowball! And who knows? who knows?"

In fact, Bovary might succeed. Nothing proved to Emma that he was not clever; and what a

satisfaction for her to have urged him to a step by which his reputation and fortune would be increased! She

Charles, urged by the druggist and by her, allowed himself to be persuaded. He sent to Rouen for Dr.

Duval's volume, and every evening, holding his head between both hands, plunged into the reading of it.

While he was studying equinus, varus, and valgus, that is to say, katastrephopody, endostrephopody,

and exostrephopody (or better, the various turnings of the foot downwards, inwards, and outwards, with the

hypostrephopody and anastrephopody), otherwise torsion downwards and upwards, Monsier Homais, with all

sorts of arguments, was exhorting the lad at the inn to submit to the operation.

"You will scarcely feel, probably, a slight pain; it is a simple prick, like a little bloodletting, less

"However," continued the chemist, "it doesn't concern me. It's for your sake, for pure humanity! I

should like to see you, my friend, rid of your hideous caudication, together with that waddling of the lumbar

regions which, whatever you say, must considerably interfere with you in the exercise of your calling."

Then Homais represented to him how much jollier and brisker he would feel afterwards, and even

gave him to understand that he would be more likely to please the women; and the stableboy began to smile

"Aren't you a man? Hang it! what would you have done if you had had to go into the army, to go and

And Homais retired, declaring that he could not understand this obstinacy, this blindness in refusing

The poor fellow gave way, for it was like a conspiracy. Binet, who never interfered with other

people's business, Madame Lefrancois, Artemise, the neighbours, even the mayor, Monsieur

Tuvacheeveryone persuaded him, lectured him, shamed him; but what finally decided him was that it

would cost him nothing. Bovary even undertook to provide the machine for the operation. This generosity

was an idea of Emma's, and Charles consented to it, thinking in his heart of hearts that his wife was an angel.

So by the advice of the chemist, and after three fresh starts, he had a kind of box made by the

carpenter, with the aid of the locksmith, that weighed about eight pounds, and in which iron, wood,

But to know which of Hippolyte's tendons to cut, it was necessary first of all to find out what kind of

He had a foot forming almost a straight line with the leg, which, however, did not prevent it from

being turned in, so that it was an equinus together with something of a varus, or else a slight varus with a

strong tendency to equinus. But with this equinus, wide in foot like a horse's hoof, with rugose skin, dry

tendons, and large toes, on which the black nails looked as if made of iron, the clubfoot ran about like a deer

from morn till night. He was constantly to be seen on the Place, jumping round the carts, thrusting his

limping foot forwards. He seemed even stronger on that leg than the other. By dint of hard service it had

acquired, as it were, moral qualities of patience and energy; and when he was given some heavy work, he

Now, as it was an equinus, it was necessary to cut the tendon of Achilles, and, if need were, the

anterior tibial muscle could be seen to afterwards for getting rid of the varus; for the doctor did not dare to

risk both operations at once; he was even trembling already for fear of injuring some important region that he

Neither Ambrose Pare, applying for the first time since Celsus, after an interval of fifteen centuries, a

ligature to an artery, nor Dupuytren, about to open an abscess in the brain, nor Gensoul when he first took

away the superior maxilla, had hearts that trembled, hands that shook, minds so strained as Monsieur Bovary

when he approached Hippolyte, his tenotome between his fingers. And as at hospitals, near by on a table lay a

heap of lint, with waxed thread, many bandagesa pyramid of bandagesevery bandage to be found at the

druggist's. It was Monsieur Homais who since morning had been organising all these preparations, as much to

dazzle the multitude as to keep up his illusions. Charles pierced the skin; a dry crackling was heard. The

tendon was cut, the operation over. Hippolyte could not get over his surprise, but bent over Bovary's hands to

"Come, be calm," said the druggist; "later on you will show your gratitude to your benefactor."

And he went down to tell the result to five or six inquirers who were waiting in the yard, and who

fancied that Hippolyte would reappear walking properly. Then Charles, having buckled his patient into the

machine, went home, where Emma, all anxiety, awaited him at the door. She threw herself on his neck; they

sat down to table; he ate much, and at dessert he even wanted to take a cup of coffee, a luxury he only

The evening was charming, full of prattle, of dreams together. They talked about their future fortune,

of the improvements to be made in their house; he saw people's estimation of him growing, his comforts

increasing, his wife always loving him; and she was happy to refresh herself with a new sentiment, healthier,

better, to feel at last some tenderness for this poor fellow who adored her. The thought of Rodolphe for one

moment passed through her mind, but her eyes turned again to Charles; she even noticed with surprise that he

They were in bed when Monsieur Homais, in spite of the servant, suddenly entered the room,

holding in his hand a sheet of paper just written. It was the paragraph he intended for the "Fanal de Rouen."

" 'Despite the prejudices that still invest a part of the face of Europe like a net, the light nevertheless

begins to penetrate our country places. Thus on Tuesday our little town of Yonville found itself the scene of a

surgical operation which is at the same time an, act of loftiest philanthropy. Monsieur Bovary, one of our,

" 'Performed an operation on a clubfooted man.' I have not used the scientific term, because you

"I proceed," said the chemist. "'Monsieur Bovary, one of our most distinguished practitioners,

performed an operation on a clubfooted man called Hippolyte Tautain, stableman for the last twentyfive

years at the hotel of the "Lion d'Or," kept by Widow Lefrancois, at the Place d'Armes. The novelty of the

attempt, and the interest incident to the subject, had attracted such a concourse of persons that there was a

veritable obstruction on the threshold of the establishment. The operation, moreover, was performed as if by

magic, and barely a few drops of blood appeared on the skin, as though to say that the rebellious tendon had

at last given way beneath the efforts of art. The patient, strangely enoughwe affirm it as an

eyewitnesscomplained of no pain. His condition up to the present time leaves nothing to be desired.

Everything tends to show that his convelescence will be brief; and who knows even if at our next village

festivity we shall not see our good Hippolyte figuring in the bacchic dance in the midst of a chorus of joyous

booncompanions, and thus proving to all eyes by his verve and his capers his complete cure? Honour, then,

to the generous savants! Honour to those indefatigable spirits who consecrate their vigils to the amelioration

or to the alleviation of their kind! Honour, thrice honour! Is it not time to cry that the blind shall see, the deaf

hear, the lame walk? But that which fanaticism formerly promised to its elect, science now accomplishes for

all men. We shall keep our readers informed as to the successive phases of this remarkable cure.' "

This did not prevent Mere Lefrancois, from coming five days after, scared, and crying out

Charles rushed to the "Lion d'Or," and the chemist, who caught sight of him passing along the Place

hatless, abandoned his shop. He appeared himself breathless, red, anxious, and asking everyone who was

The strephopode was writhing in hideous convulsions, so that the machine in which his leg was

With many precautions, in order not to disturb the position of the limb, the box was removed, and an

awful sight presented itself. The outlines of the foot disappeared in such a swelling that the entire skin

seemed about to burst, and it was covered with ecchymosis, caused by the famous machine. Hippolyte had

already complained of suffering from it. No attention had been paid to him; they had to acknowledge that he

had not been altogether wrong, and he was freed for a few hours. But, hardly had the oedema gone down to

some extent, than the two savants thought fit to put back the limb in the apparatus, strapping it tighter to

hasten matters. At last, three days after, Hippolyte being unable to endure it any longer, they once more

removed the machine, and were much surprised at the result they saw. The livid tumefaction spread over the

leg, with blisters here and there, whence there oozed a black liquid. Matters were taking a serious turn.

Hippolyte began to worry himself, and Mere Lefrancois, had him installed in the little room near the kitchen,

But the taxcollector, who dined there every day, complained bitterly of such companionship. Then

Hippolyte was removed to the billiardroom. He lay there moaning under his heavy coverings, pale with long

beard, sunken eyes, and from time to time turning his perspiring head on the dirty pillow, where the flies

alighted. Madame Bovary went to see him. She brought him linen for his poultices; she comforted, and

encouraged him. Besides, he did not want for company, especially on marketdays, when the peasants were

knocking about the billiardballs round him, fenced with the cues, smoked, drank, sang, and brawled.

"How are you?" they said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ah! you're not up to much, it seems, but

it's your own fault. You should do this! do that!" And then they told him stories of people who had all been

"You give way too much! Get up! You coddle yourself like a king! All the same, old chap, you don't

Gangrene, in fact, was spreading more and more. Bovary himself turned sick at it. He came every

"When shall I get well? Oh, save me! How unfortunate I am! How unfortunate I am!"

"Don't listen to him, my lad," said Mere Lefrancois, "Haven't they tortured you enough already?

And she gave him some good beeftea, a slice of mutton, a piece of bacon, and sometimes small

Abbe Bournisien, hearing that he was growing worse, asked to see him. He began by pitying his

sufferings, declaring at the same time that he ought to rejoice at them since it was the will of the Lord, and

"For," said the ecclesiastic in a paternal tone, "you rather neglected your duties; you were rarely seen

at divine worship. How many years is it since you approached the holy table? I understand that your work,

that the whirl of the world may have kept you from care for your salvation. But now is the time to reflect. Yet

don't despair. I have known great sinners, who, about to appear before God (you are not yet at this point I

know), had implored His mercy, and who certainly died in the best frame of mind. Let us hope that, like

them, you will set us a good example. Thus, as a precaution, what is to prevent you from saying morning and

evening a 'Hail Mary, full of grace,' and 'Our Father which art in heaven'? Yes, do that, for my sake, to oblige

The poor devil promised. The cure came back day after day. He chatted with the landlady; and even

told anecdotes interspersed with jokes and puns that Hippolyte did not understand. Then, as soon as he could,

he fell back upon matters of religion, putting on an appropriate expression of face.

His zeal seemed successful, for the clubfoot soon manifested a desire to go on a pilgrimage to

BonSecours if he were cured; to which Monsieur Bournisien replied that he saw no objection; two

The druggist was indignant at what he called the manoeuvres of the priest; they were prejudicial, he

said, to Hippolyte's convalescence, and he kept repeating to Madame Lefrancois, "Leave him alone! leave

him alone! You perturb his morals with your mysticism." But the good woman would no longer listen to him;

he was the cause of it all. From a spirit of contradiction she hung up near the bedside of the patient a basin

Religion, however, seemed no more able to succour him than surgery, and the invincible gangrene

still spread from the extremities towards the stomach. It was all very well to vary the potions and change the

poultices; the muscles each day rotted more and more; and at last Charles replied by an affirmative nod of the

head when Mere Lefrancois, asked him if she could not, as a forlorn hope, send for Monsieur Canivet of

A doctor of medicine, fifty years of age, enjoying a good position and selfpossessed, Charles's

colleague did not refrain from laughing disdainfully when he had uncovered the leg, mortified to the knee.

Then having flatly declared that it must be amputated, he went off to the chemist's to rail at the asses who

could have reduced a poor man to such a state. Shaking Monsieur Homais by the button of his coat, he

"These are the inventions of Paris! These are the ideas of those gentry of the capital! It is like

strabismus, chloroform, lithotrity, a heap of monstrosities that the Government ought to prohibit. But they

want to do the clever, and they cram you with remedies without, troubling about the consequences. We are

not so clever, not we! We are not savants, coxcombs, fops! We are practitioners; we cure people, and we

should not dream of operating on anyone who is in perfect health. Straighten club feet! As if one could

straighten clubfeet! It is as if one wished, for example, to make a hunchback straight!"

Homais suffered as he listened to this discourse, and he concealed his discomfort beneath a courtier's

smile; for he needed to humour Monsier Canivet, whose prescriptions sometimes came as far as Yonville. So

he did not take up the defence of Bovary; he did not even make a single remark, and, renouncing his

principles, he sacrificed his dignity to the more serious interests of his business.

This amputation of the thigh by Doctor Canivet was a great event in the village. On that day all the

inhabitants got up earlier, and the Grande Rue, although full of people, had something lugubrious about it, as

if an execution had been expected. At the grocer's they discussed Hippolyte's illness; the shops did no

business, and Madame Tuvache, the mayor's wife, did not stir from her window, such was her impatience to

He came in his gig, which he drove himself. But the springs of the right side having at length given

way beneath the weight of his corpulence, it happened that the carriage as it rolled along leaned over a little,

and on the other cushion near him could be seen a large box covered in red sheepleather, whose three brass

After he had entered like a whirlwind the porch of the "Lion d'Or," the doctor, shouting very loud,

ordered them to unharness his horse. Then he went into the stable to see that he was eating his oats all right;

for on arriving at a patient's he first of all looked after his mare and his gig. People even said about this

And he was the more esteemed for this imperturbable coolness. The universe to the last man might

But the druggist, turning red, confessed that he was too sensitive to assist at such an operation.

"When one is a simple spectator," he said, "the imagination, you know, is impressed. And then I have

"Pshaw!" interrupted Canivet; "on the contrary, you seem to me inclined to apoplexy. Besides, that

doesn't astonish me, for you chemist fellows are always poking about your kitchens, which must end by

spoiling your constitutions. Now just look at me. I get up every day at four o'clock; I shave with cold water

(and am never cold). I don't wear flannels, and I never catch cold; my carcass is good enough! I live now in

one way, now in another, like a philosopher, taking potluck; that is why I am not squeamish like you, and it

is as indifferent to me to carve a Christian as the first fowl that turns up. Then, perhaps, you will say, habit!

Then, without any consideration for Hippolyte, who was sweating with agony between his sheets,

these gentlemen entered into a conversation, in which the druggist compared the coolness of a surgeon to that

of a general; and this comparison was pleasing to Canivet, who launched out on the exigencies of his art. He

looked upon, it as a sacred office, although the ordinary practitioners dishonoured it. At last, coming back to

the patient, he examined the bandages brought by Homais, the same that had appeared for the clubfoot, and

asked for someone to hold the limb for him. Lestiboudois was sent for, and Monsieur Canivet having turned

up his sleeves, passed into the billiardroom, while the druggist stayed with Artemise and the landlady, both

He kept downstairs in the sittingroom by the side of the fireless chimney, his chin on his breast, his

hands clasped, his eyes staring. "What a mishap!" he thought, "what a mishap!" Perhaps, after all, he had

made some slip. He thought it over, but could hit upon nothing. But the most famous surgeons also made

mistakes; and that is what no one would ever believe! People, on the contrary, would laugh, jeer! It would

spread as far as Forges, as Neufchatel, as Rouen, everywhere! Who could say if his colleagues would not

write against him. Polemics would ensue; he would have to answer in the papers. Hippolyte might even

prosecute him. He saw himself dishonoured, ruined, lost; and his imagination, assailed by a world of

hypotheses, tossed amongst them like an empty cask borne by the sea and floating upon the waves.

Emma, opposite, watched him; she did not share his humiliation; she felt anotherthat of having

supposed such a man was worth anything. As if twenty times already she had not sufficiently perceived his

How was it that sheshe, who was so intelligentcould have allowed herself to be deceived again?

and through what deplorable madness had she thus ruined her life by continual sacrifices? She recalled all her

instincts of luxury, all the privations of her soul, the sordidness of marriage, of the household, her dream

sinking into the mire like wounded swallows; all that she had longed for, all that she had denied herself, all

In the midst of the silence that hung over the village a heartrending cry rose on the air. Bovary

turned white to fainting. She knit her brows with a nervous gesture, then went on. And it was for him, for this

creature, for this man, who understood nothing, who felt nothing! For he was there quite quiet, not even

suspecting that the ridicule of his name would henceforth sully hers as well as his. She had made efforts to

At the unexpected shock of this phrase falling on her thought like a leaden bullet on a silver plate,

Emma, shuddering, raised her head in order to find out what he meant to say; and they looked at the other in

silence, almost amazed to see each other, so far sundered were they by their inner thoughts. Charles gazed at

her with the dull look of a drunken man, while he listened motionless to the last cries of the sufferer, that

followed each other in longdrawn modulations, broken by sharp spasms like the faroff howling of some

beast being slaughtered. Emma bit her wan lips, and rolling between her fingers a piece of coral that she had

broken, fixed on Charles the burning glance of her eyes like two arrows of fire about to dart forth. Everything

in him irritated her now; his face, his dress, what he did not say, his whole person, his existence, in fine. She

repented of her past virtue as of a crime, and what still remained of it rumbled away beneath the furious

blows of her pride. She revelled in all the evil ironies of triumphant adultery. The memory of her lover came

back to her with dazzling attractions; she threw her whole soul into it, borne away towards this image with a

fresh enthusiasm; and Charles seemed to her as much removed from her life, as absent forever, as impossible

and annihilated, as if he had been about to die and were passing under her eyes.

There was a sound of steps on the pavement. Charles looked up, and through the lowered blinds he

saw at the corner of the market in the broad sunshine Dr. Canivet, who was wiping his brow with his

handkerchief. Homais, behind him, was carrying a large red box in his hand, and both were going towards the

Then with a feeling of sudden tenderness and discouragement Charles turned to his wife saying to

"What is the matter?" he asked, stupefied. "Be calm; compose yourself. You know well enough that I

And escaping from the room, Emma closed the door so violently that the barometer fell from the

Charles sank back into his armchair overwhelmed, trying to discover what could be wrong with her,

fancying some nervous illness, weeping, and vaguely feeling something fatal and incomprehensible whirling

When Rodolphe came to the garden that evening, he found his mistress waiting for him at the foot of

the steps on the lowest stair. They threw their arms round one another, and all their rancour melted like snow

They began to love one another again. Often, even in the middle of the day, Emma suddenly wrote to

him, then from the window made a sign to Justin, who, taking his apron off, quickly ran to La Huchette.

Rodolphe would come; she had sent for him to tell him that she was bored, that her husband was odious, her

She returned to the subject; he pretended not to understand, and turned the conversation.

What he did not understand was all this worry about so simple an affair as love. She had a motive, a

Her tenderness, in fact, grew each day with her repulsion to her husband. The more she gave up

herself to the one, the more she loathed the other. Never had Charles seemed to her so disagreeable, to have

such stodgy fingers, such vulgar ways, to be so dull as when they found themselves together after her meeting

with Rodolphe. Then, while playing the spouse and virtue, she was burning at the thought of that head whose

black hair fell in a curl over the sunburnt brow, of that form at once so strong and elegant, of that man, in a

word, who had such experience in his reasoning, such passion in his desires. It was for him that she filed her

nails with the care of a chaser, and that there was never enough coldcream for her skin, nor of patchouli for

her handkerchiefs. She loaded herself with bracelets, rings, and necklaces. When he was coming she filled the

two large blue glass vases with roses, and prepared her room and her person like a courtesan expecting a

prince. The servant had to be constantly washing linen, and all day Felicite did not stir from the kitchen,

With his elbows on the long board on which she was ironing, he greedily watched all these women's

clothes spread about him, the dimity petticoats, the fichus, the collars, and the drawers with running strings,

"What is that for?" asked the young fellow, passing his hand over the crinoline or the hooks and

"Why, haven't you ever seen anything?" Felicite answered laughing. "As if your mistress, Madame

"Oh, I daresay! Madame Homais!" And he added with a meditative air, "As if she were a lady like

But Felicite grew impatient of seeing him hanging round her. She was six years older than he, and

"Let me alone," she said, moving her pot of starch. "You'd better be off and pound almonds; you are

always dangling about women. Before you meddle with such things, bad boy, wait till you've got a beard to

And he at once took down from the shelf Emma's boots, all coated with mud, the mud of the

rendezvous, that crumbled into powder beneath his fingers, and that he watched as it gently rose in a ray of

"How afraid you are of spoiling them!" said the servant, who wasn't so particular when she cleaned

them herself, because as soon as the stuff of the boots was no longer fresh madame handed them over to her.

Emma had a number in her cupboard that she squandered one after the other, without Charles

allowing himself the slightest observation. So also he disbursed three hundred francs for a wooden leg that

she thought proper to make a present of to Hippolyte. Its top was covered with cork, and it had spring joints,

a complicated mechanism, covered over by black trousers ending in a patentleather boot. But Hippolyte, not

daring to use such a handsome leg every day, begged Madame Bovary to get him another more convenient

So little by little the stableman took up his work again. One saw him running about the village as

before, and when Charles heard from afar the sharp noise of the wooden leg, he at once went in another

It was Monsieur Lheureux, the shopkeeper, who had undertaken the order; this provided him with an

excuse for visiting Emma. He chatted with her about the new goods from Paris, about a thousand feminine

trifles, made himself very obliging, and never asked for his money. Emma yielded to this lazy mode of

satisfying all her caprices. Thus she wanted to have a very handsome riddingwhip that was at an

umbrellamaker's at Rouen to give to Rodolphe. The week after Monsieur Lheureux placed it on her table.

But the next day he called on her with a bill for two hundred and seventy francs, not counting the

centimes. Emma was much embarrassed; all the drawers of the writingtable were empty; they owed over a

fortnight's wages to Lestiboudois, two quarters to the servant, for any quantity of other things, and Bovary

was impatiently expecting Monsieur Derozeray's account, which he was in the habit of paying every year

She succeeded at first in putting off Lheureux. At last he lost patience; he was being sued; his capital

was out, and unless he got some in he should be forced to take back all the goods she had received.

"I was only joking," he replied; "the only thing I regret is the whip. My word! I'll ask monsieur to

And, certain of his discovery, he went out repeating to himself in an undertone, and with his usual

She was thinking how to get out of this when the servant coming in put on the mantelpiece a small

roll of blue paper "from Monsieur Derozeray's." Emma pounced upon and opened it. It contained fifteen

napoleons; it was the account. She heard Charles on the stairs; threw the gold to the back of her drawer, and

"I have an arrangement to suggest to you," he said. "If, instead of the sum agreed on, you would

The tradesman was dumfounded. Then, to conceal his disappointment, he was profuse in apologies

and proffers of service, all of which Emma declined; then she remained a few moments fingering in the

pocket of her apron the two fivefranc pieces that he had given her in change. She promised herself she

would economise in order to pay back later on. "Pshaw!" she thought, "he won't think about it again."

Besides the ridingwhip with its silvergilt handle, Rodolphe had received a seal with the motto

Amor nel cor* furthermore, a scarf for a muffler, and, finally, a cigarcase exactly like the Viscount's, that

Charles had formerly picked up in the road, and that Emma had kept. These presents, however, humiliated

him; he refused several; she insisted, and he ended by obeying, thinking her tyrannical and overexacting.

And if he confessed that he had not thought of her, there were floods of reproaches that always ended

"Oh," she went on, "I love you! I love you so that I could not live without you, do you see? There are

times when I long to see you again, when I am torn by all the anger of love. I ask myself, Where is he?

Perhaps he is talking to other women. They smile upon him; he approaches. Oh no; no one else pleases you.

There are some more beautiful, but I love you best. I know how to love best. I am your servant, your

concubine! You are my king, my idol! You are good, you are beautiful, you are clever, you are strong!"

He had so often heard these things said that they did not strike him as original. Emma was like all his

mistresses; and the charm of novelty, gradually falling away like a garment, laid bare the eternal monotony of

passion, that has always the same forms and the same language. He did not distinguish, this man of so much

experience, the difference of sentiment beneath the sameness of expression. Because lips libertine and venal

had murmured such words to him, he believed but little in the candour of hers; exaggerated speeches hiding

mediocre affections must be discounted; as if the fullness of the soul did not sometimes overflow in the

emptiest metaphors, since no one can ever give the exact measure of his needs, nor of his conceptions, nor of

his sorrows; and since human speech is like a cracked tin kettle, on which we hammer out tunes to make tears

But with that superior critical judgment that belongs to him who, in no matter what circumstance,

holds back, Rodolphe saw other delights to be got out of this love. He thought all modesty in the way. He

treated her quite sans facon.* He made of her something supple and corrupt. Hers was an idiotic sort of

attachment, full of admiration for him, of voluptuousness for her, a beatitude that benumbed her; her soul

sank into this drunkenness, shrivelled up, drowned in it, like Clarence in his butt of Malmsey.

By the mere effect of her love Madame Bovary's manners changed. Her looks grew bolder, her

speech more free; she even committed the impropriety of walking out with Monsieur Rodolphe, a cigarette in

her mouth, "as if to defy the people." At last, those who still doubted doubted no longer when one day they

saw her getting out of the "Hirondelle," her waist squeezed into a waistcoat like a man; and Madame Bovary

senior, who, after a fearful scene with her husband, had taken refuge at her son's, was not the least

scandalised of the womenfolk. Many other things displeased her. First, Charles had not attended to her

advice about the forbidding of novels; then the "ways of the house" annoyed her; she allowed herself to make

Madame Bovary senior, the evening before, passing along the passage, had surprised her in company

of a mana man with a brown collar, about forty years old, who, at the sound of her step, had quickly

escaped through the kitchen. Then Emma began to laugh, but the good lady grew angry, declaring that unless

"Where were you brought up?" asked the daughterinlaw, with so impertinent a look that Madame

But both had fled in their exasperation. Emma was stamping her feet as she repeated

And she was for leaving at once if the other did not apologise. So Charles went back again to his

And in fact she held out her hand to her motherinlaw with the dignity of a marchioness as she

Then, having gone up again to her room, she threw herself flat on her bed and cried there like a child,

She and Rodolphe had agreed that in the event of anything extraordinary occurring, she should fasten

a small piece of white paper to the blind, so that if by chance he happened to be in Yonville, he could hurry to

the lane behind the house. Emma made the signal; she had been waiting threequarters of an hour when she

suddenly caught sight of Rodolphe at the corner of the market. She felt tempted to open the window and call

Soon, however, it seemed to her that someone was walking on the pavement. It was he, no doubt.

She went downstairs, crossed the yard. He was there outside. She threw herself into his arms.

And she began telling him everything, hurriedly, disjointedly, exaggerating the facts, inventing

"But I have been patient; I have suffered for four years. A love like ours ought to show itself in the

She clung to Rodolphe. Her eyes, full of tears, flashed like flames beneath a wave; her breast heaved;

he had never loved her so much, so that he lost his head and said "What is, it? What do you wish?"

And she threw herself upon his mouth, as if to seize there the unexpected consent if breathed forth in

"What a woman!" he said to himself, watching her as she went. For she had run into the garden.

