madame bovary-第11章

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form；　broadened　out　beyond；　lighting　up　her　other　dreams。

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
gold…fringed　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
non…existent。　The　nearer　things　were；　moreover；　the　more　her
thoughts　turned　away　from　them。　All　her　immediate　surroundings；
the　wearisome　country；　the　middle…class　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；　well…filled　flower…stands；　a　bed　on　a　raised　dias；
nor　from　the　flashing　of　precious　stones　and　the　shoulder…knots
of　liveries。

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　knee…britches　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　servant…girl
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's…maid　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　supply　of　sugar　that　she　ate　alone　in　her
bed　after　she　had　said　her　prayers。

Sometimes　in　the　afternoon　she　went　to　chat　with　the　postilions。

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；　pen…holder；　and　envelopes；
although　she　had　no　one　to　write　to；　she　dusted　her　what…not；
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　to　die　and　to　live　in　Paris。

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　blood…lettings　in　his　face；　listened　to
death…rattles；　examined　basins；　turned　over　a　good　deal　of　dirty
linen；　but　every　evening　he　found　a　blazing　fire；　his　dinner
ready；　easy…chairs；　and　a　well…dressed　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　watch…chains；　she
bought　some　charms。　She　wanted　for　her　mantelpiece　two　large　blue
glass　vases；　and　some　time　after　an　ivory　necessaire　with　a
silver…gilt　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　path　of　his
life。

He　was　well；　looked　well；　his　reputation　was　firmly　established。

The　country…folk　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　ill…fitting　black　coat？　She
could　have　wished　this　name　of　Bovary；　which　was　hers；　had　been
illustrious；　to　see　it　displayed　at　the　booksellers'；　repeated　in
the　newspapers；　known　to　all　France。　But　Charles　had　no　ambition。

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　window　in　the
passage　and　breathed　in　the　fresh　air　to　calm　herself。

〃What　a　man！　What　a　man！〃　she　said　in　a　low　voice；　biting　her
lips。

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　puffed…out　cheeks　seemed　to　push
the　eyes；　always　small；　up　to　the　temples。

Sometimes　Emma　tucked　the　red　borders　of　his　under…vest　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　ever…open　ear；　and　ever…ready
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　clock。

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
three…decker；　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　the　morrow。

Spring　came　round。　With　the　first　warm　weather；　when　the　pear
trees　began　to　blossom；　she　suffered　from　dyspnoea。

》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
without　letters　or　visits。

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　so！　The　future　was　a
dark　corridor；　with　its　door　at　the　end　shut　fast。

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　red…hot；　or　looked　at　the　rain　falling。

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；　continued
its　monotonous　ringing　that　died　away　over　the　fields。

But　the　people　came　out　from　church。　The　women　in　waxed　clogs；
the　peasants　in　new　blouses；　the　little　bare…headed　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。