On the following days Madame Bovary senior was much surprised at the change in her

daughterinlaw. Emma, in fact, was showing herself more docile, and even carried her deference so far as

Was it the better to deceive them both? Or did she wish by a sort of voluptuous stoicism to feel the

But she paid no heed to them; on the contrary, she lived as lost in the anticipated delight of her

It was an eternal subject for conversation with Rodolphe. She leant on his shoulder murmuring

"Ah! when we are in the mailcoach! Do you think about it? Can it be? It seems to me that the

moment I feel the carriage start, it will be as if we were rising in a balloon, as if we were setting out for the

Never had Madame Bovary been so beautiful as at this period; she had that indefinable beauty that

results from joy, from enthusiasm, from success, and that is only the harmony of temperament with

circumstances. Her desires, her sorrows, the experience of pleasure, and her everyoung illusions, that had,

as soil and rain and winds and the sun make flowers grow, gradually developed her, and she at length

blossomed forth in all the plenitude of her nature. Her eyelids seemed chiselled expressly for her long

amorous looks in which the pupil disappeared, while a strong inspiration expanded her delicate nostrils and

raised the fleshy corner of her lips, shaded in the light by a little black down. One would have thought that an

artist apt in conception had arranged the curls of hair upon her neck; they fell in a thick mass, negligently,

and with the changing chances of their adultery, that unbound them every day. Her voice now took more

mellow infections, her figure also; something subtle and penetrating escaped even from the folds of her gown

and from the line of her foot. Charles, as when they were first married, thought her delicious and quite

When he came home in the middle of the night, he did not dare to wake her. The porcelain

nightlight threw a round trembling gleam upon the ceiling, and the drawn curtains of the little cot formed as

it were a white hut standing out in the shade, and by the bedside Charles looked at them. He seemed to hear

the light breathing of his child. She would grow big now; every season would bring rapid progress. He

already saw her coming from school as the day drew in, laughing, with inkstains on her jacket, and carrying

her basket on her arm. Then she would have to be sent to the boardingschool; that would cost much; how

was it to be done? Then he reflected. He thought of hiring a small farm in the neighbourhood, that he would

superintend every morning on his way to his patients. He would save up what he brought in; he would put it

in the savingsbank. Then he would buy shares somewhere, no matter where; besides, his practice would

increase; he counted upon that, for he wanted Berthe to be welleducated, to be accomplished, to learn to

play the piano. Ah! how pretty she would be later on when she was fifteen, when, resembling her mother, she

would, like her, wear large straw hats in the summertime; from a distance they would be taken for two

sisters. He pictured her to himself working in the evening by their side beneath the light of the lamp; she

would embroider him slippers; she would look after the house; she would fill all the home with her charm

and her gaiety. At last, they would think of her marriage; they would find her some good young fellow with a

Emma was not asleep; she pretended to be; and while he dozed off by her side she awakened to other

To the gallop of four horses she was carried away for a week towards a new land, whence they

would return no more. They went on and on, their arms entwined, without a word. Often from the top of a

mountain there suddenly glimpsed some splendid city with domes, and bridges, and ships, forests of citron

trees, and cathedrals of white marble, on whose pointed steeples were storks' nests. They went at a

walkingpace because of the great flagstones, and on the ground there were bouquets of flowers, offered

you by women dressed in red bodices. They heard the chiming of bells, the neighing of mules, together with

the murmur of guitars and the noise of fountains, whose rising spray refreshed heaps of fruit arranged like a

pyramid at the foot of pale statues that smiled beneath playing waters. And then, one night they came to a

fishing village, where brown nets were drying in the wind along the cliffs and in front of the huts. It was there

that they would stay; they would live in a low, flatroofed house, shaded by a palmtree, in the heart of a

gulf, by the sea. They would row in gondolas, swing in hammocks, and their existence would be easy and

large as their silk gowns, warm and starspangled as the nights they would contemplate. However, in the

immensity of this future that she conjured up, nothing special stood forth; the days, all magnificent,

resembled each other like waves; and it swayed in the horizon, infinite, harmonised, azure, and bathed in

sunshine. But the child began to cough in her cot or Bovary snored more loudly, and Emma did not fall

asleep till morning, when the dawn whitened the windows, and when little Justin was already in the square

"Yes, yes, I understand. About three feet by a foot and a half, as they are being made just now."

"And," said Madame Bovary, taking her watch from her belt, "take this; you can pay yourself out of

But the tradesman cried out that she was wrong; they knew one another; did he doubt her? What

She insisted, however, on his taking at least the chain, and Lheureux had already put it in his pocket

"You will leave everything at your place. As to the cloak"she seemed to be reflecting"do not

bring it either; you can give me the maker's address, and tell him to have it ready for me."

It was the next month that they were to run away. She was to leave Yonville as if she was going on

some business to Rouen. Rodolphe would have booked the seats, procured the passports, and even have

written to Paris in order to have the whole mailcoach reserved for them as far as Marseilles, where they

would buy a carriage, and go on thence without stopping to Genoa. She would take care to send her luggage

to Lheureux whence it would be taken direct to the "Hirondelle," so that no one would have any suspicion.

And in all this there never was any allusion to the child. Rodolphe avoided speaking of her; perhaps he no

He wished to have two more weeks before him to arrange some affairs; then at the end of a week he

wanted two more; then he said he was ill; next he went on a journey. The month of August passed, and, after

all these delays, they decided that it was to be irrevocably fixed for the 4th Septembera Monday.

Then they walked round a gardenbed, and went to sit down near the terrace on the kerbstone of

"It is because you are going away?" she went on; "because you are leaving what is dear to

youyour life? Ah! I understand. I have nothing in the world! you are all to me; so shall I be to you. I will

The moon, full and purplecoloured, was rising right out of the earth at the end of the meadow. She

rose quickly between the branches of the poplars, that hid her here and there like a black curtain pierced with

holes. Then she appeared dazzling with whiteness in the empty heavens that she lit up, and now sailing more

slowly along, let fall upon the river a great stain that broke up into an infinity of stars; and the silver sheen

seemed to writhe through the very depths like a heedless serpent covered with luminous scales; it also

resembled some monster candelabra all along which sparkled drops of diamonds running together. The soft

night was about them; masses of shadow filled the branches. Emma, her eyes half closed, breathed in with

deep sighs the fresh wind that was blowing. They did not speak, lost as they were in the rush of their reverie.

The tenderness of the old days came back to their hearts, full and silent as the flowing river, with the softness

of the perfume of the syringas, and threw across their memories shadows more immense and more sombre

than those of the still willows that lengthened out over the grass. Often some nightanimal, hedgehog or

weasel, setting out on the hunt, disturbed the lovers, or sometimes they heard a ripe peach falling all alone

"We shall have others," replied Emma; and, as if speaking to herself: "Yet, it will be good to travel.

And yet, why should my heart be so heavy? Is it dread of the unknown? The effect of habits left? Or

rather? No; it is the excess of happiness. How weak I am, am I not? Forgive me!"

"Never!" she cried impetuously. And coming closer to him: "What ill could come to me? There is no

desert, no precipice, no ocean I would not traverse with you. The longer we live together the more it will be

like an embrace, every day closer, more heart to heart. There will be nothing to trouble us, no cares, no

At regular intervals he answered, "YesYes" She had passed her hands through his hair, and she

repeated in a childlike voice, despite the big tears which were falling, "Rodolphe! Rodolphe! Ah! Rodolphe!

He rose to go; and as if the movement he made had been the signal for their flight, Emma said,

"It is at the Hotel de Provence, is it not, that you will wait for me at midday?"

He did not turn round. She ran after him, and, leaning over the water's edge between the bulrushes

He was already on the other side of the river and walking fast across the meadow.

After a few moments Rodolphe stopped; and when he saw her with her white gown gradually fade

away in the shade like a ghost, he was seized with such a beating of the heart that he leant against a tree lest

"What an imbecile I am!" he said with a fearful oath. "No matter! She was a pretty mistress!"

And immediately Emma's beauty, with all the pleasures of their love, came back to him. For a

"For, after all," he exclaimed, gesticulating, "I can't exile myselfhave a child on my hands."

"And besides, the worry, the expense! Ah! no, no, no, no! a thousand times no! That would be too

No sooner was Rodolphe at home than he sat down quickly at his bureau under the stag's head that

hung as a trophy on the wall. But when he had the pen between his fingers, he could think of nothing, so that,

resting on his elbows, he began to reflect. Emma seemed to him to have receded into a faroff past, as if the

To get back something of her, he fetched from the cupboard at the bedside an old Rheims

biscuitbox, in which he usually kept his letters from women, and from it came an odour of dry dust and

withered roses. First he saw a handkerchief with pale little spots. It was a handkerchief of hers. Once when

they were walking her nose had bled; he had forgotten it. Near it, chipped at all the corners, was a miniature

given him by Emma: her toilette seemed to him pretentious, and her languishing look in the worst possible

taste. Then, from looking at this image and recalling the memory of its original, Emma's features little by

little grew confused in his remembrance, as if the living and the painted face, rubbing one against the other,

had effaced each other. Finally, he read some of her letters; they were full of explanations relating to their

journey, short, technical, and urgent, like business notes. He wanted to see the long ones again, those of old

times. In order to find them at the bottom of the box, Rodolphe disturbed all the others, and mechanically

began rummaging amidst this mass of papers and things, finding pellmell bouquets, garters, a black mask,

pins, and hairhair! dark and fair, some even, catching in the hinges of the box, broke when it was opened.

Thus dallying with his souvenirs, he examined the writing and the style of the letters, as varied as

their orthography. They were tender or jovial, facetious, melancholy; there were some that asked for love,

others that asked for money. A word recalled faces to him, certain gestures, the sound of a voice; sometimes,

In fact, these women, rushing at once into his thoughts, cramped each other and lessened, as reduced

to a uniform level of love that equalised them all. So taking handfuls of the mixedup letters, he amused

himself for some moments with letting them fall in cascades from his right into his left hand. At last, bored

and weary, Rodolphe took back the box to the cupboard, saying to himself, "What a lot of rubbish!" Which

summed up his opinion; for pleasures, like schoolboys in a school courtyard, had so trampled upon his heart

that no green thing grew there, and that which passed through it, more heedless than children, did not even,

"After all, that's true," thought Rodolphe. "I am acting in her interest; I am honest."

"Have you carefully weighed your resolution? Do you know to what an abyss I was dragging you,

poor angel? No, you do not, do you? You were coming confident and fearless, believing in happiness in the

"If I told her all my fortune is lost? No! Besides, that would stop nothing. It would all have to be

begun over again later on. As if one could make women like that listen to reason!" He reflected, then went

"I shall not forget you, oh believe it; and I shall ever have a profound devotion for you; but some

day, sooner or later, this ardour (such is the fate of human things) would have grown less, no doubt. Lassitude

would have come to us, and who knows if I should not even have had the atrocious pain of witnessing your

remorse, of sharing it myself, since I should have been its cause? The mere idea of the grief that would come

to you tortures me, Emma. Forget me! Why did I ever know you? Why were you so beautiful? Is it my fault?

"Ah, if you had been one of those frivolous women that one sees, certainly I might, through egotism,

have tried an experiment, in that case without danger for you. But that delicious exaltation, at once your

charm and your torment, has prevented you from understanding, adorable woman that you are, the falseness

of our future position. Nor had I reflected upon this at first, and I rested in the shade of that ideal happiness as

"Perhaps she'll think I'm giving it up from avarice. Ah, well! so much the worse; it must be stopped!"

"The world is cruel, Emma. Wherever we might have gone, it would have persecuted us. You would

have had to put up with indiscreet questions, calumny, contempt, insult perhaps. Insult to you! Oh! And I,

who would place you on a throne! I who bear with me your memory as a talisman! For I am going to punish

myself by exile for all the ill I have done you. I am going away. Whither I know not. I am mad. Adieu! Be

good always. Preserve the memory of the unfortunate who has lost you. Teach my name to your child; let her

The wicks of the candles flickered. Rodolphe got up to, shut the window, and when he had sat down

"I shall be far away when you read these sad lines, for I have wished to flee as quickly as possible to

shun the temptation of seeing you again. No weakness! I shall return, and perhaps later on we shall talk

And there was a last "adieu" divided into two words! "A Dieu!" which he thought in very excellent

"Now how am I to sign?" he said to himself. " 'Yours devotedly?' No! 'Your friend?' Yes, that's it."

"Poor little woman!" he thought with emotion. "She'll think me harder than a rock. There ought to

have been some tears on this; but I can't cry; it isn't my fault." Then, having emptied some water into a glass,

Rodolphe dipped his finger into it, and let a big drop fall on the paper, that made a pale stain on the ink. Then

The next day when he was up (at about two o'clockhe had slept late), Rodolphe had a basket of

apricots picked. He put his letter at the bottom under some vine leaves, and at once ordered Girard, his

ploughman, to take it with care to Madame Bovary. He made use of this means for corresponding with her,

"If she asks after me," he said, "you will tell her that I have gone on a journey. You must give the

Girard put on his new blouse, knotted his handkerchief round the apricots, and walking with great

Madame Bovary, when he got to her house, was arranging a bundle of linen on the kitchentable

She was seized with apprehension, and as she sought in her pocket for some coppers, she looked at

the peasant with haggard eyes, while he himself looked at her with amazement, not understanding how such a

present could so move anyone. At last he went out. Felicite remained. She could bear it no longer; she ran

into the sitting room as if to take the apricots there, overturned the basket, tore away the leaves, found the

letter, opened it, and, as if some fearful fire were behind her, Emma flew to her room terrified.

Charles was there; she saw him; he spoke to her; she heard nothing, and she went on quickly up the

stairs, breathless, distraught, dumb, and ever holding this horrible piece of paper, that crackled between her

fingers like a plate of sheetiron. On the second floor she stopped before the attic door, which was closed.

Then she tried to calm herself; she recalled the letter; she must finish it; she did not dare to. And

where? How? She would be seen! "Ah, no! here," she thought, "I shall be all right."

The slates threw straight down a heavy heat that gripped her temples, stifled her; she dragged herself

to the closed garretwindow. She drew back the bolt, and the dazzling light burst in with a leap.

Opposite, beyond the roofs, stretched the open country till it was lost to sight. Down below,

underneath her, the village square was empty; the stones of the pavement glittered, the weathercocks on the

houses were motionless. At the corner of the street, from a lower storey, rose a kind of humming with strident

She leant against the embrasure of the window, and reread the letter with angry sneers. But the more

she fixed her attention upon it, the more confused were her ideas. She saw him again, heard him, encircled

him with her arms, and throbs of her heart, that beat against her breast like blows of a sledgehammer, grew

faster and faster, with uneven intervals. She looked about her with the wish that the earth might crumble into

pieces. Why not end it all? What restrained her? She was free. She advanced, looking at the pavingstones,

The luminous ray that came straight up from below drew the weight of her body towards the abyss. It

seemed to her that the ground of the oscillating square went up the walls and that the floor dipped on end like

a tossing boat. She was right at the edge, almost hanging, surrounded by vast space. The blue of the heavens

suffused her, the air was whirling in her hollow head; she had but to yield, to let herself be taken; and the

The thought that she had just escaped from death almost made her faint with terror. She closed her

She tried to eat. The food choked her. Then she unfolded her napkin as if to examine the darns, and

she really thought of applying herself to this work, counting the threads in the linen. Suddenly the

remembrance of the letter returned to her. How had she lost it? Where could she find it? But she felt such

weariness of spirit that she could not even invent a pretext for leaving the table. Then she became a coward;

she was afraid of Charles; he knew all, that was certain! Indeed he pronounced these words in a strange

"Who told me!" he replied, rather astonished at her abrupt tone. "Why, Girard, whom I met just now

"What surprises you in that? He absents himself like that from time to time for a change, and, ma foi,

I think he's right, when one has a fortune and is a bachelor. Besides, he has jolly times, has our friend. He's a

He stopped for propriety's sake because the servant came in. She put back into the basket the apricots

scattered on the sideboard. Charles, without noticing his wife's colour, had them brought to him, took one,

"Do just smell! What an odour!" he remarked, passing it under her nose several times.

"I am choking," she cried, leaping up. But by an effort of will the spasm passed; then

"It is nothing," she said, "it is nothing! It is nervousness. Sit down and go on eating." For she dreaded

lest he should begin questioning her, attending to her, that she should not be left alone.

Charles, to obey her, sat down again, and he spat the stones of the apricots into his hands, afterwards

Suddenly a blue tilbury passed across the square at a rapid trot. Emma uttered a cry and fell back

In fact, Rodolphe, after many reflections, had decided to set out for Rouen. Now, as from La

Huchette to Buchy there is no other way than by Yonville, he had to go through the village, and Emma had

recognised him by the rays of the lanterns, which like lightning flashed through the twilight.

The chemist, at the tumult which broke out in the house ran thither. The table with all the plates was

upset; sauce, meat, knives, the salt, and cruetstand were strewn over the room; Charles was calling for help;

Berthe, scared, was crying; and Felicite, whose hands trembled, was unlacing her mistress, whose whole

"Speak to us," said Charles; "collect yourself; it is your Charles, who loves you. Do you know me?

The child stretched out her arms to her mother to cling to her neck. But turning away her head,

She fainted again. They carried her to her bed. She lay there stretched at full length, her lips apart,

her eyelids closed, her hands open, motionless, and white as a waxen image. Two streams of tears flowed

Charles, standing up, was at the back of the alcove, and the chemist, near him, maintained that

"Do not be uneasy," he said, touching his elbow; "I think the paroxysm is past."

"Yes, she is resting a little now," answered Charles, watching her sleep. "Poor girl! poor girl! She

Then Homais asked how the accident had come about. Charles answered that she had been taken ill

"Extraordinary!" continued the chemist. "But it might be that the apricots had brought on the

syncope. Some natures are so sensitive to certain smells; and it would even be a very fine question to study

both in its pathological and physiological relation. The priests know the importance of it, they who have

introduced aromatics into all their ceremonies. It is to stupefy the senses and to bring on ecstasiesa thing,

moreover, very easy in persons of the weaker sex, who are more delicate than the other. Some are cited who

"And not only," the druggist went on, "are human beings subject to such anomalies, but animals also.

Thus you are not ignorant of the singularly aphrodisiac effect produced by the Nepeta cataria, vulgarly called

catmint, on the feline race; and, on the other hand, to quote an example whose authenticity I can answer for.

Bridaux (one of my old comrades, at present established in the Rue Malpalu) possesses a dog that falls into

convulsions as soon as you hold out a snuffbox to him. He often even makes the experiment before his

friends at his summerhouse at Guillaume Wood. Would anyone believe that a simple sternutation could

produce such ravages on a quadrupedal organism? It is extremely curious, is it not?"

"This shows us," went on the other, smiling with benign selfsufficiency, "the innumerable

irregularities of the nervous system. With regard to madame, she has always seemed to me, I confess, very

susceptible. And so I should by no means recommend to you, my dear friend, any of those socalled

remedies that, under the pretence of attacking the symptoms, attack the constitution. No; no useless

physicking! Diet, that is all; sedatives, emollients, dulcification. Then, don't you think that perhaps her

"Ah! that is it. Such is indeed the question. 'That is the question,' as I lately read in a newspaper."

For fortythree days Charles did not leave her. He gave up all his patients; he no longer went to bed;

he was constantly feeling her pulse, putting on sinapisms and coldwater compresses. He sent Justin as far as

Neufchatel for ice; the ice melted on the way; he sent him back again. He called Monsieur Canivet into

consultation; he sent for Dr. Lariviere, his old master, from Rouen; he was in despair. What alarmed him

most was Emma's prostration, for she did not speak, did not listen, did not even seem to suffer, as if her body

About the middle of October she could sit up in bed supported by pillows. Charles wept when he saw

her eat her first breadandjelly. Her strength returned to her; she got up for a few hours of an afternoon, and

one day, when she felt better, he tried to take her, leaning on his arm, for a walk round the garden. The sand

of the paths was disappearing beneath the dead leaves; she walked slowly, dragging along her slippers, and

They went thus to the bottom of the garden near the terrace. She drew herself up slowly, shading her

eyes with her hand to look. She looked far off, as far as she could, but on the horizon were only great bonfires

"You will tire yourself, my darling!" said Bovary. And, pushing her gently to make her go into the

She was seized with giddiness, and from that evening her illness recommenced, with a more

uncertain character, it is true, and more complex symptoms. Now she suffered in her heart, then in the chest,

the head, the limbs; she had vomitings, in which Charles thought he saw the first signs of cancer.

To begin with, he did not know how he could pay Monsieur Homais for all the physic supplied by

him, and though, as a medical man, he was not obliged to pay for it, he nevertheless blushed a little at such an

obligation. Then the expenses of the household, now that the servant was mistress, became terrible. Bills

rained in upon the house; the tradesmen grumbled; Monsieur Lheureux especially harassed him. In fact, at the

height of Emma's illness, the latter, taking advantage of the circumstances to make his bill larger, had

hurriedly brought the cloak, the travellingbag, two trunks instead of one, and a number of other things. It

was very well for Charles to say he did not want them. The tradesman answered arrogantly that these articles

had been ordered, and that he would not take them back; besides, it would vex madame in her convalescence;

the doctor had better think it over; in short, he was resolved to sue him rather than give up his rights and take

back his goods. Charles subsequently ordered them to be sent back to the shop. Felicite forgot; he had other

things to attend to; then thought no more about them. Monsieur Lheureux returned to the charge, and, by

turns threatening and whining, so managed that Bovary ended by signing a bill at six months. But hardly had

he signed this bill than a bold idea occurred to him: it was to borrow a thousand francs from Lheureux. So,

with an embarrassed air, he asked if it were possible to get them, adding that it would be for a year, at any

interest he wished. Lheureux ran off to his shop, brought back the money, and dictated another bill, by which

Bovary undertook to pay to his order on the 1st of September next the sum of one thousand and seventy

francs, which, with the hundred and eighty already agreed to, made just twelve hundred and fifty, thus

lending at six per cent in addition to onefourth for commission: and the things bringing him in a good third

at the least, this ought in twelve months to give him a profit of a hundred and thirty francs. He hoped that the

business would not stop there; that the bills would not be paid; that they would be renewed; and that his poor

little money, having thriven at the doctor's as at a hospital, would come back to him one day considerably

Everything, moreover, succeeded with him. He was adjudicator for a supply of cider to the hospital

at Neufchatel; Monsieur Guillaumin promised him some shares in the turfpits of Gaumesnil, and he dreamt

of establishing a new diligence service between Arcueil and Rouen, which no doubt would not be long in

ruining the ramshackle van of the "Lion d'Or," and that, travelling faster, at a cheaper rate, and carrying more

Charles several times asked himself by what means he should next year be able to pay back so much

money. He reflected, imagined expedients, such as applying to his father or selling something. But his father

would be deaf, and hehe had nothing to sell. Then he foresaw such worries that he quickly dismissed so

disagreeable a subject of meditation from his mind. He reproached himself with forgetting Emma, as if, all

his thoughts belonging to this woman, it was robbing her of something not to be constantly thinking of her.

The winter was severe, Madame Bovary's convalescence slow. When it was fine they wheeled her

armchair to the window that overlooked the square, for she now had an antipathy to the garden, and the

blinds on that side were always down. She wished the horse to be sold; what she formerly liked now

displeased her. All her ideas seemed to be limited to the care of herself. She stayed in bed taking little meals,

rang for the servant to inquire about her gruel or to chat with her. The snow on the marketroof threw a

white, still light into the room; then the rain began to fall; and Emma waited daily with a mind full of

eagerness for the inevitable return of some trifling events which nevertheless had no relation to her. The most

important was the arrival of the "Hirondelle" in the evening. Then the landlady shouted out, and other voices

answered, while Hippolyte's lantern, as he fetched the boxes from the boot, was like a star in the darkness. At

midday Charles came in; then he went out again; next she took some beeftea, and towards five o'clock, as

the day drew in, the children coming back from school, dragging their wooden shoes along the pavement,

It was at this hour that Monsieur Bournisien came to see her. He inquired after her health, gave her

news, exhorted her to religion, in a coaxing little prattle that was not without its charm. The mere thought of

One day, when at the height of her illness, she had thought herself dying, and had asked for the

communion; and, while they were making the preparations in her room for the sacrament, while they were

turning the night table covered with syrups into an altar, and while Felicite was strewing dahlia flowers on the

floor, Emma felt some power passing over her that freed her from her pains, from all perception, from all

feeling. Her body, relieved, no longer thought; another life was beginning; it seemed to her that her being,

mounting toward God, would be annihilated in that love like a burning incense that melts into vapour. The

bedclothes were sprinkled with holy water, the priest drew from the holy pyx the white wafer; and it was

fainting with a celestial joy that she put out her lips to accept the body of the Saviour presented to her. The

curtains of the alcove floated gently round her like clouds, and the rays of the two tapers burning on the

nighttable seemed to shine like dazzling halos. Then she let her head fall back, fancying she heard in space

the music of seraphic harps, and perceived in an azure sky, on a golden throne in the midst of saints holding

green palms, God the Father, resplendent with majesty, who with a sign sent to earth angels with wings of

This splendid vision dwelt in her memory as the most beautiful thing that it was possible to dream,

so that now she strove to recall her sensation. That still lasted, however, but in a less exclusive fashion and

with a deeper sweetness. Her soul, tortured by pride, at length found rest in Christian humility, and, tasting

the joy of weakness, she saw within herself the destruction of her will, that must have left a wide entrance for

the inroads of heavenly grace. There existed, then, in the place of happiness, still greater joysanother love

beyond all loves, without pause and without end, one that would grow eternally! She saw amid the illusions

of her hope a state of purity floating above the earth mingling with heaven, to which she aspired. She wanted

to become a saint. She bought chaplets and wore amulets; she wished to have in her room, by the side of her

The cure marvelled at this humour, although Emma's religion, he thought, might, from its fervour,

end by touching on heresy, extravagance. But not being much versed in these matters, as soon as they went

beyond a certain limit he wrote to Monsieur Boulard, bookseller to Monsignor, to send him "something good

for a lady who was very clever." The bookseller, with as much indifference as if he had been sending off

hardware to niggers, packed up, pellmell, everything that was then the fashion in the pious book trade. There

were little manuals in questions and answers, pamphlets of aggressive tone after the manner of Monsieur de

Maistre, and certain novels in rosecoloured bindings and with a honied style, manufactured by troubadour

seminarists or penitent bluestockings. There were the "Think of it; the Man of the World at Mary's Feet, by

Monsieur de ***, decorated with many Orders"; "The Errors of Voltaire, for the Use of the Young," etc.

Madame Bovary's mind was not yet sufficiently clear to apply herself seriously to anything;

moreover, she began this reading in too much hurry. She grew provoked at the doctrines of religion; the

arrogance of the polemic writings displeased her by their inveteracy in attacking people she did not know;

and the secular stories, relieved with religion, seemed to her written in such ignorance of the world, that they

insensibly estranged her from the truths for whose proof she was looking. Nevertheless, she persevered; and

when the volume slipped from her hands, she fancied herself seized with the finest Catholic melancholy that

As for the memory of Rodolphe, she had thrust it back to the bottom of her heart, and it remained

there more solemn and more motionless than a king's mummy in a catacomb. An exhalation escaped from

this embalmed love, that, penetrating through everything, perfumed with tenderness the immaculate

atmosphere in which she longed to live. When she knelt on her Gothic prieDieu, she addressed to the Lord

the same suave words that she had murmured formerly to her lover in the outpourings of adultery. It was to

make faith come; but no delights descended from the heavens, and she arose with tired limbs and with a

This searching after faith, she thought, was only one merit the more, and in the pride of her

devoutness Emma compared herself to those grand ladies of long ago whose glory she, had dreamed of over a

portrait of La Valliere, and who, trailing with so much majesty the lacetrimmed trains of their long gowns,

retired into solitudes to shed at the feet of Christ all the tears of hearts that life had wounded.

Then she gave herself up to excessive charity. She sewed clothes for the poor, she sent wood to

women in childbed; and Charles one day, on coming home, found three goodfornothings in the kitchen

seated at the table eating soup. She had her little girl, whom during her illness her husband had sent back to

the nurse, brought home. She wanted to teach her to read; even when Berthe cried, she was not vexed. She

had made up her mind to resignation, to universal indulgence. Her language about everything was full of

ideal expressions. She said to her child, "Is your stomachache better, my angel?"

Madame Bovary senior found nothing to censure except perhaps this mania of knitting jackets for

orphans instead of mending her own houselinen; but, harassed with domestic quarrels, the good woman

took pleasure in this quiet house, and she even stayed there till after Easter, to escape the sarcasms of old

Besides the companionship of her motherinlaw, who strengthened her a little by the rectitude of

her judgment and her grave ways, Emma almost every day had other visitors. These were Madame Langlois,

Madame Caron, Madame Dubreuil, Madame Tuvache, and regularly from two to five o'clock the excellent

Madame Homais, who, for her part, had never believed any of the tittletattle about her neighbour. The little

Homais also came to see her; Justin accompanied them. He went up with them to her bedroom, and remained

standing near the door, motionless and mute. Often even Madame Bovary; taking no heed of him, began her

toilette. She began by taking out her comb, shaking her head with a quick movement, and when he for the

first time saw all this mass of hair that fell to her knees unrolling in black ringlets, it was to him, poor child!

like a sudden entrance into something new and strange, whose splendour terrified him.

Emma, no doubt, did not notice his silent attentions or his timidity. She had no suspicion that the

love vanished from her life was there, palpitating by her side, beneath that coarse holland shirt, in that

youthful heart open to the emanations of her beauty. Besides, she now enveloped all things with such

indifference, she had words so affectionate with looks so haughty, such contradictory ways, that one could no

longer distinguish egotism from charity, or corruption from virtue. One evening, for example, she was angry

with the servant, who had asked to go out, and stammered as she tried to find some pretext. Then suddenly

And without waiting for any answer from Felicite, who was blushing, she added, "There! run along;

In the beginning of spring she had the garden turned up from end to end, despite Bovary's

remonstrances. However, he was glad to see her at last manifest a wish of any kind. As she grew stronger she

displayed more wilfulness. First, she found occasion to expel Mere Rollet, the nurse, who during her

convalescence had contracted the habit of coming too often to the kitchen with her two nurslings and her

boarder, better off for teeth than a cannibal. Then she got rid of the Homais family, successively dismissed all

the other visitors, and even frequented church less assiduously, to the great approval of the druggist, who said

As formerly, Monsieur Bournisien dropped in every day when he came out after catechism class. He

preferred staying out of doors to taking the air "in the grove," as he called the arbour. This was the time when

Charles came home. They were hot; some sweet cider was brought out, and they drank together to madame's

Binet was there; that is to say, a little lower down against the terrace wall, fishing for crayfish.

Bovary invited him to have a drink, and he thoroughly understood the uncorking of the stone bottles.

"You must," he said, throwing a satisfied glance all round him, even to the very extremity of the

landscape, "hold the bottle perpendicularly on the table, and after the strings are cut, press up the cork with

But during his demonstration the cider often spurted right into their faces, and then the ecclesiastic,

He was, in fact, a good fellow and one day he was not even scandalised at the chemist, who advised

Charles to give madame some distraction by taking her to the theatre at Rouen to hear the illustrious tenor,

Lagardy. Homais, surprised at this silence, wanted to know his opinion, and the priest declared that he

But the chemist took up the defence of letters. The theatre, he contended, served for railing at

"'Castigat ridendo mores,'* Monsieur Bournisien! Thus consider the greater part of Voltaire's

tragedies; they are cleverly strewn with philosophical reflections, that made them a vast school of morals and

"I," said Binet, "once saw a piece called the 'Gamin de Paris,' in which there was the character of an

old general that is really hit off to a T. He sets down a young swell who had seduced a working girl, who at

"Certainly," continued Homais, "there is bad literature as there is bad pharmacy, but to condemn in a

lump the most important of the fine arts seems to me a stupidity, a Gothic idea, worthy of the abominable

"I know very well," objected the cure, "that there are good works, good authors. However, if it were

only those persons of different sexes united in a bewitching apartment, decorated rouge, those lights, those

effeminate voices, all this must, in the longrun, engender a certain mental libertinage, give rise to immodest

thoughts and impure temptations. Such, at any rate, is the opinion of all the Fathers. Finally," he added,

suddenly assuming a mystic tone of voice while he rolled a pinch of snuff between his fingers, "if the Church

"Why," asked the druggist, "should she excommunicate actors? For formerly they openly took part in

religious ceremonies. Yes, in the middle of the chancel they acted; they performed a kind of farce called

The ecclesiastic contented himself with uttering a groan, and the chemist went on

"It's like it is in the Bible; there there are, you know, more than one piquant detail, matters really

"Ah! you'll admit that it is not a book to place in the hands of a young girl, and I should be sorry if

"But it is the Protestants, and not we," cried the other impatiently, "who recommend the Bible."

"No matter," said Homais. "I am surprised that in our days, in this century of enlightenment, anyone

should still persist in proscribing an intellectual relaxation that is inoffensive, moralising, and sometimes

"No doubt," replied the doctor carelessly, either because, sharing the same ideas, he wished to offend

The conversation seemed at an end when the chemist thought fit to shoot a Parthian arrow.

"I've known priests who put on ordinary clothes to go and see dancers kicking about."

"Ah! I've known some!" And separating the words of his sentence, Homais repeated,

"Sir!" replied the ecclesiastic, with such angry eyes that the druggist was intimidated by them.

"I only mean to say," he replied in less brutal a tone, "that toleration is the surest way to draw people

"That is true! that is true!" agreed the good fellow, sitting down again on his chair. But he stayed

"That's what I call a cockfight. I beat him, did you see, in a way!Now take my advice. Take

madame to the theatre, if it were only for once in your life, to enrage one of these ravens, hang it! If anyone

could take my place, I would accompany you myself. Be quick about it. Lagardy is only going to give one

performance; he's engaged to go to England at a high salary. From what I hear, he's a regular dog; he's rolling

in money; he's taking three mistresses and a cook along with him. All these great artists burn the candle at

both ends; they require a dissolute life, that suits the imagination to some extent. But they die at the hospital,

because they haven't the sense when young to lay by. Well, a pleasant dinner! Goodbye till tomorrow."

The idea of the theatre quickly germinated in Bovary's head, for he at once communicated it to his

wife, who at first refused, alleging the fatigue, the worry, the expense; but, for a wonder, Charles did not give

in, so sure was he that this recreation would be good for her. He saw nothing to prevent it: his mother had

sent them three hundred francs which he had no longer expected; the current debts were not very large, and

the falling in of Lheureux's bills was still so far off that there was no need to think about them. Besides,

imagining that she was refusing from delicacy, he insisted the more; so that by dint of worrying her she at last

made up her mind, and the next day at eight o'clock they set out in the "Hirondelle."

The druggist, whom nothing whatever kept at Yonville, but who thought himself bound not to budge

Then addressing himself to Emma, who was wearing a blue silk gown with four flounces

The diligence stopped at the "CroixRouge" in the Place Beauvoisine. It was the inn that is in every

provincial faubourg, with large stables and small bedrooms, where one sees in the middle of the court

chickens pilfering the oats under the muddy gigs of the commercial travellersa good old house, with

wormeaten balconies that creak in the wind on winter nights, always full of people, noise, and feeding,

whose black tables are sticky with coffee and brandy, the thick windows made yellow by the flies, the damp

napkins stained with cheap wine, and that always smells of the village, like ploughboys dressed in

Sundayclothes, has a cafe on the street, and towards the countryside a kitchengarden. Charles at once set

out. He muddled up the stageboxes with the gallery, the pit with the boxes; asked for explanations, did not

understand them; was sent from the boxoffice to the actingmanager; came back to the inn, returned to the

theatre, and thus several times traversed the whole length of the town from the theatre to the boulevard.

Madame Bovary bought a bonnet, gloves, and a bouquet. The doctor was much afraid of missing the

beginning, and, without having had time to swallow a plate of soup, they presented themselves at the doors of

The crowd was waiting against the wall, symmetrically enclosed between the balustrades. At the

corner of the neighbouring streets huge bills repeated in quaint letters "Lucie de

LammermoorLagardyOperaetc." The weather was fine, the people were hot, perspiration trickled amid

the curls, and handkerchiefs taken from pockets were mopping red foreheads; and now and then a warm wind

that blew from the river gently stirred the border of the tick awnings hanging from the doors of the

publichouses. A little lower down, however, one was refreshed by a current of icy air that smelt of tallow,

leather, and oil. This was an exhalation from the Rue des Charrettes, full of large black warehouses where

For fear of seeming ridiculous, Emma before going in wished to have a little stroll in the harbour,

and Bovary prudently kept his tickets in his hand, in the pocket of his trousers, which he pressed against his

Her heart began to beat as soon as she reached the vestibule. She involuntarily smiled with vanity on

seeing the crowd rushing to the right by the other corridor while she went up the staircase to the reserved

seats. She was as pleased as a child to push with her finger the large tapestried door. She breathed in with all

her might the dusty smell of the lobbies, and when she was seated in her box she bent forward with the air of

The theatre was beginning to fill; operaglasses were taken from their cases, and the subscribers,

catching sight of one another, were bowing. They came to seek relaxation in the fine arts after the anxieties of

business; but "business" was not forgotten; they still talked cottons, spirits of wine, or indigo. The heads of

old men were to be seen, inexpressive and peaceful, with their hair and complexions looking like silver

medals tarnished by steam of lead. The young beaux were strutting about in the pit, showing in the opening

of their waistcoats their pink or applegreen cravats, and Madame Bovary from above admired them leaning

Now the lights of the orchestra were lit, the lustre, let down from the ceiling, throwing by the

glimmering of its facets a sudden gaiety over the theatre; then the musicians came in one after the other; and

first there was the protracted hubbub of the basses grumbling, violins squeaking, cornets trumpeting, flutes

and flageolets fifing. But three knocks were heard on the stage, a rolling of drums began, the brass

instruments played some chords, and the curtain rising, discovered a countryscene.

It was the crossroads of a wood, with a fountain shaded by an oak to the left. Peasants and lords

with plaids on their shoulders were singing a huntingsong together; then a captain suddenly came on, who

evoked the spirit of evil by lifting both his arms to heaven. Another appeared; they went away, and the

hunters started afresh. She felt herself transported to the reading of her youth, into the midst of Walter Scott.

She seemed to hear through the mist the sound of the Scotch bagpipes reechoing over the heather. Then her

remembrance of the novel helping her to understand the libretto, she followed the story phrase by phrase,

while vague thoughts that came back to her dispersed at once again with the bursts of music. She gave herself

up to the lullaby of the melodies, and felt all her being vibrate as if the violin bows were drawn over her

nerves. She had not eyes enough to look at the costumes, the scenery, the actors, the painted trees that shook

when anyone walked, and the velvet caps, cloaks, swordsall those imaginary things that floated amid the

harmony as in the atmosphere of another world. But a young woman stepped forward, throwing a purse to a

squire in green. She was left alone, and the flute was heard like the murmur of a fountain or the warbling of

birds. Lucie attacked her cavatina in G major bravely. She plained of love; she longed for wings. Emma, too,

fleeing from life, would have liked to fly away in an embrace. Suddenly EdgarLagardy appeared.

He had that splendid pallor that gives something of the majesty of marble to the ardent races of the

South. His vigorous form was tightly clad in a browncoloured doublet; a small chiselled poniard hung

against his left thigh, and he cast round laughing looks showing his white teeth. They said that a Polish

princess having heard him sing one night on the beach at Biarritz, where he mended boats, had fallen in love

with him. She had ruined herself for him. He had deserted her for other women, and this sentimental celebrity

did not fail to enhance his artistic reputation. The diplomatic mummer took care always to slip into his

advertisements some poetic phrase on the fascination of his person and the susceptibility of his soul. A fine

organ, imperturbable coolness, more temperament than intelligence, more power of emphasis than of real

singing, made up the charm of this admirable charlatan nature, in which there was something of the

>From the first scene he evoked enthusiasm. He pressed Lucy in his arms, he left her, he came back,

he seemed desperate; he had outbursts of rage, then elegiac gurglings of infinite sweetness, and the notes

escaped from his bare neck full of sobs and kisses. Emma leant forward to see him, clutching the velvet of the

box with her nails. She was filling her heart with these melodious lamentations that were drawn out to the

accompaniment of the doublebasses, like the cries of the drowning in the tumult of a tempest. She

recognised all the intoxication and the anguish that had almost killed her. The voice of a prima donna seemed

to her to be but echoes of her conscience, and this illusion that charmed her as some very thing of her own

life. But no one on earth had loved her with such love. He had not wept like Edgar that last moonlit night

when they said, "Tomorrow! tomorrow!" The theatre rang with cheers; they recommenced the entire

movement; the lovers spoke of the flowers on their tomb, of vows, exile, fate, hopes; and when they uttered

the final adieu, Emma gave a sharp cry that mingled with the vibrations of the last chords.

"Yet he vows vengeance on her family, while the other one who came on before said, 'I love Lucie

and she loves me!' Besides, he went off with her father arm in arm. For he certainly is her father, isn't

Despite Emma's explanations, as soon as the recitative duet began in which Gilbert lays bare his

abominable machinations to his master Ashton, Charles, seeing the false trothring that is to deceive Lucie,

thought it was a lovegift sent by Edgar. He confessed, moreover, that he did not understand the story

"Yes, but you know," he went on, leaning against her shoulder, "I like to understand things."

Lucie advanced, half supported by her women, a wreath of orange blossoms in her hair, and paler

than the white satin of her gown. Emma dreamed of her marriage day; she saw herself at home again amid the

corn in the little path as they walked to the church. Oh, why had not she, like this woman, resisted, implored?

She, on the contrary, had been joyous, without seeing the abyss into which she was throwing herself. Ah! if in

the freshness of her beauty, before the soiling of marriage and the disillusions of adultery, she could have

anchored her life upon some great, strong heart, then virtue, tenderness, voluptuousness, and duty blending,

she would never have fallen from so high a happiness. But that happiness, no doubt, was a lie invented for the

despair of all desire. She now knew the smallness of the passions that art exaggerated. So, striving to divert

her thoughts, Emma determined now to see in this reproduction of her sorrows only a plastic fantasy, well

enough to please the eye, and she even smiled internally with disdainful pity when at the back of the stage

His large Spanish hat fell at a gesture he made, and immediately the instruments and the singers

began the sextet. Edgar, flashing with fury, dominated all the others with his clearer voice; Ashton hurled

homicidal provocations at him in deep notes; Lucie uttered her shrill plaint, Arthur at one side, his modulated

tones in the middle register, and the bass of the minister pealed forth like an organ, while the voices of the

women repeating his words took them up in chorus delightfully. They were all in a row gesticulating, and

anger, vengeance, jealousy, terror, and stupefaction breathed forth at once from their halfopened mouths.

The outraged lover brandished his naked sword; his guipure ruffle rose with jerks to the movements of his

chest, and he walked from right to left with long strides, clanking against the boards the silvergilt spurs of

his soft boots, widening out at the ankles. He, she thought must have an inexhaustible love to lavish it upon

the crowd with such effusion. All her small faultfindings faded before the poetry of the part that absorbed

her; and, drawn towards this man by the illusion of the character, she tried to imagine to herself his lifethat

life resonant, extraordinary, splendid, and that might have been hers if fate had willed it. They would have

known one another, loved one another. With him, through all the kingdoms of Europe she would have

travelled from capital to capital, sharing his fatigues and his pride, picking up the flowers thrown to him,

herself embroidering his costumes. Then each evening, at the back of a box, behind the golden trelliswork

she would have drunk in eagerly the expansions of this soul that would have sung for her alone; from the

stage, even as he acted, he would have looked at her. But the mad idea seized her that he was looking at her;

it was certain. She longed to run to his arms, to take refuge in his strength, as in the incarnation of love itself,

and to say to him, to cry out, "Take me away! carry me with you! let us go! Thine, thine! all my ardour and

The smell of the gas mingled with that of the breaths, the waving of the fans, made the air more

suffocating. Emma wanted to go out; the crowd filled the corridors, and she fell back in her armchair with

palpitations that choked her. Charles, fearing that she would faint, ran to the refreshmentroom to get a glass

He had great difficulty in getting back to his seat, for his elbows were jerked at every step because of

the glass he held in his hands, and he even spilt threefourths on the shoulders of a Rouen lady in short

sleeves, who feeling the cold liquid running down to her loins, uttered cries like a peacock, as if she were

being assassinated. Her husband, who was a millowner, railed at the clumsy fellow, and while she was with

her handkerchief wiping up the stains from her handsome cherrycoloured taffeta gown, he angrily muttered

about indemnity, costs, reimbursement. At last Charles reached his wife, saying to her, quite out of breath

"Ma foi! I thought I should have had to stay there. There is such a crowdSUCH a crowd!"

"Himself! He's coming along to pay his respects." And as he finished these words the exclerk of

He held out his hand with the ease of a gentleman; and Madame Bovary extended hers, without

doubt obeying the attraction of a stronger will. She had not felt it since that spring evening when the rain fell

upon the green leaves, and they had said goodbye standing at the window. But soon recalling herself to the

necessities of the situation, with an effort she shook off the torpor of her memories, and began stammering a

But from that moment she listened no more; and the chorus of the guests, the scene between Ashton

and his servant, the grand duet in D major, all were for her as far off as if the instruments had grown less

sonorous and the characters more remote. She remembered the games at cards at the druggist's, and the walk

to the nurse's, the reading in the arbour, the teteatete by the firesideall that poor love, so calm and so

protracted, so discreet, so tender, and that she had nevertheless forgotten. And why had he come back? What

combination of circumstances had brought him back into her life? He was standing behind her, leaning with

his shoulder against the wall of the box; now and again she felt herself shuddering beneath the hot breath

"Does this amuse you?" said he, bending over her so closely that the end of his moustache brushed

Then he proposed that they should leave the theatre and go and take an ice somewhere.

"Oh, not yet; let us stay," said Bovary. "Her hair's undone; this is going to be tragic."

But the mad scene did not at all interest Emma, and the acting of the singer seemed to her

"Yesa little," he replied, undecided between the frankness of his pleasure and his respect for his

Monsieur Leon put her long lace shawl carefully about her shoulders, and all three went off to sit

First they spoke of her illness, although Emma interrupted Charles from time to time, for fear, she

said, of boring Monsieur Leon; and the latter told them that he had come to spend two years at Rouen in a

large office, in order to get practice in his profession, which was different in Normandy and Paris. Then he

inquired after Berthe, the Homais, Mere Lefrancois, and as they had, in the husband's presence, nothing more

People coming out of the theatre passed along the pavement, humming or shouting at the top of their

voices, "O bel ange, ma Lucie!*" Then Leon, playing the dilettante, began to talk music. He had seen

Tambourini, Rubini, Persiani, Grisi, and, compared with them, Lagardy, despite his grand outbursts, was

"Yet," interrupted Charles, who was slowly sipping his rumsherbet, "they say that he is quite

admirable in the last act. I regret leaving before the end, because it was beginning to amuse me."

But Charles replied that they were going back next day. "Unless," he added, turning to his wife, "you

And changing his tactics at this unexpected opportunity that presented itself to his hopes, the young

man sang the praises of Lagardy in the last number. It was really superb, sublime. Then Charles insisted

"You would get back on Sunday. Come, make up your mind. You are wrong if you feel that this is

The tables round them, however, were emptying; a waiter came and stood discreetly near them.

Charles, who understood, took out his purse; the clerk held back his arm, and did not forget to leave two more

Charles explained once more that he could not absent himself longer, but that nothing prevented

"Well, you must think it over. We'll see. Night brings counsel." Then to Leon, who was walking

along with them, "Now that you are in our part of the world, I hope you'll come and ask us for some dinner

The clerk declared he would not fail to do so, being obliged, moreover, to go to Yonville on some

business for his office. And they parted before the SaintHerbland Passage just as the clock in the cathedral

Monsieur Leon, while studying law, had gone pretty often to the dancingrooms, where he was even

a great success amongst the grisettes, who thought he had a distinguished air. He was the bestmannered of

the students; he wore his hair neither too long nor too short, didn't spend all his quarter's money on the first

day of the month, and kept on good terms with his professors. As for excesses, he had always abstained from

Often when he stayed in his room to read, or else when sitting of an evening under the limetrees of

the Luxembourg, he let his Code fall to the ground, and the memory of Emma came back to him. But

gradually this feeling grew weaker, and other desires gathered over it, although it still persisted through them

all. For Leon did not lose all hope; there was for him, as it were, a vague promise floating in the future, like a

Then, seeing her again after three years of absence his passion reawakened. He must, he thought, at

last make up his mind to possess her. Moreover, his timidity had worn off by contact with his gay

companions, and he returned to the provinces despising everyone who had not with varnished shoes trodden

the asphalt of the boulevards. By the side of a Parisienne in her laces, in the drawingroom of some

illustrious physician, a person driving his carriage and wearing many orders, the poor clerk would no doubt

have trembled like a child; but here, at Rouen, on the harbour, with the wife of this small doctor he felt at his

ease, sure beforehand he would shine. Selfpossession depends on its environment. We don't speak on the

first floor as on the fourth; and the wealthy woman seems to have, about her, to guard her virtue, all her

On leaving the Bovarys the night before, Leon had followed them through the streets at a distance;

then having seen them stop at the "CroixRouge," he turned on his heel, and spent the night meditating a

So the next day about five o'clock he walked into the kitchen of the inn, with a choking sensation in

She was not disturbed at his approach; on the contrary, she apologised for having neglected to tell

He pretended he had been guided towards her by chance, by, instinct. She began to smile; and at

once, to repair his folly, Leon told her that he had spent his morning in looking for her in all the hotels in the

"Yes," she said, "and I am wrong. One ought not to accustom oneself to impossible pleasures when

But men too had had their trials, and the conversation went off into certain philosophical reflections.

Emma expatiated much on the misery of earthly affections, and the eternal isolation in which the heart

To show off, or from a naive imitation of this melancholy which called forth his, the young man

declared that he had been awfully bored during the whole course of his studies. The law irritated him, other

vocations attracted him, and his mother never ceased worrying him in every one of her letters. As they talked

they explained more and more fully the motives of their sadness, working themselves up in their progressive

confidence. But they sometimes stopped short of the complete exposition of their thought, and then sought to

invent a phrase that might express it all the same. She did not confess her passion for another; he did not say

Perhaps he no longer remembered his suppers with girls after masked balls; and no doubt she did not

recollect the rendezvous of old when she ran across the fields in the morning to her lover's house. The noises

of the town hardly reached them, and the room seemed small, as if on purpose to hem in their solitude more

closely. Emma, in a dimity dressinggown, leant her head against the back of the old armchair; the yellow

wallpaper formed, as it were, a golden background behind her, and her bare head was mirrored in the glass

with the white parting in the middle, and the tip of her ears peeping out from the folds of her hair.

"But pardon me!" she said. "It is wrong of me. I weary you with my eternal complaints."

"If you knew," she went on, raising to the ceiling her beautiful eyes, in which a tear was trembling,

"And I! Oh, I too have suffered! Often I went out; I went away. I dragged myself along the quays,

seeking distraction amid the din of the crowd without being able to banish the heaviness that weighed upon

me. In an engraver's shop on the boulevard there is an Italian print of one of the Muses. She is draped in a

tunic, and she is looking at the moon, with forgetmenots in her flowing hair. Something drove me there

continually; I stayed there hours together." Then in a trembling voice, "She resembled you a little."

Madame Bovary turned away her head that he might not see the irrepressible smile she felt rising to

"I sometimes fancied that some chance would bring you. I thought I recognised you at

streetcorners, and I ran after all the carriages through whose windows I saw a shawl fluttering, a veil like

She seemed resolved to let him go on speaking without interruption. Crossing her arms and bending

down her face, she looked at the rosettes on her slippers, and at intervals made little movements inside the

"But the most wretched thing, is it notis to drag out, as I do, a useless existence. If our pains were

only of some use to someone, we should find consolation in the thought of the sacrifice."

He started off in praise of virtue, duty, and silent immolation, having himself an incredible longing

"Alas! men have none of these holy missions, and I see nowhere any callingunless perhaps that of

With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Emma interrupted him to speak of her illness, which had almost

killed her. What a pity! She should not be suffering now! Leon at once envied the calm of the tomb, and one

evening he had even made his will, asking to be buried in that beautiful rug with velvet stripes he had

received from her. For this was how they would have wished to be, each setting up an ideal to which they

were now adapting their past life. Besides, speech is a rollingmill that always thins out the sentiment.

"Why?" He hesitated. "Because I loved you so!" And congratulating himself at having surmounted

It was like the sky when a gust of wind drives the clouds across. The mass of sad thoughts that

darkened them seemed to be lifted from her blue eyes; her whole face shone. He waited. At last she replied

Then they went over all the trifling events of that faroff existence, whose joys and sorrows they had

just summed up in one word. They recalled the arbour with clematis, the dresses she had worn, the furniture

"Ah! how I have thought of them, do you know? I often saw them again as of yore, when on the

summer mornings the sun beat down upon your blinds, and I saw your two bare arms passing out amongst the

"At that time you were to me I know not what incomprehensible force that took captive my life.

"You were downstairs in the anteroom, ready to go out, standing on the last stair; you were wearing

a bonnet with small blue flowers; and without any invitation from you, in spite of myself, I went with you.

Every moment, however, I grew more and more conscious of my folly, and I went on walking by you, not

daring to follow you completely, and unwilling to leave you. When you went into a shop, I waited in the

street, and I watched you through the window taking off your gloves and counting the change on the counter.

Then you rang at Madame Tuvache's; you were let in, and I stood like an idiot in front of the great heavy

Madame Bovary, as she listened to him, wondered that she was so old. All these things reappearing

before her seemed to widen out her life; it was like some sentimental immensity to which she returned; and

They heard eight strike on the different clocks of the Beauvoisine quarter, which is full of schools,

churches, and large empty hotels. They no longer spoke, but they felt as they looked upon each other a

buzzing in their heads, as if something sonorous had escaped from the fixed eyes of each of them. They were

hand in hand now, and the past, the future, reminiscences and dreams, all were confounded in the sweetness

of this ecstasy. Night was darkening over the walls, on which still shone, half hidden in the shade, the coarse

colours of four bills representing four scenes from the "Tour de Nesle," with a motto in Spanish and French at

the bottom. Through the sashwindow a patch of dark sky was seen between the pointed roofs.

He was thinking how to resume the interrupted conversation, when she said to him

The clerk said that ideal natures were difficult to understand. He from the first moment had loved

her, and he despaired when he thought of the happiness that would have been theirs, if thanks to fortune,

"What a dream!" murmured Leon. And fingering gently the blue binding of her long white sash, he

"No, my friend," she replied; "I am too old; you are too young. Forget me! Others will love you; you

She showed him the impossibility of their love, and that they must remain, as formerly, on the simple

Was she speaking thus seriously? No doubt Emma did not herself know, quite absorbed as she was

by the charm of the seduction, and the necessity of defending herself from it; and contemplating the young

man with a moved look, she gently repulsed the timid caresses that his trembling hands attempted.

Emma was seized with a vague fear at this shyness, more dangerous to her than the boldness of

Rodolphe when he advanced to her openarmed. No man had ever seemed to her so beautiful. An exquisite

candour emanated from his being. He lowered his long fine eyelashes, that curled upwards. His cheek, with

the soft skin reddened, she thought, with desire of her person, and Emma felt an invincible longing to press

"It has even made me forget the theatre. And poor Bovary has left me here especially for that.

"Somethingimportantserious. Oh, no! Besides, you will not go; it is impossible. If you

"Ah! you can jest. Enough! enough! Oh, for pity's sake, let me see you onceonly once!"

"Will you"She seemed to reflect; then abruptly, "Tomorrow at eleven o'clock in the cathedral."

And as they were both standing up, he behind her, and Emma with her head bent, he stooped over

"You are mad! Ah! you are mad!" she said, with sounding little laughs, while the kisses multiplied.

Then bending his head over her shoulder, he seemed to beg the consent of her eyes. They fell upon

Leon stepped back to go out. He stopped on the threshold; then he whispered with a trembling voice,

In the evening Emma wrote the clerk an interminable letter, in which she cancelled the rendezvous;

all was over; they must not, for the sake of their happiness, meet again. But when the letter was finished, as

The next morning, at the open window, and humming on his balcony, Leon himself varnished his

pumps with several coatings. He put on white trousers, fine socks, a green coat, emptied all the scent he had

into his handkerchief, then having had his hair curled, he uncurled it again, in order to give it a more natural

"It is still too early," he thought, looking at the hairdresser's cuckooclock, that pointed to the hour of

nine. He read an old fashion journal, went out, smoked a cigar, walked up three streets, thought it was time,

It was a beautiful summer morning. Silver plate sparkled in the jeweller's windows, and the light

falling obliquely on the cathedral made mirrors of the corners of the grey stones; a flock of birds fluttered in

the grey sky round the trefoil bellturrets; the square, resounding with cries, was fragrant with the flowers

that bordered its pavement, roses, jasmines, pinks, narcissi, and tuberoses, unevenly spaced out between

moist grasses, catmint, and chickweed for the birds; the fountains gurgled in the centre, and under large

umbrellas, amidst melons, piled up in heaps, flowerwomen, bareheaded, were twisting paper round

The young man took one. It was the first time that he had bought flowers for a woman, and his

breast, as he smelt them, swelled with pride, as if this homage that he meant for another had recoiled upon

But he was afraid of being seen; he resolutely entered the church. The beadle, who was just then

standing on the threshold in the middle of the left doorway, under the "Dancing Marianne," with feather cap,

and rapier dangling against his calves, came in, more majestic than a cardinal, and as shining as a saint on a

He came towards Leon, and, with that smile of wheedling benignity assumed by ecclesiastics when

"The gentleman, no doubt, does not belong to these parts? The gentleman would like to see the

And he first went round the lower aisles. Then he went out to look at the Place. Emma was not

The nave was reflected in the full fonts with the beginning of the arches and some portions of the

glass windows. But the reflections of the paintings, broken by the marble rim, were continued farther on upon

the flagstones, like a manycoloured carpet. The broad daylight from without streamed into the church in

three enormous rays from the three opened portals. From time to time at the upper end a sacristan passed,

making the oblique genuflexion of devout persons in a hurry. The crystal lustres hung motionless. In the

choir a silver lamp was burning, and from the side chapels and dark places of the church sometimes rose

sounds like sighs, with the clang of a closing grating, its echo reverberating under the lofty vault.

Leon with solemn steps walked along by the walls. Life had never seemed so good to him. She

would come directly, charming, agitated, looking back at the glances that followed her, and with her flounced

dress, her gold eyeglass, her thin shoes, with all sorts of elegant trifles that he had never enjoyed, and with the

ineffable seduction of yielding virtue. The church like a huge boudoir spread around her; the arches bent

down to gather in the shade the confession of her love; the windows shone resplendent to illumine her face,

and the censers would burn that she might appear like an angel amid the fumes of the sweetsmelling odours.

But she did not come. He sat down on a chair, and his eyes fell upon a blue stained window

representing boatmen carrying baskets. He looked at it long, attentively, and he counted the scales of the

fishes and the buttonholes of the doublets, while his thoughts wandered off towards Emma.

The beadle, standing aloof, was inwardly angry at this individual who took the liberty of admiring

the cathedral by himself. He seemed to him to be conducting himself in a monstrous fashion, to be robbing

But a rustle of silk on the flags, the tip of a bonnet, a lined cloakit was she! Leon rose and ran to

And she abruptly withdrew her hand to enter the chapel of the Virgin, where, kneeling on a chair, she

The young man was irritated at this bigot fancy; then he nevertheless experienced a certain charm in

seeing her, in the middle of a rendezvous, thus lost in her devotions, like an Andalusian marchioness; then he

Emma prayed, or rather strove to pray, hoping that some sudden resolution might descend to her

from heaven; and to draw down divine aid she filled full her eyes with the splendours of the tabernacle. She

breathed in the perfumes of the fullblown flowers in the large vases, and listened to the stillness of the

She rose, and they were about to leave, when the beadle came forward, hurriedly saying

"Madame, no doubt, does not belong to these parts? Madame would like to see the curiosities of the

"Why not?" said she. For she clung with her expiring virtue to the Virgin, the sculptures, the

Then, in order to proceed "by rule," the beadle conducted them right to the entrance near the square,

where, pointing out with his cane a large circle of blockstones without inscription or carving

"This," he said majestically, "is the circumference of the beautiful bell of Ambroise. It weighed forty

thousand pounds. There was not its equal in all Europe. The workman who cast it died of the joy"

The old fellow started off again; then, having got back to the chapel of the Virgin, he stretched forth

his arm with an allembracing gesture of demonstration, and, prouder than a country squire showing you his

"This simple stone covers Pierre de Breze, lord of Varenne and of Brissac, grand marshal of Poitou,

and governor of Normandy, who died at the battle of Montlhery on the 16th of July, 1465."

"And on the right, this gentleman all encased in iron, on the prancing horse, is his grandson, Louis de

Breze, lord of Breval and of Montchauvet, Count de Maulevrier, Baron de Mauny, chamberlain to the king,

Knight of the Order, and also governor of Normandy; died on the 23rd of July, 1531a Sunday, as the

inscription specifies; and below, this figure, about to descend into the tomb, portrays the same person. It is

Madame Bovary put up her eyeglasses. Leon, motionless, looked at her, no longer even attempting to

speak a single word, to make a gesture, so discouraged was he at this twofold obstinacy of gossip and

"Near him, this kneeling woman who weeps is his spouse, Diane de Poitiers, Countess de Breze,

Duchess de Valentinois, born in 1499, died in 1566, and to the left, the one with the child is the Holy Virgin.

Now turn to this side; here are the tombs of the Ambroise. They were both cardinals and archbishops of

Rouen. That one was minister under Louis XII. He did a great deal for the cathedral. In his will he left thirty

And without stopping, still talking, he pushed them into a chapel full of balustrades, some put away,

and disclosed a kind of block that certainly might once have been an illmade statue.

"Truly," he said with a groan, "it adorned the tomb of Richard Coeur de Lion, King of England and

Duke of Normandy. It was the Calvinists, sir, who reduced it to this condition. They had buried it for spite in

the earth, under the episcopal seat of Monsignor. See! this is the door by which Monsignor passes to his

But Leon hastily took some silver from his pocket and seized Emma's arm. The beadle stood

dumfounded, not able to understand this untimely munificence when there were still so many things for the

"You are wrong, sir! It is four hundred and forty feet high, nine less than the great pyramid of Egypt.

Leon was fleeing, for it seemed to him that his love, that for nearly two hours now had become

petrified in the church like the stones, would vanish like a vapour through that sort of truncated funnel, of

oblong cage, of open chimney that rises so grotesquely from the cathedral like the extravagant attempt of

Making no answer, he walked on with a rapid step; and Madame Bovary was already, dipping her

finger in the holy water when behind them they heard a panting breath interrupted by the regular sound of a

And he recognised the beadle, holding under his arms and balancing against his stomach some

The child bounded off like a ball by the Rue QuatreVents; then they were alone a few minutes, face

"Ah! Leon! ReallyI don't knowif I ought," she whispered. Then with a more serious air, "Do

Still the cab did not come. Leon was afraid she might go back into the church. At last the cab

"At all events, go out by the north porch," cried the beadle, who was left alone on the threshold, "so

as to see the Resurrection, the Last Judgment, Paradise, King David, and the Condemned in Hellflames."

And the lumbering machine set out. It went down the Rue GrandPont, crossed the Place des Arts,

the Quai Napoleon, the Pont Neuf, and stopped short before the statue of Pierre Corneille.

The cab went on again, and as soon as it reached the Carrefour Lafayette, set off downhill, and

The cab came out by the gate, and soon having reached the Cours, trotted quietly beneath the

elmtrees. The coachman wiped his brow, put his leather hat between his knees, and drove his carriage

It went along by the river, along the towingpath paved with sharp pebbles, and for a long while in

But suddenly it turned with a dash across Quatremares, Sotteville, La GrandeChaussee, the Rue

And at once resuming its course, it passed by SaintSever, by the Quai'des Curandiers, the Quai aux

Meules, once more over the bridge, by the Place du Champ de Mars, and behind the hospital gardens, where

old men in black coats were walking in the sun along the terrace all green with ivy. It went up the Boulevard

Bouvreuil, along the Boulevard Cauchoise, then the whole of MontRiboudet to the Deville hills.

It came back; and then, without any fixed plan or direction, wandered about at hazard. The cab was

seen at SaintPol, at Lescure, at Mont Gargan, at La RougueMarc and Place du Gaillardbois; in the Rue

Maladrerie, Rue Dinanderie, before SaintRomain, SaintVivien, SaintMaclou, SaintNicaisein front of

the Customs, at the "Vieille Tour," the "Trois Pipes," and the Monumental Cemetery. From time to time the

coachman, on his box cast despairing eyes at the publichouses. He could not understand what furious desire

for locomotion urged these individuals never to wish to stop. He tried to now and then, and at once

exclamations of anger burst forth behind him. Then he lashed his perspiring jades afresh, but indifferent to

their jolting, running up against things here and there, not caring if he did, demoralised, and almost weeping

And on the harbour, in the midst of the drays and casks, and in the streets, at the corners, the good

folk opened large wonderstricken eyes at this sight, so extraordinary in the provinces, a cab with blinds

drawn, and which appeared thus constantly shut more closely than a tomb, and tossing about like a vessel.

Once in the middle of the day, in the open country, just as the sun beat most fiercely against the old

plated lanterns, a bared hand passed beneath the small blinds of yellow canvas, and threw out some scraps of

paper that scattered in the wind, and farther off lighted like white butterflies on a field of red clover all in

At about six o'clock the carriage stopped in a back street of the Beauvoisine Quarter, and a woman

On reaching the inn, Madame Bovary was surprised not to see the diligence. Hivert, who had waited

Yet nothing forced her to go; but she had given her word that she would return that same evening.

Moreover, Charles expected her, and in her heart she felt already that cowardly docility that is for some

She packed her box quickly, paid her bill, took a cab in the yard, hurrying on the driver, urging him

on, every moment inquiring about the time and the miles traversed. He succeeded in catching up the

Hardly was she seated in her corner than she closed her eyes, and opened them at the foot of the hill,

when from afar she recognised Felicite, who was on the lookout in front of the farrier's shop. Hivert pulled in

The village was silent as usual. At the corner of the streets were small pink heaps that smoked in the

air, for this was the time for jammaking, and everyone at Yonville prepared his supply on the same day. But

in front of the chemist's shop one might admire a far larger heap, and that surpassed the others with the

superiority that a laboratory must have over ordinary stores, a general need over individual fancy.

She went in. The large armchair was upset, and even the "Fanal de Rouen" lay on the ground,

outspread between two pestles. She pushed open the lobby door, and in the middle of the kitchen, amid

brown jars full of picked currants, of powdered sugar and lump sugar, of the scales on the table, and of the

pans on the fire, she saw all the Homais, small and large, with aprons reaching to their chins, and with forks

in their hands. Justin was standing up with bowed head, and the chemist was screaming

"What is it?" replied the druggist. "We are making preserves; they are simmering; but they were

about to boil over, because there is too much juice, and I ordered another pan. Then he, from indolence, from

laziness, went and took, hanging on its nail in my laboratory, the key of the Capharnaum."

It was thus the druggist called a small room under the leads, full of the utensils and the goods of his

trade. He often spent long hours there alone, labelling, decanting, and doing up again; and he looked upon it

not as a simple store, but as a veritable sanctuary, whence there afterwards issued, elaborated by his hands, all

sorts of pills, boluses, infusions, lotions, and potions, that would bear far and wide his celebrity. No one in

the world set foot there, and he respected it so, that he swept it himself. Finally, if the pharmacy, open to all

comers, was the spot where he displayed his pride, the Capharnaum was the refuge where, egoistically

concentrating himself, Homais delighted in the exercise of his predilections, so that Justin's thoughtlessness

seemed to him a monstrous piece of irreverence, and, redder than the currants, he repeated

"Yes, from the Capharnaum! The key that locks up the acids and caustic alkalies! To go and get a

spare pan! a pan with a lid! and that I shall perhaps never use! Everything is of importance in the delicate

operations of our art! But, devil take it! one must make distinctions, and not employ for almost domestic

purposes that which is meant for pharmaceutical! It is as if one were to carve a fowl with a scalpel; as if a

"No, let me alone," went on the druggist "let me alone, hang it! My word! One might as well set up

for a grocer. That's it! go it! respect nothing! break, smash, let loose the leeches, burn the mallowpaste,

"Presently! Do you know to what you exposed yourself? Didn't you see anything in the corner, on

"Ah! you don't know! Well, then, I do know! You saw a bottle of blue glass, sealed with yellow wax,

that contains a white powder, on which I have even written 'Dangerous!' And do you know what is in it?

"Next to it!" cried Madame Hoinais, clasping her hands. "Arsenic! You might have poisoned us all."

And the children began howling as if they already had frightful pains in their entrails.

"Or poison a patient!" continued the druggist. "Do you want to see me in the prisoner's dock with

criminals, in a court of justice? To see me dragged to the scaffold? Don't you know what care I take in

managing things, although I am so thoroughly used to it? Often I am horrified myself when I think of my

responsibility; for the Government persecutes us, and the absurd legislation that rules us is a veritable

Emma no longer dreamed of asking what they wanted her for, and the druggist went on in breathless

"That is your return for all the kindness we have shown you! That is how you recompense me for the

really paternal care that I lavish on you! For without me where would you be? What would you be doing?

Who provides you with food, education, clothes, and all the means of figuring one day with honour in the

ranks of society? But you must pull hard at the oar if you're to do that, and get, as, people say, callosities

He was so exasperated he quoted Latin. He would have quoted Chinese or Greenlandish had he

known those two languages, for he was in one of those crises in which the whole soul shows indistinctly what

it contains, like the ocean, which, in the storm, opens itself from the seaweeds on its shores down to the sands

"I am beginning to repent terribly of having taken you up! I should certainly have done better to have

left you to rot in your poverty and the dirt in which you were born. Oh, you'll never be fit for anything but to

herd animals with horns! You have no aptitude for science! You hardly know how to stick on a label! And

there you are, dwelling with me snug as a parson, living in clover, taking your ease!"

"Oh, dear me!" interrupted the good woman, with a sad air, "how am I to tell you? It is a

She could not finish, the druggist was thundering"Empty it! Clean it! Take it back! Be quick!"

And seizing Justin by the collar of his blouse, he shook a book out of his pocket. The lad stooped,

but Homais was the quicker, and, having picked up the volume, contemplated it with staring eyes and open

"CONJUGALLOVE!" he said, slowly separating the two words. "Ah! very good! very good! very

First he walked up and down with the open volume in his hand, rolling his eyes, choking, tumid,

apoplectic. Then he came straight to his pupil, and, planting himself in front of him with crossed arms

"Have you every vice, then, little wretch? Take care! you are on a downward path. Did not you

reflect that this infamous book might fall in the hands of my children, kindle a spark in their minds, tarnish

the purity of Athalie, corrupt Napoleon. He is already formed like a man. Are you quite sure, anyhow, that

In fact, Monsieur Bovary senior had expired the evening before suddenly from an attack of apoplexy

as he got up from table, and by way of greater precaution, on account of Emma's sensibility, Charles had

begged Homais to break the horrible news to her gradually. Homais had thought over his speech; he had

rounded, polished it, made it rhythmical; it was a masterpiece of prudence and transitions, of subtle turns and

Emma, giving up all chance of hearing any details, left the pharmacy; for Monsieur Homais had

taken up the thread of his vituperations. However, he was growing calmer, and was now grumbling in a

"It is not that I entirely disapprove of the work. Its author was a doctor! There are certain scientific

points in it that it is not ill a man should know, and I would even venture to say that a man must know. But

laterlater! At any rate, not till you are man yourself and your temperament is formed."

When Emma knocked at the door. Charles, who was waiting for her, came forward with open arms

And he bent over her gently to kiss her. But at the contact of his lips the memory of the other seized

He showed her the letter in which his mother told the event without any sentimental hypocrisy. She

only regretted her husband had not received the consolations of religion, as he had died at Daudeville, in the

Emma gave him back the letter; then at dinner, for appearance's sake, she affected a certain

repugnance. But as he urged her to try, she resolutely began eating, while Charles opposite her sat motionless

Now and then he raised his head and gave her a long look full of distress. Once he sighed, "I should

She was silent. At last, understanding that she must say something, "How old was your father?" she

A quarter of an hour after he added, "My poor mother! what will become of her now?"

She made a gesture that signified she did not know. Seeing her so taciturn, Charles imagined her

much affected, and forced himself to say nothing, not to reawaken this sorrow which moved him. And,

When the cloth was removed, Bovary did not rise, nor did Emma; and as she looked at him, the

monotony of the spectacle drove little by little all pity from her heart. He seemed to her paltry, weak, a

cipherin a word, a poor thing in every way. How to get rid of him? What an interminable evening!

They heard in the passage the sharp noise of a wooden leg on the boards. It was Hippolyte bringing

back Emma's luggage. In order to put it down he described painfully a quarter of a circle with his stump.

"He doesn't even remember any more about it," she thought, looking at the poor devil, whose coarse

Bovary was searching at the bottom of his purse for a centime, and without appearing to understand

all there was of humiliation for him in the mere presence of this man, who stood there like a personified

"Hallo! you've a pretty bouquet," he said, noticing Leon's violets on the chimney.

"Yes," she replied indifferently; "it's a bouquet I bought just now from a beggar."

Charles picked up the flowers, and freshening his eyes, red with tears, against them, smelt them

The next day Madame Bovary senior arrived. She and her son wept much. Emma, on the pretext of

giving orders, disappeared. The following day they had a talk over the mourning. They went and sat down

Charles was thinking of his father, and was surprised to feel so much affection for this man, whom

till then he had thought he cared little about. Madame Bovary senior was thinking of her husband. The worst

days of the past seemed enviable to her. All was forgotten beneath the instinctive regret of such a long habit,

and from time to time whilst she sewed, a big tear rolled along her nose and hung suspended there a moment.

Emma was thinking that it was scarcely fortyeight hours since they had been together, far from the world,

all in a frenzy of joy, and not having eyes enough to gaze upon each other. She tried to recall the slightest

details of that past day. But the presence of her husband and motherinlaw worried her. She would have

liked to hear nothing, to see nothing, so as not to disturb the meditation on her love, that, do what she would,

She was unpicking the lining of a dress, and the strips were scattered around her. Madame Bovary

senior was plying her scissor without looking up, and Charles, in his list slippers and his old brown surtout

that he used as a dressinggown, sat with both hands in his pockets, and did not speak either; near them

Berthe, in a little white pinafore, was raking sand in the walks with her spade. Suddenly she saw Monsieur

He came to offer his services "under the sad circumstances." Emma answered that she thought she

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but I should like to have a private talk with you." Then in a low voice,

Charles crimsoned to his ears. "Oh, yes! certainly." And in his confusion, turning to his wife,

She seemed to understand him, for she rose; and Charles said to his mother, "It is nothing particular.

No doubt, some household trifle." He did not want her to know the story of the bill, fearing her reproaches.

As soon as they were alone, Monsieur Lheureux in sufficiently clear terms began to congratulate

Emma on the inheritance, then to talk of indifferent matters, of the espaliers, of the harvest, and of his own

health, which was always soso, always having ups and downs. In fact, he had to work devilish hard,

although he didn't make enough, in spite of all people said, to find butter for his bread.

"And so you're quite well again?" he went on. "Ma foi! I saw your husband in a sad state. He's a

She asked what misunderstanding, for Charles had said nothing of the dispute about the goods

"Why, you know well enough," cried Lheureux. "It was about your little fanciesthe travelling

He had drawn his hat over his eyes, and, with his hands behind his back, smiling and whistling, he

"We made it up, all the same, and I've come again to propose another arrangement."

This was to renew the bill Bovary had signed. The doctor, of course, would do as he pleased; he was

not to trouble himself, especially just now, when he would have a lot of worry. "And he would do better to

give it over to someone elseto you, for example. With a power of attorney it could be easily managed, and

She did not understand. He was silent. Then, passing to his trade, Lheureux declared that madame

must require something. He would send her a black barege, twelve yards, just enough to make a gown.

"The one you've on is good enough for the house, but you want another for calls. I saw that the very

He did not send the stuff; he brought it. Then he came again to measure it; he came again on other

pretexts, always trying to make himself agreeable, useful, "enfeoffing himself," as Homais would have said,

and always dropping some hint to Emma about the power of attorney. He never mentioned the bill; she did

not think of it. Charles, at the beginning of her convalescence, had certainly said something about it to her,

but so many emotions had passed through her head that she no longer remembered it. Besides, she took care

not to talk of any money questions. Madame Bovary seemed surprised at this, and attributed the change in her

But as soon as she was gone, Emma greatly astounded Bovary by her practical good sense. It would

be necessary to make inquiries, to look into mortgages, and see if there were any occasion for a sale by

auction or a liquidation. She quoted technical terms casually, pronounced the grand words of order, the

future, foresight, and constantly exaggerated the difficulties of settling his father's affairs so much, that at last

one day she showed him the rough draft of a power of attorney to manage and administer his business,

arrange all loans, sign and endorse all bills, pay all sums, etc. She had profited by Lheureux's lessons. Charles

"Monsieur Guillaumin"; and with the utmost coolness she added, "I don't trust him overmuch.

Notaries have such a bad reputation. Perhaps we ought to consultwe only knowno one."

"Unless Leon" replied Charles, who was reflecting. But it was difficult to explain matters by

letter. Then she offered to make the journey, but he thanked her. She insisted. It was quite a contest of mutual

The next morning she set out in the "Hirondelle" to go to Rouen to consult Monsieur Leon, and she

They were three full, exquisite daysa true honeymoon. They were at the HoteldeBoulogne, on

the harbour; and they lived there, with drawn blinds and closed doors, with flowers on the floor, and iced

Towards evening they took a covered boat and went to dine on one of the islands. It was the time

when one hears by the side of the dockyard the caulkingmallets sounding against the hull of vessels. The

smoke of the tar rose up between the trees; there were large fatty drops on the water, undulating in the purple

They rowed down in the midst of moored boats, whose long oblique cables grazed lightly against the

bottom of the boat. The din of the town gradually grew distant; the rolling of carriages, the tumult of voices,

the yelping of dogs on the decks of vessels. She took off her bonnet, and they landed on their island.

They sat down in the lowceilinged room of a tavern, at whose door hung black nets. They ate fried

smelts, cream and cherries. They lay down upon the grass; they kissed behind the poplars; and they would

fain, like two Robinsons, have lived for ever in this little place, which seemed to them in their beatitude the

most magnificent on earth. It was not the first time that they had seen trees, a blue sky, meadows; that they

had heard the water flowing and the wind blowing in the leaves; but, no doubt, they had never admired all

this, as if Nature had not existed before, or had only begun to be beautiful since the gratification of their

At night they returned. The boat glided along the shores of the islands. They sat at the bottom, both

hidden by the shade, in silence. The square oars rang in the iron thwarts, and, in the stillness, seemed to mark

time, like the beating of a metronome, while at the stern the rudder that trailed behind never ceased its gentle

Once the moon rose; they did not fail to make fine phrases, finding the orb melancholy and full of

Her musical but weak voice died away along the waves, and the winds carried off the trills that Leon

She was opposite him, leaning against the partition of the shallop, through one of whose raised blinds

the moon streamed in. Her black dress, whose drapery spread out like a fan, made her seem more slender,

taller. Her head was raised, her hands clasped, her eyes turned towards heaven. At times the shadow of the

willows hid her completely; then she reappeared suddenly, like a vision in the moonlight.

Leon, on the floor by her side, found under his hand a ribbon of scarlet silk. The boatman looked at

"Perhaps it belongs to the party I took out the other day. A lot of jolly folk, gentlemen and ladies,

with cakes, champagne, cornetseverything in style! There was one especially, a tall handsome man with

small moustaches, who was that funny! And they all kept saying, 'Now tell us something, AdolpheDolpe,'

"And who doesn't want for women, either," softly added the sailor, thinking he was paying the

Yet they had to part. The adieux were sad. He was to send his letters to Mere Rollet, and she gave

him such precise instructions about a double envelope that he admired greatly her amorous astuteness.

"But why," he thought afterwards as he came back through the streets alone, "is she so very anxious

Leon soon put on an air of superiority before his comrades, avoided their company, and completely

He waited for her letters; he reread them; he wrote to her. He called her to mind with all the

strength of his desires and of his memories. Instead of lessening with absence, this longing to see her again

When, from the summit of the hill, he saw in the valley below the churchspire with its tin flag

swinging in the wind, he felt that delight mingled with triumphant vanity and egoistic tenderness that

He went rambling round her house. A light was burning in the kitchen. He watched for her shadow

Mere Lefrancois, when she saw him, uttered many exclamations. She thought he "had grown and

He dined in the little room as of yore, but alone, without the taxgatherer; for Binet, tired of waiting

for the "Hirondelle," had definitely put forward his meal one hour, and now he dined punctually at five, and

Leon, however, made up his mind, and knocked at the doctor's door. Madame was in her room, and

did not come down for a quarter of an hour. The doctor seemed delighted to see him, but he never stirred out

He saw her alone in the evening, very late, behind the garden in the lane; in the lane, as she had the

other one! It was a stormy night, and they talked under an umbrella by lightning flashes.

Their separation was becoming intolerable. "I would rather die!" said Emma. She was writhing in his

They came back again to embrace once more, and it was then that she promised him to find soon, by

no matter what means, a regular opportunity for seeing one another in freedom at least once a week. Emma

never doubted she should be able to do this. Besides, she was full of hope. Some money was coming to her.

On the strength of it she bought a pair of yellow curtains with large stripes for her room, whose

cheapness Monsieur Lheureux had commended; she dreamed of getting a carpet, and Lheureux, declaring

that it wasn't "drinking the sea," politely undertook to supply her with one. She could no longer do without

his services. Twenty times a day she sent for him, and he at once put by his business without a murmur.

People could not understand either why Mere Rollet breakfasted with her every day, and even paid her

It was about this time, that is to say, the beginning of winter, that she seemed seized with great

One evening when Charles was listening to her, she began the same piece four times over, each time

And Charles confessed she had gone off a little. She played wrong notes and blundered; then,

"Ah! it is no use. I ought to take some lessons; but" She bit her lips and added, "Twenty francs a

"Yes, so it israther," said Charles, giggling stupidly. "But it seems to me that one might be able to

do it for less; for there are artists of no reputation, and who are often better than the celebrities."

The next day when he came home he looked at her shyly, and at last could no longer keep back the

"How obstinate you are sometimes! I went to Barfucheres today. Well, Madame Liegard assured

me that her three young ladies who are at La Misericorde have lessons at fifty sous apiece, and that from an

She shrugged her shoulders and did not open her piano again. But when she passed by it (if Bovary

And when anyone came to see her, she did not fail to inform them she had given up music, and could

They even spoke to Bovary about it. They put him to shame, and especially the chemist.

"You are wrong. One should never let any of the faculties of nature lie fallow. Besides, just think,

my good friend, that by inducing madame to study; you are economising on the subsequent musical

education of your child. For my own part, I think that mothers ought themselves to instruct their children.

That is an idea of Rousseau's, still rather new perhaps, but that will end by triumphing, I am certain of it, like

So Charles returned once more to this question of the piano. Emma replied bitterly that it would be

better to sell it. This poor piano, that had given her vanity so much satisfactionto see it go was to Bovary

"If you liked," he said, "a lesson from time to time, that wouldn't after all be very ruinous."

And thus it was she set about obtaining her husband's permission to go to town once a week to see

her lover. At the end of a month she was even considered to have made considerable progress.

She went on Thursdays. She got up and dressed silently, in order not to awaken Charles, who would

have made remarks about her getting ready too early. Next she walked up and down, went to the windows,

and looked out at the Place. The early dawn was broadening between the pillars of the market, and the

chemist's shop, with the shutters still up, showed in the pale light of the dawn the large letters of his

When the clock pointed to a quarter past seven, she went off to the "Lion d'Or," whose door

Artemise opened yawning. The girl then made up the coals covered by the cinders, and Emma remained

alone in the kitchen. Now and again she went out. Hivert was leisurely harnessing his horses, listening,

moreover, to Mere Lefrancois, who, passing her head and nightcap through a grating, was charging him with

commissions and giving him explanations that would have confused anyone else. Emma kept beating the

At last, when he had eaten his soup, put on his cloak, lighted his pipe, and grasped his whip, he

The "Hirondelle" started at a slow trot, and for about a mile stopped here and there to pick up

passengers who waited for it, standing at the border of the road, in front of their yard gates.

Those who had secured seats the evening before kept it waiting; some even were still in bed in their

houses. Hivert called, shouted, swore; then he got down from his seat and went and knocked loudly at the

The four seats, however, filled up. The carriage rolled off; rows of appletrees followed one upon

another, and the road between its two long ditches, full of yellow water, rose, constantly narrowing towards

Emma knew it from end to end; she knew that after a meadow there was a signpost, next an elm, a

barn, or the hut of a limekiln tender. Sometimes even, in the hope of getting some surprise, she shut her

At last the brick houses began to follow one another more closely, the earth resounded beneath the

wheels, the "Hirondelle" glided between the gardens, where through an opening one saw statues, a periwinkle

plant, clipped yews, and a swing. Then on a sudden the town appeared. Sloping down like an amphitheatre,

and drowned in the fog, it widened out beyond the bridges confusedly. Then the open country spread away

with a monotonous movement till it touched in the distance the vague line of the pale sky. Seen thus from

above, the whole landscape looked immovable as a picture; the anchored ships were massed in one corner,

the river curved round the foot of the green hills, and the isles, oblique in shape, lay on the water, like large,

motionless, black fishes. The factory chimneys belched forth immense brown fumes that were blown away at

the top. One heard the rumbling of the foundries, together with the clear chimes of the churches that stood out

in the mist. The leafless trees on the boulevards made violet thickets in the midst of the houses, and the roofs,

all shining with the rain, threw back unequal reflections, according to the height of the quarters in which they

were. Sometimes a gust of wind drove the clouds towards the Saint Catherine hills, like aerial waves that

A giddiness seemed to her to detach itself from this mass of existence, and her heart swelled as if the

hundred and twenty thousand souls that palpitated there had all at once sent into it the vapour of the passions

she fancied theirs. Her love grew in the presence of this vastness, and expanded with tumult to the vague

murmurings that rose towards her. She poured it out upon the square, on the walks, on the streets, and the old

Norman city outspread before her eyes as an enormous capital, as a Babylon into which she was entering. She

leant with both hands against the window, drinking in the breeze; the three horses galloped, the stones grated

in the mud, the diligence rocked, and Hivert, from afar, hailed the carts on the road, while the bourgeois who

had spent the night at the Guillaume woods came quietly down the hill in their little family carriages.

They stopped at the barrier; Emma undid her overshoes, put on other gloves, rearranged her shawl,

The town was then awakening. Shopboys in caps were cleaning up the shopfronts, and women

with baskets against their hips, at intervals uttered sonorous cries at the corners of streets. She walked with

downcast eyes, close to the walls, and smiling with pleasure under her lowered black veil.

For fear of being seen, she did not usually take the most direct road. She plunged into dark alleys,

and, all perspiring, reached the bottom of the Rue Nationale, near the fountain that stands there. It, is the

quarter for theatres, publichouses, and whores. Often a cart would pass near her, bearing some shaking

scenery. Waiters in aprons were sprinkling sand on the flagstones between green shrubs. It all smelt of

She turned down a street; she recognised him by his curling hair that escaped from beneath his hat.

Leon walked along the pavement. She followed him to the hotel. He went up, opened the door,

Then, after the kisses, the words gushed forth. They told each other the sorrows of the week, the

presentiments, the anxiety for the letters; but now everything was forgotten; they gazed into each other's faces

The bed was large, of mahogany, in the shape of a boat. The curtains were in red levantine, that hung

from the ceiling and bulged out too much towards the bellshaped bedside; and nothing in the world was so

lovely as her brown head and white skin standing out against this purple colour, when, with a movement of

The warm room, with its discreet carpet, its gay ornaments, and its calm light, seemed made for the

intimacies of passion. The curtainrods, ending in arrows, their brass pegs, and the great balls of the

firedogs shone suddenly when the sun came in. On the chimney between the candelabra there were two of

those pink shells in which one hears the murmur of the sea if one holds them to the ear.

How they loved that dear room, so full of gaiety, despite its rather faded splendour! They always

found the furniture in the same place, and sometimes hairpins, that she had forgotten the Thursday before,

under the pedestal of the clock. They lunched by the fireside on a little round table, inlaid with rosewood.

Emma carved, put bits on his plate with all sorts of coquettish ways, and she laughed with a sonorous and

libertine laugh when the froth of the champagne ran over from the glass to the rings on her fingers. They were

so completely lost in the possession of each other that they thought themselves in their own house, and that

they would live there till death, like two spouses eternally young. They said "our room," "our carpet," she

even said "my slippers," a gift of Leon's, a whim she had had. They were pink satin, bordered with

swansdown. When she sat on his knees, her leg, then too short, hung in the air, and the dainty shoe, that had

He for the first time enjoyed the inexpressible delicacy of feminine refinements. He had never met

this grace of language, this reserve of clothing, these poses of the weary dove. He admired the exaltation of

her soul and the lace on her petticoat. Besides, was she not "a lady" and a married womana real mistress, in

By the diversity of her humour, in turn mystical or mirthful, talkative, taciturn, passionate, careless,

she awakened in him a thousand desires, called up instincts or memories. She was the mistress of all the

novels, the heroine of all the dramas, the vague "she" of all the volumes of verse. He found again on her

shoulder the amber colouring of the "Odalisque Bathing"; she had the long waist of feudal chatelaines, and

Often looking at her, it seemed to him that his soul, escaping towards her, spread like a wave about

the outline of her head, and descended drawn down into the whiteness of her breast. He knelt on the ground

before her, and with both elbows on her knees looked at her with a smile, his face upturned.

"Oh, do not move! do not speak! look at me! Something so sweet comes from your eyes that helps

And she did not listen for his answer in the haste of her lips that fastened to his mouth.

On the clock there was a bronze cupid, who smirked as he bent his arm beneath a golden garland.

They had laughed at it many a time, but when they had to part everything seemed serious to them.

Motionless in front of each other, they kept repeating, "Till Thursday, till Thursday."

Suddenly she seized his head between her hands, kissed him hurriedly on the forehead, crying,

She went to a hairdresser's in the Rue de la Comedie to have her hair arranged. Night fell; the gas

was lighted in the shop. She heard the bell at the theatre calling the mummers to the performance, and she

saw, passing opposite, men with white faces and women in faded gowns going in at the stagedoor.

It was hot in the room, small, and too low where the stove was hissing in the midst of wigs and

pomades. The smell of the tongs, together with the greasy hands that handled her head, soon stunned her, and

she dozed a little in her wrapper. Often, as he did her hair, the man offered her tickets for a masked ball.

Then she went away. She went up the streets; reached the CroixRouge, put on her overshoes, that

she had hidden in the morning under the seat, and sank into her place among the impatient passengers. Some

got out at the foot of the hill. She remained alone in the carriage. At every turning all the lights of the town

were seen more and more completely, making a great luminous vapour about the dim houses. Emma knelt on

the cushions and her eyes wandered over the dazzling light. She sobbed; called on Leon, sent him tender

On the hillside a poor devil wandered about with his stick in the midst of the diligences. A mass of

rags covered his shoulders, and an old stavedin beaver, turned out like a basin, hid his face; but when he

took it off he discovered in the place of eyelids empty and bloody orbits. The flesh hung in red shreds, and

there flowed from it liquids that congealed into green scale down to the nose, whose black nostrils sniffed

convulsively. To speak to you he threw back his head with an idiotic laugh; then his bluish eyeballs, rolling

constantly, at the temples beat against the edge of the open wound. He sang a little song as he followed the

Sometimes he appeared suddenly behind Emma, bareheaded, and she drew back with a cry. Hivert

made fun of him. He would advise him to get a booth at the Saint Romain fair, or else ask him, laughing, how

Often they had started when, with a sudden movement, his hat entered the diligence through the

small window, while he clung with his other arm to the footboard, between the wheels splashing mud. His

voice, feeble at first and quavering, grew sharp; it resounded in the night like the indistinct moan of a vague

distress; and through the ringing of the bells, the murmur of the trees, and the rumbling of the empty vehicle,

it had a faroff sound that disturbed Emma. It went to the bottom of her soul, like a whirlwind in an abyss,

and carried her away into the distances of a boundless melancholy. But Hivert, noticing a weight behind,

gave the blind man sharp cuts with his whip. The thong lashed his wounds, and he fell back into the mud with

a yell. Then the, passengers in the "Hirondelle" ended by falling asleep, some with open mouths, others with

lowered chins, leaning against their neighbour's shoulder, or with their arm passed through the strap,

oscillating regularly with the jolting of the carriage; and the reflection of the lantern swinging without, on the

crupper of the wheeler; penetrating into the interior through the chocolate calico curtains, threw sanguineous

shadows over all these motionless people. Emma, drunk with grief, shivered in her clothes, feeling her feet

Charles at home was waiting for her; the "Hirondelle" was always late on Thursdays. Madame

arrived at last, and scarcely kissed the child. The dinner was not ready. No matter! She excused the servant.

There were even days when she had no sooner come in than she went up to her room; and Justin,

happening to be there, moved about noiselessly, quicker at helping her than the best of maids. He put the

matches ready, the candlestick, a book, arranged her nightgown, turned back the bedclothes.

For he stood there, his hands hanging down and his eyes wide open, as if enmeshed in the

The following day was frightful, and those that came after still more unbearable, because of her

impatience to once again seize her happiness; an ardent lust, inflamed by the images of past experience, and

that burst forth freely on the seventh day beneath Leon's caresses. His ardours were hidden beneath outbursts

of wonder and gratitude. Emma tasted this love in a discreet, absorbed fashion, maintained it by all the

artifices of her tenderness, and trembled a little lest it should be lost later on.

"Ah! you too, you will leave me! You will marry! You will be like all the others."

"Why, like all men," she replied. Then added, repulsing him with a languid movement

One day, as they were talking philosophically of earthly disillusions, to experiment on his jealousy,

or yielding, perhaps, to an overstrong need to pour out her heart, she told him that formerly, before him, she

"Not like you," she went on quickly, protesting by the head of her child that "nothing had passed

The young man believed her, but none the less questioned her to find out what he was.

Was this not preventing any inquiry, and, at the same time, assuming a higher ground through this

pretended fascination exercised over a man who must have been of warlike nature and accustomed to receive

The clerk then felt the lowliness of his position; he longed for epaulettes, crosses, titles. All that

Emma nevertheless concealed many of these extravagant fancies, such as her wish to have a blue

tilbury to drive into Rouen, drawn by an English horse and driven by a groom in topboots. It was Justin who

had inspired her with this whim, by begging her to take him into her service as valetdechambre*, and if the

privation of it did not lessen the pleasure of her arrival at each rendezvous, it certainly augmented the

Often, when they talked together of Paris, she ended by murmuring, "Ah! how happy we should be

"Are we not happy?" gently answered the young man passing his hands over her hair.

To her husband she was more charming than ever. She made him pistachiocreams, and played him

waltzes after dinner. So he thought himself the most fortunate of men and Emma was without uneasiness,

"Well, I saw her just now," Charles went on, "at Madame Liegeard's. I spoke to her about you, and

"But perhaps," said the doctor, "there are several Demoiselles Lempereur at Rouen who are

And she went to the writingtable, ransacked all the drawers, rummaged the papers, and at last lost

her head so completely that Charles earnestly begged her not to take so much trouble about those wretched

And, in fact, on the following Friday, as Charles was putting on one of his boots in the dark cabinet

where his clothes were kept, he felt a piece of paper between the leather and his sock. He took it out and

"Received, for three months' lessons and several pieces of music, the sum of sixtythree

"It must," she replied, "have fallen from the old box of bills that is on the edge of the shelf."

>From that moment her existence was but one long tissue of lies, in which she enveloped her love as

in veils to hide it. It was a want, a mania, a pleasure carried to such an extent that if she said she had the day

before walked on the right side of a road, one might know she had taken the left.

One morning, when she had gone, as usual, rather lightly clothed, it suddenly began to snow, and as

Charles was watching the weather from the window, he caught sight of Monsieur Bournisien in the chaise of

Monsieur Tuvache, who was driving him to Rouen. Then he went down to give the priesta thick shawl that he

was to hand over to Emma as soon as he reached the "CroixRouge." When he got to the inn, Monsieur

Bournisien asked for the wife of the Yonville doctor. The landlady replied that she very rarely came to her

establishment. So that evening, when he recognised Madame Bovary in the "Hirondelle," the cure told her his

dilemma, without, however, appearing to attach much importance to it, for he began praising a preacher who

was doing wonders at the Cathedral, and whom all the ladies were rushing to hear.

Still, if he did not ask for any explanation, others, later on, might prove less discreet. So she thought

well to get down each time at the "CroixRouge," so that the good folk of her village who saw her on the

One day, however, Monsieur Lheureux met her coming out of the Hotel de Boulogne on Leon's arm;

and she was frightened, thinking he would gossip. He was not such a fool. But three days after he came to her

She declared she could not give him any. Lheureux burst into lamentations and reminded her of all

In fact, of the two bills signed by Charles, Emma up to the present had paid only one. As to the

second, the shopkeeper, at her request, had consented to replace it by another, which again had been renewed

for a long date. Then he drew from his pocket a list of goods not paid for; to wit, the curtains, the carpet, the

material for the armchairs, several dresses, and divers articles of dress, the bills for which amounted to about

"But if you haven't any ready money, you have an estate." And he reminded her of a miserable little

hovel situated at Barneville, near Aumale, that brought in almost nothing. It had formerly been part of a small

farm sold by Monsieur Bovary senior; for Lheureux knew everything, even to the number of acres and the

"If I were in your place," he said, "I should clear myself of my debts, and have money left over."

She pointed out the difficulty of getting a purchaser. He held out the hope of finding one; but she

The phrase came to her like a breath of fresh air. "Leave me the bill," said Emma.

He came back the following week and boasted of having, after much trouble, at last discovered a

certain Langlois, who, for a long time, had had an eye on the property, but without mentioning his price.

But they would, on the contrary, have to wait, to sound the fellow. The thing was worth a journey,

and, as she could not undertake it, he offered to go to the place to have an interview with Langlois. On his

She drew half the sum at once, and when she was about to pay her account the shopkeeper said

"It really grieves me, on my word! to see you depriving yourself all at once of such a big sum as

Then she looked at the banknotes, and dreaming of the unlimited number of rendezvous represented

"Oh!" he went on, laughing goodnaturedly, "one puts anything one likes on receipts. Don't you

think I know what household affairs are?" And he looked at her fixedly, while in his hand he held two long

papers that he slid between his nails. At last, opening his pocketbook, he spread out on the table four bills to

"But if I give you the surplus," replied Monsieur Lheureux impudently, "is that not helping you?"

And taking a pen he wrote at the bottom of the account, "Received of Madame Bovary four thousand

"Now who can trouble you, since in six months you'll draw the arrears for your cottage, and I don't

Emma grew rather confused in her calculations, and her ears tingled as if gold pieces, bursting from

their bags, rang all round her on the floor. At last Lheureux explained that he had a very good friend, Vincart,

a broker at Rouen, who would discount these four bills. Then he himself would hand over to madame the

But instead of two thousand francs he brought only eighteen hundred, for the friend Vincart (which

was only fair) had deducted two hundred francs for commission and discount. Then he carelessly asked for a

"You understandin businesssometimes. And with the date, if you please, with the date."

A horizon of realisable whims opened out before Emma. She was prudent enough to lay by a

thousand crowns, with which the first three bills were paid when they fell due; but the fourth, by chance,

came to the house on a Thursday, and Charles, quite upset, patiently awaited his wife's return for an

If she had not told him about this bill, it was only to spare him such domestic worries; she sat on his

knees, caressed him, cooed to him, gave him a long enumeration of all the indispensable things that had been

Charles, at his wit's end, soon had recourse to the eternal Lheureux, who swore he would arrange

matters if the doctor would sign him two bills, one of which was for seven hundred francs, payable in three

months. In order to arrange for this he wrote his mother a pathetic letter. Instead of sending a reply she came

herself; and when Emma wanted to know whether he had got anything out of her, "Yes," he replied; "but she

wants to see the account." The next morning at daybreak Emma ran to Lheureux to beg him to make out

another account for not more than a thousand francs, for to show the one for four thousand it would be

necessary to say that she had paid twothirds, and confess, consequently, the sale of the estatea negotiation

admirably carried out by the shopkeeper, and which, in fact, was only actually known later on.

Despite the low price of each article, Madame Bovary senior, of course, thought the expenditure

"Couldn't you do without a carpet? Why have recovered the armchairs? In my time there was a

single armchair in a house, for elderly personsat any rate it was so at my mother's, who was a good

woman, I can tell you. Everybody can't be rich! No fortune can hold out against waste! I should be ashamed

to coddle myself as you do! And yet I am old. I need looking after. And there! there! fitting up gowns! fallals!

What! silk for lining at two francs, when you can get jaconet for ten sous, or even for eight, that would do

Emma, lying on a lounge, replied as quietly as possible"Ah! Madame, enough! enough!"

The other went on lecturing her, predicting they would end in the workhouse. But it was Bovary's

Emma opened the window, called Charles, and the poor fellow was obliged to confess the promise

Emma disappeared, then came back quickly, and majestically handed her a thick piece of paper.

"Thank you," said the old woman. And she threw the power of attorney into the fire.

Emma began to laugh, a strident, piercing, continuous laugh; she had an attack of hysterics.

"Oh, my God!" cried Charles. "Ah! you really are wrong! You come here and make scenes with

But Charles, rebelling for the first time, took his wife's part, so that Madame Bovary, senior, said she

would leave. She went the very next day, and on the threshold, as he was trying to detain her, she replied

"No, no! You love her better than me, and you are right. It is natural. For the rest, so much the

worse! You will see. Good dayfor I am not likely to come soon again, as you say, to make scenes."

Charles nevertheless was very crestfallen before Emma, who did not hide the resentment she still felt

at his want of confidence, and it needed many prayers before she would consent to have another power of

attorney. He even accompanied her to Monsieur Guillaumin to have a second one, just like the other, drawn

"I understand," said the notary; "a man of science can't be worried with the practical details of life."

And Charles felt relieved by this comfortable reflection, which gave his weakness the flattering

And what an outburst the next Thursday at the hotel in their room with Leon! She laughed, cried,

sang, sent for sherbets, wanted to smoke cigarettes, seemed to him wild and extravagant, but adorable,

He did not know what recreation of her whole being drove her more and more to plunge into the

pleasures of life. She was becoming irritable, greedy, voluptuous; and she walked about the streets with him

carrying her head high, without fear, so she said, of compromising herself. At times, however, Emma

shuddered at the sudden thought of meeting Rodolphe, for it seemed to her that, although they were separated

One night she did not return to Yonville at all. Charles lost his head with anxiety, and little Berthe

would not go to bed without her mamma, and sobbed enough to break her heart. Justin had gone out

At last, at eleven o'clock, able to bear it no longer, Charles harnessed his chaise, jumped in, whipped

up his horse, and reached the "CroixRouge" about two o'clock in the morning. No one there! He thought

that the clerk had perhaps seen her; but where did he live? Happily, Charles remembered his employer's

Day was breaking, and he could distinguish the escutcheons over the door, and knocked. Someone,

without opening the door, shouted out the required information, adding a few insults to those who disturb

The house inhabited by the clerk had neither bell, knocker, nor porter. Charles knocked loudly at the

shutters with his hands. A policeman happened to pass by. Then he was frightened, and went away.

"I am mad," he said; "no doubt they kept her to dinner at Monsieur Lormeaux'." But the Lormeaux

"She probably stayed to look after Madame Dubreuil. Why, Madame Dubreuil has been dead these

An idea occurred to him. At a cafe he asked for a Directory, and hurriedly looked for the name of

As he was turning into the street, Emma herself appeared at the other end of it. He threw himself

She passed her hand over her forehead and answered, "At Mademoiselle Lempereur's."

"Oh, it isn't worth while," said Emma. "She went out just now; but for the future don't worry. I do not

This was a sort of permission that she gave herself, so as to get perfect freedom in her escapades.

And she profited by it freely, fully. When she was seized with the desire to see Leon, she set out upon any

pretext; and as he was not expecting her on that day, she went to fetch him at his office.

It was a great delight at first, but soon he no longer concealed the truth, which was, that his master

She wanted him to dress all in black, and grow a pointed beard, to look like the portraits of Louis

XIII. She wanted to see his lodgings; thought them poor. He blushed at them, but she did not notice this, then

Each time Leon had to tell her everything that he had done since their last meeting. She asked him

for some versessome verses "for herself," a "love poem" in honour of her. But he never succeeded in

getting a rhyme for the second verse; and at last ended by copying a sonnet in a "Keepsake." This was less

from vanity than from the one desire of pleasing her. He did not question her ideas; he accepted all her tastes;

he was rather becoming her mistress than she his. She had tender words and kisses that thrilled his soul.

Where could she have learnt this corruption almost incorporeal in the strength of its profanity and

During the journeys he made to see her, Leon had often dined at the chemist's, and he felt obliged

"With pleasure!" Monsieur Homais replied; "besides, I must invigorate my mind, for I am getting

rusty here. We'll go to the theatre, to the restaurant; we'll make a night of it."

"Oh, my dear!" tenderly murmured Madame Homais, alarmed at the vague perils he was preparing to

"Well, what? Do you think I'm not sufficiently ruining my health living here amid the continual

emanations of the pharmacy? But there! that is the way with women! They are jealous of science, and then

are opposed to our taking the most legitimate distractions. No matter! Count upon me. One of these days I

The druggist would formerly have taken good care not to use such an expression, but he was

cultivating a gay Parisian style, which he thought in the best taste; and, like his neighbour, Madame Bovary,

he questioned the clerk curiously about the customs of the capital; he even talked slang to dazzle the

bourgeois, saying bender, crummy, dandy, macaroni, the cheese, cut my stick and "I'll hook it," for "I am

So one Thursday Emma was surprised to meet Monsieur Homais in the kitchen of the "Lion d'Or,"

wearing a traveller's costume, that is to say, wrapped in an old cloak which no one knew he had, while he

carried a valise in one hand and the footwarmer of his establishment in the other. He had confided his

The idea of seeing again the place where his youth had been spent no doubt excited him, for during

the whole journey he never ceased talking, and as soon as he had arrived, he jumped quickly out of the

diligence to go in search of Leon. In vain the clerk tried to get rid of him. Monsieur Homais dragged him off

to the large Cafe de la Normandie, which he entered majestically, not raising his hat, thinking it very

Emma waited for Leon three quarters of an hour. At last she ran to his office; and, lost in all sorts of

conjectures, accusing him of indifference, and reproaching herself for her weakness, she spent the afternoon,

At two o'clock they were still at a table opposite each other. The large room was emptying; the

stovepipe, in the shape of a palmtree, spread its gilt leaves over the white ceiling, and near them, outside

the window, in the bright sunshine, a little fountain gurgled in a white basin, where; in the midst of

watercress and asparagus, three torpid lobsters stretched across to some quails that lay heaped up in a pile on

Homais was enjoying himself. Although he was even more intoxicated with the luxury than the rich

fare, the Pommard wine all the same rather excited his faculties; and when the omelette au rhum* appeared,

he began propounding immoral theories about women. What seduced him above all else was chic. He

admired an elegant toilette in a wellfurnished apartment, and as to bodily qualities, he didn't dislike a young

Leon watched the clock in despair. The druggist went on drinking, eating, and talking.

"You must be very lonely," he said suddenly, "here at Rouen. To be sure your ladylove doesn't live

He was not joking; but vanity getting the better of all prudence, Leon, in spite of himself protested.

And whispering into his friend's ear, he pointed out the symptoms by which one could find out if a

woman had passion. He even launched into an ethnographic digression: the German was vapourish, the

But before leaving he wanted to see the proprietor of the establishment and made him a few

compliments. Then the young man, to be alone, alleged he had some business engagement.

And all the while he was walking through the streets with him he talked of his wife, his children; of

their future, and of his business; told him in what a decayed condition it had formerly been, and to what a

Arrived in front of the Hotel de Boulogne, Leon left him abruptly, ran up the stairs, and found his

mistress in great excitement. At mention of the chemist she flew into a passion. He, however, piled up good

reasons; it wasn't his fault; didn't she know Homaisdid she believe that he would prefer his company? But

she turned away; he drew her back, and, sinking on his knees, clasped her waist with his arms in a languorous

She was standing; up, her large flashing eyes looked at him seriously, almost terribly. Then tears

obscured them, her red eyelids were lowered, she gave him her hands, and Leon was pressing them to his lips

"It's a trick," said the chemist, when he saw Leon. "I wanted to interrupt this visit, that seemed to me

Leon vowed that he must get back to his office. Then the druggist joked him about quilldrivers and

"Leave Cujas and Barthole alone a bit. Who the devil prevents you? Be a man! Let's go to Bridoux'.

"I'll go with you. I'll read a paper while I wait for you, or turn over the leaves of a 'Code.'"

Leon, bewildered by Emma's anger, Monsieur Homais' chatter, and, perhaps, by the heaviness of the

luncheon, was undecided, and, as it were, fascinated by the chemist, who kept repeating

Then, through cowardice, through stupidity, through that indefinable feeling that drags us into the

most distasteful acts, he allowed himself to be led off to Bridoux', whom they found in his small yard,

superintending three workmen, who panted as they turned the large wheel of a machine for making

seltzerwater. Homais gave them some good advice. He embraced Bridoux; they took some garus. Twenty

"Presently! I'm coming! We'll go to the 'Fanal de Rouen' to see the fellows there. I'll introduce you to

At last he managed to get rid of him, and rushed straight to the hotel. Emma was no longer there. She

had just gone in a fit of anger. She detested him now. This failing to keep their rendezvous seemed to her an

insult, and she tried to rake up other reasons to separate herself from him. He was incapable of heroism,

Then, growing calmer, she at length discovered that she had, no doubt, calumniated him. But the

disparaging of those we love always alienates us from them to some extent. We must not touch our idols; the

They gradually came to talking more frequently of matters outside their love, and in the letters that

Emma wrote him she spoke of flowers, verses, the moon and the stars, naive resources of a waning passion

striving to keep itself alive by all external aids. She was constantly promising herself a profound felicity on

her next journey. Then she confessed to herself that she felt nothing extraordinary. This disappointment

quickly gave way to a new hope, and Emma returned to him more inflamed, more eager than ever. She

undressed brutally, tearing off the thin laces of her corset that nestled around her hips like a gliding snake.

She went on tiptoe, barefooted, to see once more that the door was closed, then, pale, serious, and, without

speaking, with one movement, she threw herself upon his breast with a long shudder.

Yet there was upon that brow covered with cold drops, on those quivering lips, in those wild eyes, in

the strain of those arms, something vague and dreary that seemed to Leon to glide between them subtly as if

He did not dare to question her; but, seeing her so skilled, she must have passed, he thought, through

every experience of suffering and of pleasure. What had once charmed now frightened him a little. Besides,

he rebelled against his absorption, daily more marked, by her personality. He begrudged Emma this constant

victory. He even strove not to love her; then, when he heard the creaking of her boots, he turned coward, like

She did not fail, in truth, to lavish all sorts of attentions upon him, from the delicacies of food to the

coquettries of dress and languishing looks. She brought roses to her breast from Yonville, which she threw

into his face; was anxious about his health, gave him advice as to his conduct; and, in order the more surely to

keep her hold on him, hoping perhaps that heaven would take her part, she tied a medal of the Virgin round

his neck. She inquired like a virtuous mother about his companions. She said to him

She would have liked to be able to watch over his life; and the idea occurred to her of having him

followed in the streets. Near the hotel there was always a kind of loafer who accosted travellers, and who

"Bah! so much the worse. Let him deceive me! What does it matter to me? As If I cared for him!"

One day, when they had parted early and she was returning alone along the boulevard, she saw the

walls of her convent; then she sat down on a form in the shade of the elmtrees. How calm that time had

been! How she longed for the ineffable sentiments of love that she had tried to figure to herself out of books!

The first month of her marriage, her rides in the wood, the viscount that waltzed, and Lagardy singing, all

repassed before her eyes. And Leon suddenly appeared to her as far off as the others.

No matter! She was not happyshe never had been. Whence came this insufficiency in lifethis

instantaneous turning to decay of everything on which she leant? But if there were somewhere a being strong

and beautiful, a valiant nature, full at once of exaltation and refinement, a poet's heart in an angel's form, a

lyre with sounding chords ringing out elegiac epithalamia to heaven, why, perchance, should she not find

him? Ah! how impossible! Besides, nothing was worth the trouble of seeking it; everything was a lie. Every

smile hid a yawn of boredom, every joy a curse, all pleasure satiety, and the sweetest kisses left upon your

A metallic clang droned through the air, and four strokes were heard from the conventclock. Four

o'clock! And it seemed to her that she had been there on that form an eternity. But an infinity of passions may

Emma lived all absorbed in hers, and troubled no more about money matters than an archduchess.

Once, however, a wretchedlooking man, rubicund and bald, came to her house, saying he had been

sent by Monsieur Vincart of Rouen. He took out the pins that held together the sidepockets of his long green

It was a bill for seven hundred francs, signed by her, and which Lheureux, in spite of all his

professions, had paid away to Vincart. She sent her servant for him. He could not come. Then the stranger,

who had remained standing, casting right and left curious glances, that his thick, fair eyebrows hid, asked

"Oh," said Emma, "tell him that I haven't it. I will send next week; he must wait; yes, till next week."

But the next day at twelve o'clock she received a summons, and the sight of the stamped paper, on

which appeared several times in large letters, "Maitre Hareng, bailiff at Buchy," so frightened her that she

rushed in hot haste to the linendraper's. She found him in his shop, doing up a parcel.

But Lheureux, all the same, went on with his work, helped by a young girl of about thirteen,

Then, his clogs clattering on the shopboards, he went up in front of Madame Bovary to the first

door, and introduced her into a narrow closet, where, in a large bureau in saponwood, lay some ledgers,

protected by a horizontal padlocked iron bar. Against the wall, under some remnants of calico, one glimpsed

a safe, but of such dimensions that it must contain something besides bills and money. Monsieur Lheureux, in

fact, went in for pawnbroking, and it was there that he had put Madame Bovary's gold chain, together with

the earrings of poor old Tellier, who, at last forced to sell out, had bought a meagre store of grocery at

Quincampoix, where he was dying of catarrh amongst his candles, that were less yellow than his face.

Then she grew angry, reminding him of the promise he had given not to pay away her bills. He

Emma kept down a desire to strike him, and asked gently if there was no way of quieting Monsieur

"I dare say! Quiet Vincart! You don't know him; he's more ferocious than an Arab!"

"Well, listen. It seems to me so far I've been very good to you." And opening one of his ledgers,

"See," he said. Then running up the page with his finger, "Let's see! let's see! August 3d, two hundred francs;

"Not to speak of the bills signed by Monsieur Bovary, one for seven hundred francs, and another for

three hundred. As to your little installments, with the interest, why, there's no end to 'em; one gets quite

She wept; she even called him "her good Monsieur Lheureux." But he always fell back upon "that

rascal Vincart." Besides, he hadn't a brass farthing; no one was paying him nowadays; they were eating his

Emma was silent, and Monsieur Lheureux, who was biting the feathers of a quill, no doubt became

And on hearing that Langlois had not yet paid he seemed much surprised. Then in a honied voice

On this he closed his eyes to reflect, wrote down a few figures, and declaring it would be very

difficult for him, that the affair was shady, and that he was being bled, he wrote out four bills for two hundred

"Provided that Vincart will listen to me! However, it's settled. I don't play the fool; I'm straight

Next he carelessly showed her several new goods, not one of which, however, was in his opinion

"When I think that there's a dress at threepencehalfpenny a yard, and warranted fast colours! And

yet they actually swallow it! Of course you understand one doesn't tell them what it really is!" He hoped by

this confession of dishonesty to others to quite convince her of his probity to her.

Then he called her back to show her three yards of guipure that he had lately picked up "at a sale."

"Isn't it lovely?" said Lheureux. "It is very much used now for the backs of armchairs. It's quite the

And, more ready than a juggler, he wrapped up the guipure in some blue paper and put it in Emma's

That same evening she urged Bovary to write to his mother, to ask her to send as quickly as possible

the whole of the balance due from the father's estate. The motherinlaw replied that she had nothing more,

the winding up was over, and there was due to them besides Barneville an income of six hundred francs, that

Then Madame Bovary sent in accounts to two or three patients, and she made large use of this

method, which was very successful. She was always careful to add a postscript: "Do not mention this to my

husband; you know how proud he is. Excuse me. Yours obediently." There were some complaints; she

To get money she began selling her old gloves, her old hats, the old odds and ends, and she

bargained rapaciously, her peasant blood standing her in good stead. Then on her journey to town she picked

up nicknacks secondhand, that, in default of anyone else, Monsieur Lheureux would certainly take off her

hands. She bought ostrich feathers, Chinese porcelain, and trunks; she borrowed from Felicite, from Madame

Lefrancois, from the landlady at the CroixRouge, from everybody, no matter where.

With the money she at last received from Barneville she paid two bills; the other fifteen hundred

Sometimes, it is true, she tried to make a calculation, but she discovered things so exorbitant that she

could not believe them possible. Then she recommenced, soon got confused, gave it all up, and thought no

The house was very dreary now. Tradesmen were seen leaving it with angry faces. Handkerchiefs

were lying about on the stoves, and little Berthe, to the great scandal of Madame Homais, wore stockings

with holes in them. If Charles timidly ventured a remark, she answered roughly that it wasn't her fault.

What was the meaning of all these fits of temper? She explained everything through her old nervous

illness, and reproaching himself with having taken her infirmities for faults, accused himself of egotism, and

After dinner he walked about alone in the garden; he took little Berthe on his knees, and unfolding

his medical journal, tried to teach her to read. But the child, who never had any lessons, soon looked up with

large, sad eyes and began to cry. Then he comforted her; went to fetch water in her can to make rivers on the

sand path, or broke off branches from the privet hedges to plant trees in the beds. This did not spoil the

garden much, all choked now with long weeds. They owed Lestiboudois for so many days. Then the child

"Call the servant," said Charles. "You know, dearie, that mamma does not like to be disturbed."

Autumn was setting in, and the leaves were already falling, as they did two years ago when she was

ill. Where would it all end? And he walked up and down, his hands behind his back.

Madame was in her room, which no one entered. She stayed there all day long, torpid, half dressed,

and from time to time burning Turkish pastilles which she had bought at Rouen in an Algerian's shop. In

order not to have at night this sleeping man stretched at her side, by dint of manoeuvring, she at last

succeeded in banishing him to the second floor, while she read till morning extravagant books, full of pictures

of orgies and thrilling situations. Often, seized with fear, she cried out, and Charles hurried to her.

Or at other times, consumed more ardently than ever by that inner flame to which adultery added

fuel, panting, tremulous, all desire, she threw open her window, breathed in the cold air, shook loose in the

wind her masses of hair, too heavy, and, gazing upon the stars, longed for some princely love. She thought of

him, of Leon. She would then have given anything for a single one of those meetings that surfeited her.

These were her gala days. She wanted them to be sumptuous, and when he alone could not pay the

expenses, she made up the deficit liberally, which happened pretty well every time. He tried to make her

understand that they would be quite as comfortable somewhere else, in a smaller hotel, but she always found

One day she drew six small silvergilt spoons from her bag (they were old Roualt's wedding

present), begging him to pawn them at once for her, and Leon obeyed, though the proceeding annoyed him.

Then, on, reflection, he began to think his mistress's ways were growing odd, and that they were

In fact someone had sent his mother a long anonymous letter to warn her that he was "ruining

himself with a married woman," and the good lady at once conjuring up the eternal bugbear of families the

vague pernicious creature, the siren, the monster, who dwells fantastically in depths of love, wrote to Lawyer

Dubocage, his employer, who behaved perfectly in the affair. He kept him for three quarters of an hour trying

to open his eyes, to warn him of the abyss into which he was falling. Such an intrigue would damage him

later on, when he set up for himself. He implored him to break with her, and, if he would not make this

At last Leon swore he would not see Emma again, and he reproached himself with not having kept

his word, considering all the worry and lectures this woman might still draw down upon him, without

reckoning the jokes made by his companions as they sat round the stove in the morning. Besides, he was soon

to be head clerk; it was time to settle down. So he gave up his flute, exalted sentiments, and poetry; for every

bourgeois in the flush of his youth, were it but for a day, a moment, has believed himself capable of immense

passions, of lofty enterprises. The most mediocre libertine has dreamed of sultanas; every notary bears within

He was bored now when Emma suddenly began to sob on his breast, and his heart, like the people

who can only stand a certain amount of music, dozed to the sound of a love whose delicacies he no longer

They knew one another too well for any of those surprises of possession that increase its joys a

hundredfold. She was as sick of him as he was weary of her. Emma found again in adultery all the platitudes

But how to get rid of him? Then, though she might feel humiliated at the baseness of such

enjoyment, she clung to it from habit or from corruption, and each day she hungered after them the more,

exhausting all felicity in wishing for too much of it. She accused Leon of her baffled hopes, as if he had

betrayed her; and she even longed for some catastrophe that would bring about their separation, since she had

She none the less went on writing him love letters, in virtue of the notion that a woman must write to

But whilst she wrote it was another man she saw, a phantom fashioned out of her most ardent

memories, of her finest reading, her strongest lusts, and at last he became so real, so tangible, that she

palpitated wondering, without, however, the power to imagine him clearly, so lost was he, like a god, beneath

the abundance of his attributes. He dwelt in that azure land where silk ladders hang from balconies under the

breath of flowers, in the light of the moon. She felt him near her; he was coming, and would carry her right

Then she fell back exhausted, for these transports of vague love wearied her more than great

She now felt constant ache all over her. Often she even received summonses, stamped paper that she

On MidLent she did not return to Yonville, but in the evening went to a masked ball. She wore

velvet breeches, red stockings, a club wig, and threecornered hat cocked on one side. She danced all night to

the wild tones of the trombones; people gathered round her, and in the morning she found herself on the steps

of the theatre together with five or six masks, debardeuses* and sailors, Leon's comrades, who were talking

The neighbouring cafes were full. They caught sight of one on the harbour, a very indifferent

The men were whispering in a corner, no doubt consorting about expenses. There were a clerk, two

medical students, and a shopmanwhat company for her! As to the women, Emma soon perceived from the

tone of their voices that they must almost belong to the lowest class. Then she was frightened, pushed back

The others began to eat; she ate nothing. Her head was on fire, her eyes smarted, and her skin was

icecold. In her head she seemed to feel the floor of the ballroom rebounding again beneath the rhythmical

pulsation of the thousands of dancing feet. And now the smell of the punch, the smoke of the cigars, made her

Day was breaking, and a great stain of purple colour broadened out in the pale horizon over the St.

Catherine hills. The livid river was shivering in the wind; there was no one on the bridges; the street lamps

She revived, and began thinking of Berthe asleep yonder in the servant's room. Then a cart filled

with long strips of iron passed by, and made a deafening metallic vibration against the walls of the houses.

She slipped away suddenly, threw off her costume, told Leon she must get back, and at last was

alone at the Hotel de Boulogne. Everything, even herself, was now unbearable to her. She wished that, taking

wing like a bird, she could fly somewhere, far away to regions of purity, and there grow young again.

She went out, crossed the Boulevard, the Place Cauchoise, and the Faubourg, as far as an open street

that overlooked some gardens. She walked rapidly; the fresh air calming her; and, little by little, the faces of

the crowd, the masks, the quadrilles, the lights, the supper, those women, all disappeared like mists fading

away. Then, reaching the "CroixRouge," she threw herself on the bed in her little room on the second floor,

where there were pictures of the "Tour de Nesle." At four o'clock Hivert awoke her.

What judgment? As a matter of fact, the evening before another paper had been brought that she had

"By order of the king, law, and justice, to Madame Bovary." Then, skipping several lines, she read,

"Within twentyfour hours, without fail" But what? "To pay the sum of eight thousand francs." And there

was even at the bottom, "She will be constrained thereto by every form of law, and notably by a writ of

What was to be done? In twentyfour hourstomorrow. Lheureux, she thought, wanted to frighten

her again; for she saw through all his devices, the object of his kindnesses. What reassured her was the very

However, by dint of buying and not paying, of borrowing, signing bills, and renewing these bills that

grew at each new fallingin, she had ended by preparing a capital for Monsieur Lheureux which he was

"My good lady, did you think I should go on to all eternity being your purveyor and banker, for the

"Ah! so much the worse. The court has admitted it. There's a judgment. It's been notified to you.

And she began beating about the bush; she had known nothing about it; it was a surprise.

"Whose fault is that?" said Lheureux, bowing ironically. "While I'm slaving like a nigger, you go

She turned coward; she implored him; she even pressed her pretty white and slender hand against the

And Lheureux drew from his strong box the receipt for eighteen hundred francs that she had given

"Do you think," he added, "that he'll not understand your little theft, the poor dear man?"

She collapsed, more overcome than if felled by the blow of a poleaxe. He was walking up and

"Ah! I'll show him! I'll show him!" Then he approached her, and in a soft voice said

"It isn't pleasant, I know; but, after all, no bones are broken, and, since that is the only way that is left

And he looked at her in so keen, so terrible a fashion, that she shuddered to her very heart.

The servant appeared. Emma understood, and asked how much money would be wanted to put a stop

"But if I brought you several thousand francsa quarter of the suma thirdperhaps the whole?"

She was stoical the next day when Maitre Hareng, the bailiff, with two assistants, presented himself

They began with Bovary's consultingroom, and did not write down the phrenological head, which

was considered an "instrument of his profession"; but in the kitchen they counted the plates; the saucepans,

the chairs, the candlesticks, and in the bedroom all the nicknacks on the whatnot. They examined her

dresses, the linen, the dressingroom; and her whole existence to its most intimate details, was, like a corpse

Maitre Hareng, buttoned up in his thin black coat, wearing a white choker and very tight footstraps,

repeated from time to time"Allow me, madame. You allow me?" Often he uttered exclamations.

"Charming! very pretty." Then he began writing again, dipping his pen into the horn inkstand in his left hand.

When they had done with the rooms they went up to the attic. She kept a desk there in which

"Ah! a correspondence," said Maitre Hareng, with a discreet smile. "But allow me, for I must make

sure the box contains nothing else." And he tipped up the papers lightly, as if to shake out napoleons. Then

she grew angered to see this coarse hand, with fingers red and pulpy like slugs, touching these pages against

They went at last. Felicite came back. Emma had sent her out to watch for Bovary in order to keep

him off, and they hurriedly installed the man in possession under the roof, where he swore he would remain.

During the evening Charles seemed to her careworn. Emma watched him with a look of anguish,

fancying she saw an accusation in every line of his face. Then, when her eyes wandered over the

chimneypiece ornamented with Chinese screens, over the large curtains, the armchairs, all those things, in a

word, that had, softened the bitterness of her life, remorse seized her or rather an immense regret, that, far

from crushing, irritated her passion. Charles placidly poked the fire, both his feet on the firedogs.

"No," she replied; "it is a window that has been left open, and is rattling in the wind."

The next day, Sunday, she went to Rouen to call on all the brokers whose names she knew. They

were at their countryplaces or on journeys. She was not discouraged; and those whom she did manage to see

she asked for money, declaring she must have some, and that she would pay it back. Some laughed in her

At two o'clock she hurried to Leon, and knocked at the door. No one answered. At length he

"No; but" And he admitted that his landlord didn't like his having "women" there.

On arriving she drank off a large glass of water. She was very pale. She said to him

And thereupon, telling him the story of the distraint, she explained her distress to him; for Charles

knew nothing of it; her motherinlaw detested her; old Rouault could do nothing; but he, Leon, he would set

Then he said stupidly, "You are exaggerating the difficulty. Perhaps, with a thousand crowns or so

All the greater reason to try and do something; it was impossible that they could not find three

Then they remained sitting face to face at the two chimney corners, motionless, in silence. Emma

An infernal boldness looked out from her burning eyes, and their lids drew close together with a

lascivious and encouraging look, so that the young man felt himself growing weak beneath the mute will of

this woman who was urging him to a crime. Then he was afraid, and to avoid any explanation he smote his

"Morel is to come back tonight; he will not refuse me, I hope" (this was one of his friends, the son

Emma did not seem to welcome this hope with all the joy he had expected. Did she suspect the lie?

"However, if you don't see me by three o'clock do not wait for me, my darling. I must be off now;

He pressed her hand, but it felt quite lifeless. Emma had no strength left for any sentiment.

Four o'clock struck, and she rose to return to Yonville, mechanically obeying the force of old habits.

The weather was fine. It was one of those March days, clear and sharp, when the sun shines in a

perfectly white sky. The Rouen folk, in Sundayclothes, were walking about with happy looks. She reached

the Place du Parvis. People were coming out after vespers; the crowd flowed out through the three doors like

a stream through the three arches of a bridge, and in the middle one, more motionless than a rock, stood the

Then she remembered the day when, all anxious and full of hope, she had entered beneath this large

nave, that had opened out before her, less profound than her love; and she walked on weeping beneath her

"Take care!" cried a voice issuing from the gate of a courtyard that was thrown open.

She stopped to let pass a black horse, pawing the ground between the shafts of a tilbury, driven by a

gentleman in sable furs. Who was it? She knew him. The carriage darted by and disappeared.

Why, it was hethe Viscount. She turned away; the street was empty. She was so overwhelmed, so

Then she thought she had been mistaken. Anyhow, she did not know. All within her and around her

was abandoning her. She felt lost, sinking at random into indefinable abysses, and it was almost with joy that,

on reaching the "CroixRouge," she saw the good Homais, who was watching a large box full of

pharmaceutical stores being hoisted on to the "Hirondelle." In his hand he held tied in a silk handkerchief six

Madame Homais was very fond of these small, heavy turbanshaped loaves, that are eaten in Lent

with salt butter; a last vestige of Gothic food that goes back, perhaps, to the time of the Crusades, and with

which the robust Normans gorged themselves of yore, fancying they saw on the table, in the light of the

yellow torches, between tankards of hippocras and huge boars' heads, the heads of Saracens to be devoured.

The druggist's wife crunched them up as they had doneheroically, despite her wretched teeth. And so

whenever Homais journeyed to town, he never failed to bring her home some that he bought at the great

"Charmed to see you," he said, offering Emma a hand to help her into the "Hirondelle." Then he

hung up his cheminots to the cords of the netting, and remained bareheaded in an attitude pensive and

"I can't understand why the authorities tolerate such culpable industries. Such unfortunates should be

locked up and forced to work. Progress, my word! creeps at a snail's pace. We are floundering about in mere

The blind man held out his hat, that flapped about at the door, as if it were a bag in the lining that had

And though he knew the poor devil, he pretended to see him for the first time, murmured something

about "cornea," "opaque cornea," "sclerotic," "facies," then asked him in a paternal tone

"My friend, have you long had this terrible infirmity? Instead of getting drunk at the public, you'd do

He advised him to take good wine, good beer, and good joints. The blind man went on with his song;

"Now there's a sou; give me back two lairds, and don't forget my advice: you'll be the better for it."

Hivert openly cast some doubt on the efficacy of it. But the druggist said that he would cure himself

with an antiphlogistic pomade of his own composition, and he gave his address"Monsieur Homais, near

The blind man sank down on his haunches, with his head thrown back, whilst he rolled his greenish

eyes, lolled out his tongue, and rubbed his stomach with both hands as he uttered a kind of hollow yell like a

famished dog. Emma, filled with disgust, threw him over her shoulder a fivefranc piece. It was all her

The coach had gone on again when suddenly Monsieur Homais leant out through the window,

"No farinaceous or milk food, wear wool next the skin, and expose the diseased parts to the smoke of

The sight of the wellknown objects that defiled before her eyes gradually diverted Emma from her

present trouble. An intolerable fatigue overwhelmed her, and she reached her home stupefied, discouraged,

"Come what may come!" she said to herself. "And then, who knows? Why, at any moment could not

At nine o'clock in the morning she was awakened by the sound of voices in the Place. There was a

crowd round the market reading a large bill fixed to one of the posts, and she saw Justin, who was climbing

on to a stone and tearing down the bill. But at this moment the rural guard seized him by the collar. Monsieur

Homais came out of his shop, and Mere Lefrangois, in the midst of the crowd, seemed to be perorating.

And the poor girl, deeply moved, handed her a yellow paper that she had just torn off the door.

Then they looked at one another silently. The servant and mistress had no secret one from the other.

"You who know the house through the servant, has the master spoken sometimes of me?"

She dressed, put on her black gown, and her hood with jet beads, and that she might not be seen

(there was still a crowd on the Place), she took the path by the river, outside the village.

She reached the notary's gate quite breathless. The sky was sombre, and a little snow was falling. At

the sound of the bell, Theodore in a red waistcoat appeared on the steps; he came to open the door almost

A large porcelain stove crackled beneath a cactus that filled up the niche in the wall, and in black

wood frames against the oakstained paper hung Steuben's "Esmeralda" and Schopin's "Potiphar. " The

readylaid table, the two silver chafingdishes, the crystal doorknobs, the parquet and the furniture, all

shone with a scrupulous, English cleanliness; the windows were ornamented at each corner with stained

The notary came in pressing his palmleaf dressinggown to his breast with his left arm, while with

the other hand he raised and quickly put on again his brown velvet cap, pretentiously cocked on the right side,

whence looked out the ends of three fair curls drawn from the back of the head, following the line of his bald

After he had offered her a seat he sat down to breakfast, apologising profusely for his rudeness.

And she began explaining her position to him. Monsieur Guillaumin knew it, being secretly

associated with the linendraper, from whom he always got capital for the loans on mortgages that he was

So he knew (and better than she herself) the long story of the bills, small at first, bearing different

names as endorsers, made out at long dates, and constantly renewed up to the day, when, gathering together

all the protested bills, the shopkeeper had bidden his friend Vincart take in his own name all the necessary

She mingled her story with recriminations against Lheureux, to which the notary replied from time to

time with some insignificant word. Eating his cutlet and drinking his tea, he buried his chin in his skyblue

cravat, into which were thrust two diamond pins, held together by a small gold chain; and he smiled a

singular smile, in a sugary, ambiguous fashion. But noticing that her feet were damp, he said

Then she tried to move him, and, growing moved herself, she began telling him about the poorness

of her home, her worries, her wants. He could understand that; an elegant woman! and, without leaving off

eating, he had turned completely round towards her, so that his knee brushed against her boot, whose sole

But when she asked for a thousand sous, he closed his lips, and declared he was very sorry he had

not had the management of her fortune before, for there were hundreds of ways very convenient, even for a

lady, of turning her money to account. They might, either in the turfpeats of Grumesnil or buildingground

at Havre, almost without risk, have ventured on some excellent speculations; and he let her consume herself

with rage at the thought of the fabulous sums that she would certainly have made.

"Why, hey? Did I frighten you so much? It is I, on the contrary, who ought to complain. We hardly

He held out his hand, took hers, covered it with a greedy kiss, then held it on his knee; and he played

delicately with her fingers whilst he murmured a thousand blandishments. His insipid voice murmured like a

running brook; a light shone in his eyes through the glimmering of his spectacles, and his hand was

advancing up Emma's sleeve to press her arm. She felt against her cheek his panting breath. This man

He seized her by her waist. Madame Bovary's face flushed purple. She recoiled with a terrible look,

"You are taking a shameless advantage of my distress, sir! I am to be pitiednot to be sold."

The notary remained quite stupefied, his eyes fixed on his fine embroidered slippers. They were a

love gift, and the sight of them at last consoled him. Besides, he reflected that such an adventure might have

"What a wretch! what a scoundrel! what an infamy!" she said to herself, as she fled with nervous

steps beneath the aspens of the path. The disappointment of her failure increased the indignation of her

outraged modesty; it seemed to her that Providence pursued her implacably, and, strengthening herself in her

pride, she had never felt so much esteem for herself nor so much contempt for others. A spirit of warfare

transformed her. She would have liked to strike all men, to spit in their faces, to crush them, and she walked

rapidly straight on, pale, quivering, maddened, searching the empty horizon with teardimmed eyes, and as it

When she saw her house a numbness came over her. She could not go on; and yet she must. Besides,

And for a quarter of an hour the two of them went over the various persons in Yonville who might

perhaps be inclined to help her. But each time that Felicite named someone Emma replied

She had tried everything; there was nothing more to be done now; and when Charles came in she

"Go away! This carpet on which you are walking is no longer ours. In your own house you do not

Then there would be a great sob; next he would weep abundantly, and at last, the surprise past, he

"Yes," she murmured, grinding her teeth, "he will forgive me, he who would give a million if I

This thought of Bovary's superiority to her exasperated her. Then, whether she confessed or did not

confess, presently, immediately, tomorrow, he would know the catastrophe all the same; so she must wait

for this horrible scene, and bear the weight of his magnanimity. The desire to return to Lheureux's seized

herwhat would be the use? To write to her fatherit was too late; and perhaps, she began to repent now

that she had not yielded to that other, when she heard the trot of a horse in the alley. It was he; he was

opening the gate; he was whiter than the plaster wall. Rushing to the stairs, she ran out quickly to the square;

and the wife of the mayor, who was talking to Lestiboudois in front of the church, saw her go in to the

She hurried off to tell Madame Caron, and the two ladies went up to the attic, and, hidden by some

linen spread across props, stationed themselves comfortably for overlooking the whole of Binet's room.

He was alone in his garret, busy imitating in wood one of those indescribable bits of ivory, composed

of crescents, of spheres hollowed out one within the other, the whole as straight as an obelisk, and of no use

whatever; and he was beginning on the last piecehe was nearing his goal. In the twilight of the workshop

the white dust was flying from his tools like a shower of sparks under the hoofs of a galloping horse; the two

wheels were turning, droning; Binet smiled, his chin lowered, his nostrils distended, and, in a word, seemed

lost in one of those complete happinesses that, no doubt, belong only to commonplace occupations, which

amuse the mind with facile difficulties, and satisfy by a realisation of that beyond which such minds have not

At last these ladies thought they made out the word "francs," and Madame Tuvache whispered in a

They saw her walking up and down, examining the napkinrings, the candlesticks, the banister rails

The taxcollector seemed to be listening with wideopen eyes, as if he did not understand. She went

on in a tender, suppliant manner. She came nearer to him, her breast heaving; they no longer spoke.

"Is she making him advances?" said Madame Tuvache. Binet was scarlet to his very ears. She took

And no doubt she was suggesting something abominable to him; for the taxcollectoryet he was

brave, had fought at Bautzen and at Lutzen, had been through the French campaign, and had even been

recommended for the crosssuddenly, as at the sight of a serpent, recoiled as far as he could from her,

"But where is she?" continued Madame Caron, for she had disappeared whilst they spoke; then

catching sight of her going up the Grande Rue, and turning to the right as if making for the cemetery, they

"Nurse Rollet," she said on reaching the nurse's, "I am choking; unlace me!" She fell on the bed

sobbing. Nurse Rollet covered her with a petticoat and remained standing by her side. Then, as she did not

She had rushed thither; impelled by a kind of horror that drove her from her home.

Lying on her back, motionless, and with staring eyes, she saw things but vaguely, although she tried

to with idiotic persistence. She looked at the scales on the walls, two brands smoking end to end, and a long

spider crawling over her head in a rent in the beam. At last she began to collect her thoughts. She

rememberedone dayLeonOh! how long ago that wasthe sun was shining on the river, and the

clematis were perfuming the air. Then, carried away as by a rushing torrent, she soon began to recall the day

Mere Rollet went out, raised the fingers of her right hand to that side of the sky that was brightest,

For he would come; he would have found some money. But he would, perhaps, go down yonder, not

She wondered now that she had not thought of him from the first. Yesterday he had given his word;

he would not break it. And she already saw herself at Lheureux's spreading out her three banknotes on his

bureau. Then she would have to invent some story to explain matters to Bovary. What should it be?

The nurse, however, was a long while gone. But, as there was no clock in the cot, Emma feared she

was perhaps exaggerating the length of time. She began walking round the garden, step by step; she went into

the path by the hedge, and returned quickly, hoping that the woman would have come back by another road.

At last, weary of waiting, assailed by fears that she thrust from her, no longer conscious whether she had been

here a century or a moment, she sat down in a corner, closed her eyes, and stopped her ears. The gate grated;

"Oh, no one! And the doctor is crying. He is calling for you; they're looking for you."

Emma answered nothing. She gasped as she turned her eyes about her, while the peasant woman,

frightened at her face, drew back instinctively, thinking her mad. Suddenly she struck her brow and uttered a

cry; for the thought of Rodolphe, like a flash of lightning in a dark night, had passed into her soul. He was so

good, so delicate, so generous! And besides, should he hesitate to do her this service, she would know well

enough how to constrain him to it by rewaking, in a single moment, their lost love. So she set out towards

La Huchette, not seeing that she was hastening to offer herself to that which but a while ago had so angered

She asked herself as she walked along, "What am I going to say? How shall I begin?" And as she

went on she recognised the thickets, the trees, the searushes on the hill, the chateau yonder. All the

sensations of her first tenderness came back to her, and her poor aching heart opened out amorously. A warm

wind blew in her face; the melting snow fell drop by drop from the buds to the grass.

She entered, as she used to, through the small parkgate. She reached the avenue bordered by a

double row of dense limetrees. They were swaying their long whispering branches to and fro. The dogs in

their kennels all barked, and the noise of their voices resounded, but brought out no one.

She went up the large straight staircase with wooden balusters that led to the corridor paved with

dusty flags, into which several doors in a row opened, as in a monastery or an inn. His was at the top, right at

the end, on the left. When she placed her fingers on the lock her strength suddenly deserted her. She was

afraid, almost wished he would not be there, though this was her only hope, her last chance of salvation. She

collected her thoughts for one moment, and, strengthening herself by the feeling of present necessity, went in.

Then he began a long explanation of his conduct, excusing himself in vague terms, in default of

She yielded to his words, still more to his voice and the sight of him, so that, she pretended to

believe, or perhaps believed; in the pretext he gave for their rupture; this was a secret on which depended the

"You think so?" she said, drawing nearer, and she sighed. "Oh, Rodolphe! if you but knew! I loved

It was then that she took his hand, and they remained some time, their fingers intertwined, like that

first day at the Show. With a gesture of pride he struggled against this emotion. But sinking upon his breast

"How did you think I could live without you? One cannot lose the habit of happiness. I was desolate.

I thought I should die. I will tell you about all that and you will see. And youyou fled from me!"

For, all the three years, he had carefully avoided her in consequence of that natural cowardice that

characterises the stronger sex. Emma went on, with dainty little nods, more coaxing than an amorous

"You love others, confess it! Oh, I understand them, dear! I excuse them. You probably seduced

them as you seduced me. You are indeed a man; you have everything to make one love you. But we'll begin

again, won't we? We will love one another. See! I am laughing; I am happy! Oh, speak!"

And she was charming to see, with her eyes, in which trembled a tear, like the rain of a storm in a

He had drawn her upon his knees, and with the back of his hand was caressing her smooth hair,

where in the twilight was mirrored like a golden arrow one last ray of the sun. She bent down her brow; at

She burst into tears. Rodolphe thought this was an outburst of her love. As she did not speak, he took

"Oh, forgive me! You are the only one who pleases me. I was imbecile and cruel. I love you. I will

"You know," she went on quickly, "that my husband had placed his whole fortune at a notary's. He

ran away. So we borrowed; the patients don't pay us. Moreover, the settling of the estate is not yet done; we

shall have the money later on. But today, for want of three thousand francs, we are to be sold up. It is to be

at once, this very moment, and, counting upon your friendship, I have come to you."

"Ah!" thought Rodolphe, turning very pale, "that was what she came for." At last he said with a calm

He did not lie. If he had had them, he would, no doubt, have given them, although it is generally

disagreeable to do such fine things: a demand for money being, of all the winds that blow upon love, the

"You have not got them!" she repeated several times. "You have not got them! I ought to have spared

And fixing her eyes upon an embossed carabine, that shone against its panoply, "But when one is so

poor one doesn't have silver on the butt of one's gun. One doesn't buy a clock inlaid with tortoise shell," she

went on, pointing to a buhl timepiece, "nor silvergilt whistles for one's whips," and she touched them, "nor

charms for one's watch. Oh, he wants for nothing! even to a liqueurstand in his room! For you love yourself;

you live well. You have a chateau, farms, woods; you go hunting; you travel to Paris. Why, if it were but

that," she cried, taking up two studs from the mantelpiece, "but the least of these trifles, one can get money

And she threw the two links away from her, their gold chain breaking as it struck against the wall.

"But I! I would have given you everything. I would have sold all, worked for you with my hands, I

would have begged on the highroads for a smile, for a look, to hear you say 'Thanks!' And you sit there

quietly in your armchair, as if you had not made me suffer enough already! But for you, and you know it, I

might have lived happily. What made you do it? Was it a bet? Yet you loved meyou said so. And but a

moment sinceAh! it would have been better to have driven me away. My hands are hot with your kisses,

and there is the spot on the carpet where at my knees you swore an eternity of love! You made me believe

you; for two years you held me in the most magnificent, the sweetest dream! Eh! Our plans for the journey,

do you remember? Oh, your letter! your letter! it tore my heart! And then when I come back to himto him,

rich, happy, freeto implore the help the first stranger would give, a suppliant, and bringing back to him all

"I haven't got them," replied Rodolphe, with that perfect calm with which resigned rage covers itself

She went out. The walls trembled, the ceiling was crushing her, and she passed back through the long

alley, stumbling against the heaps of dead leaves scattered by the wind. At last she reached the haha hedge

in front of the gate; she broke her nails against the lock in her haste to open it. Then a hundred steps farther

on, breathless, almost falling, she stopped. And now turning round, she once more saw the impassive chateau,

with the park, the gardens, the three courts, and all the windows of the facade.

She remained lost in stupor, and having no more consciousness of herself than through the beating of

her arteries, that she seemed to hear bursting forth like a deafening music filling all the fields. The earth

beneath her feet was more yielding than the sea, and the furrows seemed to her immense brown waves

breaking into foam. Everything in her head, of memories, ideas, went off at once like a thousand pieces of

fireworks. She saw her father, Lheureux's closet, their room at home, another landscape. Madness was

coming upon her; she grew afraid, and managed to recover herself, in a confused way, it is true, for she did

not in the, least remember the cause of the terrible condition she was in, that is to say, the question of money.

She suffered only in her love, and felt her soul passing from her in this memory; as wounded men, dying, feel

Suddenly it seemed to her that fiery spheres were exploding in the air like fulminating balls when

they strike, and were whirling, whirling, to melt at last upon the snow between the branches of the trees. In

the midst of each of them appeared the face of Rodolphe. They multiplied and drew near her, penetrating,

her. It all disappeared; she recognised the lights of the houses that shone through the fog.

Now her situation, like an abyss, rose up before her. She was panting as if her heart would burst.

Then in an ecstasy of heroism, that made her almost joyous, she ran down the hill, crossed the cowplank,

the footpath, the alley, the market, and reached the chemist's shop. She was about to enter, but at the sound

of the bell someone might come, and slipping in by the gate, holding her breath, feeling her way along the

walls, she went as far as the door of the kitchen, where a candle stuck on the stove was burning. Justin in his

And he looked at her, astonished at the pallor of her face, that stood out white against the black

background of the night. She seemed to him extraordinarily beautiful and majestic as a phantom. Without

But she went on quickly in a love voice; in a sweet, melting voice, "I want it; give it to me."

As the partition wall was thin, they could hear the clatter of the forks on the plates in the

"No, stay!" Then with an indifferent air, "Oh, it's not worth while; I'll tell him presently. Come, light

She entered the corridor into which the laboratory door opened. Against the wall was a key labelled

And he followed her. The key turned in the lock, and she went straight to the third shelf, so well did

her memory guide her, seized the blue jar, tore out the cork, plunged in her hand, and withdrawing it full of a

Then she went home, suddenly calmed, and with something of the serenity of one that had performed

When Charles, distracted by the news of the distraint, returned home, Emma had just gone out. He

cried aloud, wept, fainted, but she did not return. Where could she be? He sent Felicite to Homais, to

Monsieur Tuvache, to Lheureux, to the "Lion d'Or," everywhere, and in the intervals of his agony he saw his

reputation destroyed, their fortune lost, Berthe's future ruined. By what?Not a word! He waited till six in

the evening. At last, unable to bear it any longer, and fancying she had gone to Rouen, he set out along the

highroad, walked a mile, met no one, again waited, and returned home. She had come back.

She sat down at her writingtable and wrote a letter, which she sealed slowly, adding the date and

"You are to read it tomorrow; till then, I pray you, do not ask me a single question. No, not one!"

She lay down full length on her bed. A bitter taste that she felt in her mouth awakened her. She saw

She was studying herself curiously, to see if she were not suffering. But no! nothing as yet. She

heard the ticking of the clock, the crackling of the fire, and Charles breathing as he stood upright by her bed.

"Ahl it is but a little thing, death!" she thought. "I shall fall asleep and all will be over."

She drank a mouthful of water and turned to the wall. The frightful taste of ink continued.

She was seized with a sickness so sudden that she had hardly time to draw out her handkerchief from

He spoke to her; she did not answer. She lay motionless, afraid that the slightest movement might

She turned her head from side to side with a gentle movement full of agony, while constantly

opening her mouth as if something very heavy were weighing upon her tongue. At eight o'clock the vomiting

Charles noticed that at the bottom of the basin there was a sort of white sediment sticking to the sides

Then gently, and almost as caressing her, he passed his hand over her stomach. She uttered a sharp

Then she began to groan, faintly at first. Her shoulders were shaken by a strong shuddering, and she

was growing paler than the sheets in which her clenched fingers buried themselves. Her unequal pulse was

Drops of sweat oozed from her bluish face, that seemed as if rigid in the exhalations of a metallic

vapour. Her teeth chattered, her dilated eyes looked vaguely about her, and to all questions she replied only

with a shake of the head; she even smiled once or twice. Gradually, her moaning grew louder; a hollow shriek

burst from her; she pretended she was better and that she would get up presently. But she was seized with

"Well, therethere!" she said in a faint voice. He flew to the writingtable, tore open the seal, and

read aloud: "Accuse no one." He stopped, passed his hands across his eyes, and read it over again.

He could only keep repeating the word: "Poisoned! poisoned!" Felicite ran to Homais, who

proclaimed it in the marketplace; Madame Lefrancois heard it at the "Lion d'Or"; some got up to go and tell

Distraught, faltering, reeling, Charles wandered about the room. He knocked against the furniture,

tore his hair, and the chemist had never believed that there could be so terrible a sight.

He went home to write to Monsieur Canivet and to Doctor Lariviere. He lost his head, and made

more than fifteen rough copies. Hippolyte went to Neufchatel, and Justin so spurred Bovary's horse that he

Charles tried to look up his medical dictionary, but could not read it; the lines were dancing.

"Be calm," said the druggist; "we have only to administer a powerful antidote. What is the poison?"

For he knew that in cases of poisoning an analysis must be made; and the other, who did not

Then going back to her, he sank upon the carpet, and lay there with his head leaning against the edge

And she passed her hand slowly over his hair. The sweetness of this sensation deepened his sadness;

he felt his whole being dissolving in despair at the thought that he must lose her, just when she was

confessing more love for him than ever. And he could think of nothing; he did not know, he did not dare; the

urgent need for some immediate resolution gave the finishing stroke to the turmoil of his mind.

So she had done, she thought, with all the treachery; and meanness, and numberless desires that had

tortured her. She hated no one now; a twilight dimness was settling upon her thoughts, and, of all earthly

noises, Emma heard none but the intermittent lamentations of this poor heart, sweet and indistinct like the

The child, serious, and still halfasleep, was carried in on the servant's arm in her long white

nightgown, from which her bare feet peeped out. She looked wonderingly at the disordered room, and

halfclosed her eyes, dazzled by the candles burning on the table. They reminded her, no doubt, of the

morning of New Year's day and MidLent, when thus awakened early by candlelight she came to her

"But where is it, mamma?" And as everybody was silent, "But I can't see my little stocking."

Felicite held her over the bed while she still kept looking towards the mantelpiece.

And at this name, that carried her back to the memory of her adulteries and her calamities, Madame

Bovary turned away her head, as at the loathing of another bitterer poison that rose to her mouth. But Berthe

Then the symptoms ceased for a moment; she seemed less agitated; and at every insignificant word,

at every respiration a little more easy, he regained hope. At last, when Canivet came in, he threw himself into

His colleague was by no means of this opinion, and, as he said of himself, "never beating about the

She soon began vomiting blood. Her lips became drawn. Her limbs were convulsed, her whole body

covered with brown spots, and her pulse slipped beneath the fingers like a stretched thread, like a harpstring

After this she began to scream horribly. She cursed the poison, railed at it, and implored it to be

quick, and thrust away with her stiffened arms everything that Charles, in more agony than herself, tried to

make her drink. He stood up, his handkerchief to his lips, with a rattling sound in his throat, weeping, and

choked by sobs that shook his whole body. Felicite was running hither and thither in the room. Homais,

motionless, uttered great sighs; and Monsieur Canivet, always retaining his selfcommand, nevertheless

And, without listening to the chemist, who was still venturing the hypothesis, "It is perhaps a salutary

paroxysm," Canivet was about to administer some theriac, when they heard the cracking of a whip; all the

windows rattled, and a postchaise drawn by three horses abreast, up to their ears in mud, drove at a gallop

The apparition of a god would not have caused more commotion. Bovary raised his hands; Canivet

stopped short; and Homais pulled off his skullcap long before the doctor had come in.

He belonged to that great school of surgery begotten of Bichat, to that generation, now extinct, of

philosophical practitioners, who, loving their art with a fanatical love, exercised it with enthusiasm and

wisdom. Everyone in his hospital trembled when he was angry; and his students so revered him that they

tried, as soon as they were themselves in practice, to imitate him as much as possible. So that in all the towns

about they were found wearing his long wadded merino overcoat and black frockcoat, whose buttoned cuffs

slightly covered his brawny handsvery beautiful hands, and that never knew gloves, as though to be more

ready to plunge into suffering. Disdainful of honours, of titles, and of academies, like one of the old

KnightHospitallers, generous, fatherly to the poor, and practising virtue without believing in it, he would

almost have passed for a saint if the keenness of his intellect had not caused him to be feared as a demon. His

glance, more penetrating than his bistouries, looked straight into your soul, and dissected every lie athwart all

assertions and all reticences. And thus he went along, full of that debonair majesty that is given by the

consciousness of great talent, of fortune, and of forty years of a labourious and irreproachable life.

He frowned as soon as he had passed the door when he saw the cadaverous face of Emma stretched

out on her back with her mouth open. Then, while apparently listening to Canivet, he rubbed his fingers up

But he made a slow gesture with his shoulders. Bovary watched him; they looked at one another; and

this man, accustomed as he was to the sight of pain, could not keep back a tear that fell on his shirtfrill.

"She is very ill, isn't she? If we put on sinapisms? Anything! Oh, think of something, you who have

Charles caught him in both his arms, and gazed at him wildly, imploringly, halffainting against his

He went out only to give an order to the coachman, with Monsieur Canivet, who did not care either

The chemist rejoined them on the Place. He could not by temperament keep away from celebrities,

so he begged Monsieur Lariviere to do him the signal honour of accepting some breakfast.

He sent quickly to the "Lion d'Or" for some pigeons; to the butcher's for all the cutlets that were to be

had; to Tuvache for cream; and to Lestiboudois for eggs; and the druggist himself aided in the preparations,

"You must excuse us, sir, for in this poor place, when one hasn't been told the night before"

He thought fit, after the first few mouthfuls, to give some details as to the catastrophe.

"We first had a feeling of siccity in the pharynx, then intolerable pains at the epigastrium, super

"I don't know, doctor, and I don't even know where she can have procured the arsenious acid."

At this question the young man dropped the whole lot on the ground with a crash.

"I wished, doctor, to make an analysis, and primo I delicately introduced a tube"

"You would have done better," said the physician, "to introduce your fingers into her throat."

His colleague was silent, having just before privately received a severe lecture about his emetic, so

that this good Canivet, so arrogant and so verbose at the time of the clubfoot, was today very modest. He

Homais dilated in Amphytrionic pride, and the affecting thought of Bovary vaguely contributed to

his pleasure by a kind of egotistic reflex upon himself. Then the presence of the doctor transported him. He

displayed his erudition, cited pellmell cantharides, upas, the manchineel, vipers.

"I have even read that various persons have found themselves under toxicological symptoms, and, as

it were, thunderstricken by blackpudding that had been subjected to a too vehement fumigation. At least,

this was stated in a very fine report drawn up by one of our pharmaceutical chiefs, one of our masters, the

Madame Homais reappeared, carrying one of those shaky machines that are heated with spirits of

wine; for Homais liked to make his coffee at table, having, moreover, torrefied it, pulverised it, and mixed it

Then he had all his children brought down, anxious to have the physician's opinion on their

At last Monsieur Lariviere was about to leave, when Madame Homais asked for a consultation about

her husband. He was making his blood too thick by going to sleep every evening after dinner.

And, smiling a little at his unnoticed joke, the doctor opened the door. But the chemist's shop was

full of people; he had the greatest difficulty in getting rid of Monsieur Tuvache, who feared his spouse would

get inflammation of the lungs, because she was in the habit of spitting on the ashes; then of Monsieur Binet,

who sometimes experienced sudden attacks of great hunger; and of Madame Caron, who suffered from

tinglings; of Lheureux, who had vertigo; of Lestiboudois, who had rheumatism; and of Madame Lefrancois,

who had heartburn. At last the three horses started; and it was the general opinion that he had not shown

Public attention was distracted by the appearance of Monsieur Bournisien, who was going across the

Homais, as was due to his principles, compared priests to ravens attracted by the odour of death. The

sight of an ecclesiastic was personally disagreeable to him, for the cassock made him think of the shroud, and

Nevertheless, not shrinking from what he called his mission, he returned to Bovary's in company

with Canivet whom Monsieur Lariviere, before leaving, had strongly urged to make this visit; and he would,

but for his wife's objections, have taken his two sons with him, in order to accustom them to great occasions;

that this might be a lesson, an example, a solemn picture, that should remain in their heads later on.

The room when they went in was full of mournful solemnity. On the worktable, covered over with

a white cloth, there were five or six small balls of cotton in a silver dish, near a large crucifix between two

Emma, her chin sunken upon her breast, had her eyes inordinately wide open, and her poor hands

wandered over the sheets with that hideous and soft movement of the dying, that seems as if they wanted

already to cover themselves with the shroud. Pale as a statue and with eyes red as fire, Charles, not weeping,

stood opposite her at the foot of the bed, while the priest, bending one knee, was muttering words in a low

She turned her face slowly, and seemed filled with joy on seeing suddenly the violet stole, no doubt

finding again, in the midst of a temporary lull in her pain, the lost voluptuousness of her first mystical

The priest rose to take the crucifix; then she stretched forward her neck as one who is athirst, and

glueing her lips to the body of the ManGod, she pressed upon it with all her expiring strength the fullest kiss

of love that she had ever given. Then he recited the Misereatur and the Indulgentiam, dipped his right thumb

in the oil, and began to give extreme unction. First upon the eyes, that had so coveted all worldly pomp; then

upon the nostrils, that had been greedy of the warm breeze and amorous odours; then upon the mouth, that

had uttered lies, that had curled with pride and cried out in lewdness; then upon the hands that had delighted

in sensual touches; and finally upon the soles of the feet, so swift of yore, when she was running to satisfy her

The cure wiped his fingers, threw the bit of cotton dipped in oil into the fire, and came and sat down

by the dying woman, to tell her that she must now blend her sufferings with those of Jesus Christ and

Finishing his exhortations, he tried to place in her hand a blessed candle, symbol of the celestial

glory with which she was soon to be surrounded. Emma, too weak, could not close her fingers, and the taper,

However, she was not quite so pale, and her face had an expression of serenity as if the sacrament

The priest did not fail to point this out; he even explained to Bovary that the Lord sometimes

prolonged the life of persons when he thought it meet for their salvation; and Charles remembered the day

when, so near death, she had received the communion. Perhaps there was no need to despair, he thought.

In fact, she looked around her slowly, as one awakening from a dream; then in a distinct voice she

asked for her lookingglass, and remained some time bending over it, until the big tears fell from her eyes.

Her chest soon began panting rapidly; the whole of her tongue protruded from her mouth; her eyes,

as they rolled, grew paler, like the two globes of a lamp that is going out, so that one might have thought her

already dead but for the fearful labouring of her ribs, shaken by violent breathing, as if the soul were

struggling to free itself. Felicite knelt down before the crucifix, and the druggist himself slightly bent his

knees, while Monsieur Canivet looked out vaguely at the Place. Bournisien had again begun to pray, his face

bowed against the edge of the bed, his long black cassock trailing behind him in the room. Charles was on the

other side, on his knees, his arms outstretched towards Emma. He had taken her hands and pressed them,

shuddering at every beat of her heart, as at the shaking of a falling ruin. As the deathrattle became stronger

the priest prayed faster; his prayers mingled with the stifled sobs of Bovary, and sometimes all seemed lost in

Suddenly on the pavement was heard a loud noise of clogs and the clattering of a stick; and a voice

Emma raised herself like a galvanised corpse, her hair undone, her eyes fixed, staring.

"Where the sickle blades have been, Nannette, gathering ears of corn, Passes bending down, my

"The blind man!" she cried. And Emma began to laugh, an atrocious, frantic, despairing laugh,

thinking she saw the hideous face of the poor wretch that stood out against the eternal night like a menace.

She fell back upon the mattress in a convulsion. They all drew near. She was dead.

There is always after the death of anyone a kind of stupefaction; so difficult is it to grasp this advent

of nothingness and to resign ourselves to believe in it. But still, when he saw that she did not move, Charles

"Yes." said he, struggling, "I'll be quiet. I'll not do anything. But leave me alone. I want to see her.

Weaker than a child, Charles let himself be led downstairs into the sittingroom, and Monsieur

Homais soon went home. On the Place he was accosted by the blind man, who, having dragged himself as far

as Yonville, in the hope of getting the antiphlogistic pomade, was asking every passerby where the druggist

"There now! as if I hadn't got other fish to fry. Well, so much the worse; you must come later on."

He had to write two letters, to prepare a soothing potion for Bovary, to invent some lie that would

conceal the poisoning, and work it up into an article for the "Fanal," without counting the people who were

waiting to get the news from him; and when the Yonvillers had all heard his story of the arsenic that she had

mistaken for sugar in making a vanilla cream. Homais once more returned to Bovary's.

He found him alone (Monsieur Canivet had left), sitting in an armchair near the window, staring

"Why? What ceremony?" Then, in a stammering, frightened voice, "Oh, no! not that. No! I want to

Homais, to keep himself in countenance, took up a waterbottle on the whatnot to water the

But he did not finish, choking beneath the crowd of memories that this action of the druggist recalled

Then to distract him, Homais thought fit to talk a little horticulture: plants wanted humidity. Charles

The druggist, at his wit's end, began softly to draw aside the small windowcurtain.

Homais did not dare to speak to him again about the funeral arrangements; it was the priest who

He shut himself up in his consultingroom, took a pen, and after sobbing for some time, wrote

"I wish her to be buried in her weddingdress, with white shoes, and a wreath. Her hair is to be

spread out over her shoulders. Three coffins, one of oak, one of mahogany, one of lead. Let no one say

anything to me. I shall have strength. Over all there is to be placed a large piece of green velvet. This is my

The two men were much surprised at Bovary's romantic ideas. The chemist at once went to him and

The priest took him by the arm for a turn in the garden. He discoursed on the vanity of earthly things.

God was very great, was very good: one must submit to his decrees without a murmur; nay, must even thank

Bovary was far away. He was walking with great strides along by the wall, near the espalier, and he

ground his teeth; he raised to heaven looks of malediction, but not so much as a leaf stirred.

A fine rain was falling: Charles, whose chest was bare, at last began to shiver; he went in and sat

At six o'clock a noise like a clatter of old iron was heard on the Place; it was the "Hirondelle" coming

in, and he remained with his forehead against the windowpane, watching all the passengers get out, one after

the other. Felicite put down a mattress for him in the drawingroom. He threw himself upon it and fell asleep.

Although a philosopher, Monsieur Homais respected the dead. So bearing no grudge to poor Charles,

he came back again in the evening to sit up with the body; bringing with him three volumes and a

Monsieur Bournisien was there, and two large candles were burning at the head of the bed, that had

been taken out of the alcove. The druggist, on whom the silence weighed, was not long before he began

formulating some regrets about this "unfortunate young woman." and the priest replied that there was nothing

"Yet," Homais went on, "one of two things; either she died in a state of grace (as the Church has it),

and then she has no need of our prayers; or else she departed impertinent (that is, I believe, the ecclesiastical

Bournisien interrupted him, replying testily that it was none the less necessary to pray.

"But," objected the chemist, "since God knows all our needs, what can be the good of prayer?"

"Excuse me," said Homais; "I admire Christianity. To begin with, it enfranchised the slaves,

"Oh! oh! As to texts, look at history; it, is known that all the texts have been falsified by the Jesuits."

Emma's head was turned towards her right shoulder, the corner of her mouth, which was open,

seemed like a black hole at the lower part of her face; her two thumbs were bent into the palms of her hands;

a kind of white dust besprinkled her lashes, and her eyes were beginning to disappear in that viscous pallor

that looks like a thin web, as if spiders had spun it over. The sheet sunk in from her breast to her knees, and

then rose at the tips of her toes, and it seemed to Charles that infinite masses, an enormous load, were

The church clock struck two. They could hear the loud murmur of the river flowing in the darkness

at the foot of the terrace. Monsieur Bournisien from time to time blew his nose noisily, and Homais' pen was

"Come, my good friend," he said, "withdraw; this spectacle is tearing you to pieces."

"Read the 'Letters of some Portuguese Jews,'" said the other; "read 'The Meaning of Christianity,' by

They grew warm, they grew red, they both talked at once without listening to each other. Bournisien

was scandalized at such audacity; Homais marvelled at such stupidity; and they were on the point of insulting

one another when Charles suddenly reappeared. A fascination drew him. He was continually coming upstairs.

He stood opposite her, the better to see her, and he lost himself in a contemplation so deep that it was

He recalled stories of catalepsy, the marvels of magnetism, and he said to himself that by willing it

with all his force he might perhaps succeed in reviving her. Once he even bent towards he, and cried in a low

voice, "Emma! Emma!" His strong breathing made the flames of the candles tremble against the wall.

At daybreak Madame Bovary senior arrived. Charles as he embraced her burst into another flood of

tears. She tried, as the chemist had done, to make some remarks to him on the expenses of the funeral. He

became so angry that she was silent, and he even commissioned her to go to town at once and buy what was

Charles remained alone the whole afternoon; they had taken Berthe to Madame Homais'; Felicite was

In the evening he had some visitors. He rose, pressed their hands, unable to speak. Then they sat

down near one another, and formed a large semicircle in front of the fire. With lowered faces, and swinging

one leg crossed over the other knee, they uttered deep sighs at intervals; each one was inordinately bored, and

Homais, when he returned at nine o'clock (for the last two days only Homais seemed to have been on

the Place), was laden with a stock of camphor, of benzine, and aromatic herbs. He also carried a large jar full

of chlorine water, to keep off all miasmata. Just then the servant, Madame Lefrancois, and Madame Bovary

senior were busy about Emma, finishing dressing her, and they were drawing down the long stiff veil that

"Look at her," said the landlady, sighing; "how pretty she still is! Now, couldn't you swear she was

Then they bent over her to put on her wreath. They had to raise the head a little, and a rush of black

"Oh, goodness! The dress; take care!" cried Madame Lefrancois. "Now, just come and help," she

"I afraid?" replied he, shrugging his shoulders. "I dare say! I've seen all sorts of things at the hospital

when I was studying pharmacy. We used to make punch in the dissecting room! Nothingness does not terrify

a philosopher; and, as I often say, I even intend to leave my body to the hospitals, in order, later on, to serve

The cure on his arrival inquired how Monsieur Bovary was, and, on the reply of the druggist, went

Then Homais congratulated him on not being exposed, like other people, to the loss of a beloved

"For," said the chemist, "it is unnatural that a man should do without women! There have been

"But, good heaven!" cried the ecclesiastic, "how do you expect an individual who is married to keep

Homais fell foul of the confessional. Bournisien defended it; he enlarged on the acts of restitution

that it brought about. He cited various anecdotes about thieves who had suddenly become honest. Military

men on approaching the tribunal of penitence had felt the scales fall from their eyes. At Fribourg there was a

His companion was asleep. Then he felt somewhat stifled by the overheavy atmosphere of the

A continual barking was heard in the distance. "Do you hear that dog howling?" said the chemist.

"They smell the dead," replied the priest. "It's like bees; they leave their hives on the decease of any

Homais made no remark upon these prejudices, for he had again dropped asleep. Monsieur

Bournisien, stronger than he, went on moving his lips gently for some time, then insensibly his chin sank

They sat opposite one another, with protruding stomachs, puffedup faces, and frowning looks, after

so much disagreement uniting at last in the same human weakness, and they moved no more than the corpse

Charles coming in did not wake them. It was the last time; he came to bid her farewell.

The aromatic herbs were still smoking, and spirals of bluish vapour blended at the windowsash with

the fog that was coming in. There were few stars, and the night was warm. The wax of the candles fell in

great drops upon the sheets of the bed. Charles watched them burn, tiring his eyes against the glare of their

The watering on the satin gown shimmered white as moonlight. Emma was lost beneath it; and it

seemed to him that, spreading beyond her own self, she blended confusedly with everything around her the

Then suddenly he saw her in the garden at Tostes, on a bench against the thorn hedge, or else at

Rouen in the streets, on the threshold of their house, in the yard at Bertaux. He again heard the laughter of the

happy boys beneath the appletrees: the room was filled with the perfume of her hair; and her dress rustled in

For a long while he thus recalled all his lost joys, her attitudes, her movements, the sound of her

voice. Upon one fit of despair followed another, and even others, inexhaustible as the waves of an

A terrible curiosity seized him. Slowly, with the tips of bis fingers, palpitating, he lifted her veil. But

They dragged him down into the sittingroom. Then Felicite came up to say that he wanted some of

And as she did not dare to, he himself stepped forward, scissors in hand. He trembled so that he

pierced the skin of the temple in several places. At last, stiffening himself against emotion, Homais gave two

or three great cuts at random that left white patches amongst that beautiful black hair.

The chemist and the cure plunged anew into their occupations, not without sleeping from time to

time, of which they accused each other reciprocally at each fresh awakening. Then Monsieur Bournisien

sprinkled the room with holy water and Homais threw a little chlorine water on the floor.

Felicite had taken care to put on the chest of drawers, for each of them, a bottle of brandy, some

cheese, and a large roll. And the druggist, who could not hold out any longer, about four in the morning

The priest did not need any persuading; he went out to go and say mass, came back, and then they ate

and hobnobbed, giggling a little without knowing why, stimulated by that vague gaiety that comes upon us

after times of sadness, and at the last glass the priest said to the druggist, as he clapped him on the shoulder

In the passage downstairs they met the undertaker's men, who were coming in. Then Charles for two

hours had to suffer the torture of hearing the hammer resound against the wood. Next day they lowered her

into her oak coffin, that was fitted into the other two; but as the bier was too large, they had to fill up the gaps

with the wool of a mattress. At last, when the three lids had been planed down, nailed, soldered, it was placed

outside in front of the door; the house was thrown open, and the people of Yonville began to flock round.

He had only received the chemist's letter thirtysix hours after the event; and, from consideration for

his feelings, Homais had so worded it that it was impossible to make out what it was all about.

First, the old fellow had fallen as if struck by apoplexy. Next, he understood that she was not dead,

but she might be. At last, he had put on his blouse, taken his hat, fastened his spurs to his boots, and set out at

full speed; and the whole of the way old Rouault, panting, was torn by anguish. Once even he was obliged to

dismount. He was dizzy; he heard voices round about him; he felt himself going mad.

Day broke. He saw three black hens asleep in a tree. He shuddered, horrified at this omen. Then he

promised the Holy Virgin three chasubles for the church, and that he would go barefooted from the cemetery

He entered Maromme shouting for the people of the inn, burst open the door with a thrust of his

shoulder, made for a sack of oats, emptied a bottle of sweet cider into the manger, and again mounted his nag,

He said to himself that no doubt they would save her; the doctors would discover some remedy

surely. He remembered all the miraculous cures he had been told about. Then she appeared to him dead. She

was there; before his eyes, lying on her back in the middle of the road. He reined up, and the hallucination

At Quincampoix, to give himself heart, he drank three cups of coffee one after the other. He fancied

they had made a mistake in the name in writing. He looked for the letter in his pocket, felt it there, but did not

At last he began to think it was all a joke; someone's spite, the jest of some wag; and besides, if she

were dead, one would have known it. But no! There was nothing extraordinary about the country; the sky was

blue, the trees swayed; a flock of sheep passed. He saw the village; he was seen coming bending forward

upon his horse, belabouring it with great blows, the girths dripping with blood.

When he had recovered consciousness, he fell, weeping, into Bovary's arms: "My girl! Emma! my

The druggist separated them. "These horrible details are useless. I will tell this gentleman all about it.

The poor fellow tried to show himself brave, and repeated several times. "Yes! courage!"

"Oh," cried the old man, "so I will have, by God! I'll go along o' her to the end!"

The bell began tolling. All was ready; they had to start. And seated in a stall of the choir, side by

side, they saw pass and repass in front of them continually the three chanting choristers.

The serpentplayer was blowing with all his might. Monsieur Bournisien, in full vestments, was

singing in a shrill voice. He bowed before the tabernacle, raising his hands, stretched out his arms.

Lestiboudois went about the church with his whalebone stick. The bier stood near the lectern, between four

Yet he tried to stir himself to a feeling of devotion, to throw himself into the hope of a future life in

which he should see her again. He imagined to himself she had gone on a long journey, far away, for along

time. But when he thought of her lying there, and that all was over, that they would lay her in the earth, he

was seized with a fierce, gloomy, despairful rage. At times he thought he felt nothing more, and he enjoyed

this lull in his pain, whilst at the same time he reproached himself for being a wretch.

The sharp noise of an ironferruled stick was heard on the stones, striking them at irregular intervals.

It came from the end of the church, and stopped short at the lower aisles. A man in a coarse brown jacket

knelt down painfully. It was Hippolyte, the stableboy at the "Lion d'Or." He had put on his new leg.

One of the choristers went round the nave making a collection, and the coppers chinked one after the

"Oh, make haste! I am in pain!" cried Bovary, angrily throwing him a fivefranc piece. The

They sang, they knelt, they stood up; it was endless! He remembered that once, in the early times,

they had been to mass together, and they had sat down on the other side, on the right, by the wall. The bell

began again. There was a great moving of chairs; the bearers slipped their three staves under the coffin, and

Then Justin appeared at the door of the shop. He suddenly went in again, pale, staggering.

People were at the windows to see the procession pass. Charles at the head walked erect. He affected

a brave air, and saluted with a nod those who, coming out from the lanes or from their doors, stood amidst the

The six men, three on either side, walked slowly, panting a little. The priests, the choristers, and the

two choirboys recited the De profundis*, and their voices echoed over the fields, rising and falling with their

undulations. Sometimes they disappeared in the windings of the path; but the great silver cross rose always

The women followed in black cloaks with turneddown hoods; each of them carried in her hands a

large lighted candle, and Charles felt himself growing weaker at this continual repetition of prayers and

torches, beneath this oppressive odour of wax and of cassocks. A fresh breeze was blowing; the rye and colza

were sprouting, little dewdrops trembled at the roadsides and on the hawthorn hedges. All sorts of joyous

sounds filled the air; the jolting of a cart rolling afar off in the ruts, the crowing of a cock, repeated again and

again, or the gambling of a foal running away under the appletrees: The pure sky was fretted with rosy

clouds; a bluish haze rested upon the cots covered with iris. Charles as he passed recognised each courtyard.

He remembered mornings like this, when, after visiting some patient, he came out from one and returned to

The black cloth bestrewn with white beads blew up from time to time, laying bare the coffin. The

tired bearers walked more slowly, and it advanced with constant jerks, like a boat that pitches with every

They reached the cemetery. The men went right down to a place in the grass where a grave was dug.

They ranged themselves all round; and while the priest spoke, the red soil thrown up at the sides kept

Then when the four ropes were arranged the coffin was placed upon them. He watched it descend; it

seemed descending for ever. At last a thud was heard; the ropes creaked as they were drawn up. Then

Bournisien took the spade handed to him by Lestiboudois; with his left hand all the time sprinkling water,

with the right he vigorously threw in a large spadeful; and the wood of the coffin, struck by the pebbles, gave

The ecclesiastic passed the holy water sprinkler to his neighbour. This was Homais. He swung it

gravely, then handed it to Charles, who sank to his knees in the earth and threw in handfuls of it, crying,

"Adieu!" He sent her kisses; he dragged himself towards the grave, to engulf himself with her. They led him

away, and he soon grew calmer, feeling perhaps, like the others, a vague satisfaction that it was all over.

Old Rouault on his way back began quietly smoking a pipe, which Homais in his innermost

conscience thought not quite the thing. He also noticed that Monsieur Binet had not been present, and that

Tuvache had "made off" after mass, and that Theodore, the notary's servant wore a blue coat, "as if one could

not have got a black coat, since that is the custom, by Jove!" And to share his observations with others he

went from group to group. They were deploring Emma's death, especially Lheureux, who had not failed to

The druggist continued, "Do you know that but for me he would have committed some fatal attempt

"I haven't had leisure," said Homais, "to prepare a few words that I would have cast upon her tomb."

Charles on getting home undressed, and old Rouault put on his blue blouse. It was a new one, and as

he had often during the journey wiped his eyes on the sleeves, the dye had stained his face, and the traces of

Madame Bovary senior was with them. All three were silent. At last the old fellow sighed

"Do you remember, my friend, that I went to Tostes once when you had just lost your first deceased?

I consoled you at that time. I thought of something to say then, but now" Then, with a loud groan that

shook his whole chest, "Ah! this is the end for me, do you see! I saw my wife go, then my son, and now

He wanted to go back at once to Bertaux, saying that he could not sleep in this house. He even

"No, no! It would grieve me too much. Only you'll kiss her many times for me. Goodbye! you're a

good fellow! And then I shall never forget that," he said, slapping his thigh. "Never fear, you shall always

But when he reached the top of the hill he turned back, as he had turned once before on the road of

SaintVictor when he had parted from her. The windows of the village were all on fire beneath the slanting

rays of the sun sinking behind the field. He put his hand over his eyes, and saw in the horizon an enclosure of

walls, where trees here and there formed black clusters between white stones; then he went on his way at a

Despite their fatigue, Charles and his mother stayed very long that evening talking together. They

spoke of the days of the past and of the future. She would come to live at Yonville; she would keep house for

him; they would never part again. She was ingenious and caressing, rejoicing in her heart at gaining once

more an affection that had wandered from her for so many years. Midnight struck. The village as usual was

Rodolphe, who, to distract himself, had been rambling about the wood all day, was sleeping quietly

On the grave between the pinetrees a child was on his knees weeping, and his heart, rent by sobs,

was beating in the shadow beneath the load of an immense regret, sweeter than the moon and fathomless as

the night. The gate suddenly grated. It was Lestiboudois; he came to fetch his spade, that he had forgotten. He

recognised Justin climbing over the wall, and at last knew who was the culprit who stole his potatoes.

The next day Charles had the child brought back. She asked for her mamma. They told her she was

away; that she would bring her back some playthings. Berthe spoke of her again several times, then at last

thought no more of her. The child's gaiety broke Bovary's heart, and he had to bear besides the intolerable

Money troubles soon began again, Monsieur Lheureux urging on anew his friend Vincart, and

Charles pledged himself for exorbitant sums; for he would never consent to let the smallest of the things that

had belonged to HER be sold. His mother was exasperated with him; he grew even more angry than she did.

Then everyone began "taking advantage" of him. Mademoiselle Lempereur presented a bill for six

months' teaching, although Emma had never taken a lesson (despite the receipted bill she had shown Bovary);

it was an arrangement between the two women. The man at the circulating library demanded three years'

subscriptions; Mere Rollet claimed the postage due for some twenty letters, and when Charles asked for an

With every debt he paid Charles thought he had come to the end of them. But others followed

ceaselessly. He sent in accounts for professional attendance. He was shown the letters his wife had written.

Felicite now wore Madame Bovary's gowns; not all, for he had kept some of them, and he went to

look at them in her dressingroom, locking himself up there; she was about her height, and often Charles,

But at Whitsuntide she ran away from Yonville, carried off by Theodore, stealing all that was left of

It was about this time that the widow Dupuis had the honour to inform him of the "marriage of

Monsieur Leon Dupuis her son, notary at Yvetot, to Mademoiselle Leocadie Leboeuf of Bondeville."

One day when, wandering aimlessly about the house, he had gone up to the attic, he felt a pellet of

fine paper under his slipper. He opened it and read: "Courage, Emma, courage. I would not bring misery into

your life." It was Rodolphe's letter, fallen to the ground between the boxes, where it had remained, and that

the wind from the dormer window had just blown towards the door. And Charles stood, motionless and

staring, in the very same place where, long ago, Emma, in despair, and paler even than he, had thought of

dying. At last he discovered a small R at the bottom of the second page. What did this mean? He remembered

Rodolphe's attentions, his sudden, disappearance, his constrained air when they had met two or three times

Besides, Charles was not of those who go to the bottom of things; he shrank from the proofs, and his

Everyone, he thought, must have adored her; all men assuredly must have coveted her. She seemed

but the more beautiful to him for this; he was seized with a lasting, furious desire for her, that inflamed his

To please her, as if she were still living, he adopted her predilections, her ideas; he bought patent

leather boots and took to wearing white cravats. He put cosmetics on his moustache, and, like her, signed

He was obliged to sell his silver piece by piece; next he sold the drawingroom furniture. All the

rooms were stripped; but the bedroom, her own room, remained as before. After his dinner Charles went up

there. He pushed the round table in front of the fire, and drew up her armchair. He sat down opposite it. A

candle burnt in one of the gilt candlesticks. Berthe by his side was painting prints.

He suffered, poor man, at seeing her so badly dressed, with laceless boots, and the armholes of her

pinafore torn down to the hips; for the charwoman took no care of her. But she was so sweet, so pretty, and

her little head bent forward so gracefully, letting the dear fair hair fall over her rosy cheeks, that an infinite

joy came upon him, a happiness mingled with bitterness, like those illmade wines that taste of resin. He

mended her toys, made her puppets from cardboard, or sewed up halftorn dolls. Then, if his eyes fell upon

the workbox, a ribbon lying about, or even a pin left in a crack of the table, he began to dream, and looked so

No one now came to see them, for Justin had run away to Rouen, where he was a grocer's assistant,

and the druggist's children saw less and less of the child, Monsieur Homais not caring, seeing the difference

The blind man, whom he had not been able to cure with the pomade, had gone back to the hill of

BoisGuillaume, where he told the travellers of the vain attempt of the druggist, to such an extent, that

Homais when he went to town hid himself behind the curtains of the "Hirondelle" to avoid meeting him. He

detested him, and wishing, in the interests of his own reputation, to get rid of him at all costs, he directed

against him a secret battery, that betrayed the depth of his intellect and the baseness of his vanity. Thus, for

six consecutive months, one could read in the "Fanal de Rouen" editorials such as these

"All who bend their steps towards the fertile plains of Picardy have, no doubt, remarked, by the

BoisGuillaume hill, a wretch suffering from a horrible facial wound. He importunes, persecutes one, and

levies a regular tax on all travellers. Are we still living in the monstrous times of the Middle Ages, when

vagabonds were permitted to display in our public places leprosy and scrofulas they had brought back from

"In spite of the laws against vagabondage, the approaches to our great towns continue to be infected

by bands of beggars. Some are seen going about alone, and these are not, perhaps, the least dangerous. What

"Yesterday, by the BoisGuillaume hill, a skittish horse" And then followed the story of an

He managed so well that the fellow was locked up. But he was released. He began again, and

Homais began again. It was a struggle. Homais won it, for his foe was condemned to lifelong confinement

This success emboldened him, and henceforth there was no longer a dog run over, a barn burnt

down, a woman beaten in the parish, of which he did not immediately inform the public, guided always by

the love of progress and the hate of priests. He instituted comparisons between the elementary and clerical

schools to the detriment of the latter; called to mind the massacre of St. Bartholomew a propos of a grant of

one hundred francs to the church, and denounced abuses, aired new views. That was his phrase. Homais was

However, he was stifling in the narrow limits of journalism, and soon a book, a work was necessary

to him. Then he composed "General Statistics of the Canton of Yonville, followed by Climatological

Remarks." The statistics drove him to philosophy. He busied himself with great questions: the social

problem: moralisation of the poorer classes, pisciculture, caoutchouc, railways, etc. He even began to blush at

being a bourgeois. He affected the artistic style, he smoked. He bought two chic Pompadour statuettes to

He by no means gave up his shop. On the contrary, he kept well abreast of new discoveries. He

followed the great movement of chocolates; he was the first to introduce "cocoa" and "revalenta" into the

SeineInferieure. He was enthusiastic about the hydroelectric Pulvermacher chains; he wore one himself,

and when at night he took off his flannel vest, Madame Homais stood quite dazzled before the golden spiral

beneath which he was hidden, and felt her ardour redouble for this man more bandaged than a Scythian, and

He had fine ideas about Emma's tomb. First he proposed a broken column with some drapery, next a

pyramid, then a Temple of Vesta, a sort of rotunda, or else a "mass of ruins." And in all his plans Homais

always stuck to the weeping willow, which he looked upon as the indispensable symbol of sorrow.

Charles and he made a journey to Rouen together to look at some tombs at a funeral furnisher's,

accompanied by an artist, one Vaufrylard, a friend of Bridoux's, who made puns all the time. At last, after

having examined some hundred designs, having ordered an estimate and made another journey to Rouen,

Charles decided in favour of a mausoleum, which on the two principal sides was to have a "spirit bearing an

As to the inscription, Homais could think of nothing so fine as Sta viator*, and he got no further; he

racked his brain, he constantly repeated Sta viator. At last he hit upon Amabilen conjugem calcas**, which

A strange thing was that Bovary, while continually thinking of Emma, was forgetting her. He grew

desperate as he felt this image fading from his memory in spite of all efforts to retain it. Yet every night he

dreamt of her; it was always the same dream. He drew near her, but when he was about to clasp her she fell

For a week he was seen going to church in the evening. Monsieur Bournisien even paid him two or

three visits, then gave him up. Moreover, the old fellow was growing intolerant, fanatic, said Homais. He

thundered against the spirit of the age, and never failed, every other week, in his sermon, to recount the death

In spite of the economy with which Bovary lived, he was far from being able to pay off his old debts.

Lheureux refused to renew any more bills. A distraint became imminent. Then he appealed to his mother,

who consented to let him take a mortgage on her property, but with a great many recriminations against

Emma; and in return for her sacrifice she asked for a shawl that had escaped the depredations of Felicite.

She made the first overtures of reconciliation by offering to have the little girl, who could help her in

the house, to live with her. Charles consented to this, but when the time for parting came, all his courage

As his affections vanished, he clung more closely to the love of his child. She made him anxious,

Opposite his house, flourishing and merry, was the family of the chemist, with whom everything was

prospering. Napoleon helped him in the laboratory, Athalie embroidered him a skullcap, Irma cut out rounds

of paper to cover the preserves, and Franklin recited Pythagoras' table in a breath. He was the happiest of

Not so! A secret ambition devoured him. Homais hankered after the cross of the Legion of Honour.

"First, having at the time of the cholera distinguished myself by a boundless devotion; second, by

having published, at my expense, various works of public utility, such as" (and he recalled his pamphlet

entitled, "Cider, its manufacture and effects," besides observation on the lanigerous plantlouse, sent to the

Academy; his volume of statistics, and down to his pharmaceutical thesis); "without counting that I am a

"In short!" he cried, making a pirouette, "if it were only for distinguishing myself at fires!"

Then Homais inclined towards the Government. He secretly did the prefect great service during the

elections. He sold himselfin a word, prostituted himself. He even addressed a petition to the sovereign in

which he implored him to "do him justice"; he called him "our good king," and compared him to Henri IV.

And every morning the druggist rushed for the paper to see if his nomination were in it. It was never

there. At last, unable to bear it any longer, he had a grass plot in his garden designed to represent the Star of

the Cross of Honour with two little strips of grass running from the top to imitate the ribband. He walked

round it with folded arms, meditating on the folly of the Government and the ingratitude of men.

>From respect, or from a sort of sensuality that made him carry on his investigations slowly, Charles

had not yet opened the secret drawer of a rosewood desk which Emma had generally used. One day, however,

he sat down before it, turned the key, and pressed the spring. All Leon's letters were there. There could be no

doubt this time. He devoured them to the very last, ransacked every corner, all the furniture, all the drawers,

behind the walls, sobbing, crying aloud, distraught, mad. He found a box and broke it open with a kick.

Rodolphe's portrait flew full in his face in the midst of the overturned loveletters.

People wondered at his despondency. He never went out, saw no one, refused even to visit his

Sometimes, however, some curious person climbed on to the garden hedge, and saw with amazement

this longbearded, shabbily clothed, wild man, who wept aloud as he walked up and down.

In the evening in summer he took his little girl with him and led her to the cemetery. They came back

The voluptuousness of his grief was, however, incomplete, for he had no one near him to share it,

But the landlady only listened with half an ear, having troubles like himself. For Lheureux had at last

established the "Favorites du Commerce," and Hivert, who enjoyed a great reputation for doing errands,

insisted on a rise of wages, and was threatening to go over "to the opposition shop."

One day when he had gone to the market at Argueil to sell his horsehis last resourcehe met

They both turned pale when they caught sight of one another. Rodolphe, who had only sent his card,

first stammered some apologies, then grew bolder, and even pushed his assurance (it was in the month of

August and very hot) to the length of inviting him to have a bottle of beer at the publichouse.

Leaning on the table opposite him, he chewed his cigar as he talked, and Charles was lost in reverie

at this face that she had loved. He seemed to see again something of her in it. It was a marvel to him. He

The other went on talking agriculture, cattle, pasturage, filling out with banal phrases all the gaps

where an allusion might slip in. Charles was not listening to him; Rodolphe noticed it, and he followed the

succession of memories that crossed his face. This gradually grew redder; the nostrils throbbed fast, the lips

quivered. There was at last a moment when Charles, full of a sombre fury, fixed his eyes on Rodolphe, who,

in something of fear, stopped talking. But soon the same look of weary lassitude came back to his face.

Rodolphe was dumb. And Charles, his head in his hands, went on in a broken voice, and with the

Rodolphe, who had managed the fatality, thought the remark very offhand from a man in his

The next day Charles went to sit down on the seat in the arbour. Rays of light were straying through

the trellis, the vine leaves threw their shadows on the sand, the jasmines perfumed the air, the heavens were

blue, Spanish flies buzzed round the lilies in bloom, and Charles was suffocating like a youth beneath the

At seven o'clock little Berthe, who had not seen him all the afternoon, went to fetch him to dinner.

His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes closed, his mouth open, and in his hand was a

And thinking he wanted to play; she pushed him gently. He fell to the ground. He was dead.

Thirtysix hours after, at the druggist's request, Monsieur Canivet came thither. He made a

When everything had been sold, twelve francs seventyfive centimes remained, that served to pay

for Mademoiselle Bovary's going to her grandmother. The good woman died the same year; old Rouault was

paralysed, and it was an aunt who took charge of her. She is poor, and sends her to a cottonfactory to earn a

Since Bovary's death three doctors have followed one another at Yonville without any success, so

severely did Homais attack them. He has an enormous practice; the authorities treat him with consideration,