madame bovary(包法利夫人)-第14章

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evening　after　dinner。〃
〃Why；　do　you　smoke？〃　she　asked。
〃Sometimes；　when　I　get　a　chance。〃
He　put　his　find　in　his　pocket　and　whipped　up　the　nag。
When　they　reached　home　the　dinner　was　not　ready。　Madame　lost　her
temper。　Nastasie　answered　rudely。
〃Leave　the　room！〃　said　Emma。　〃You　are　forgetting　yourself。　I　give
you　warning。〃
For　dinner　there　was　onion　soup　and　a　piece　of　veal　with　sorrel。
Charles；　seated　opposite　Emma；　rubbed　his　hands　gleefully。
〃How　good　it　is　to　be　at　home　again！〃
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　oldest　acquaintance　in　the　place。
〃Have　you　given　her　warning　for　good？〃　he　asked　at　last。
〃Yes。　Who　is　to　prevent　me？〃　she　replied。
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。
〃You'll　make　yourself　ill；〃　she　said　scornfully。
He　put　down　his　cigar　and　ran　to　swallow　a　glass　of　cold　water　at
the　pump。　Emma　seizing　hold　of　the　cigar　case　threw　it　quickly　to
the　back　of　the　cupboard。
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　once…on…a…time　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　to…day？　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。
The　memory　of　this　ball；　then；　became　an　occupation　for　Emma。
Whenever　the　Wednesday　came　round　she　said　to　herself　as　she
awoke；　〃Ah！　I　was　there　a　weeka　fortnightthree　weeks　ago。〃
And　little　by　little　the　faces　grew　confused　in　her　remembrance。
She　forgot　the　tune　of　the　quadrilles；　she　no　longer　saw　the
liveries　and　appointments　so　distinctly；　some　details　escaped
her；　but　the　regret　remained　with　her。

Chapter　Nine
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
wide…mantelled　chimneys　between　flower…vases　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　pomade…pots。
At　night；　when　the　carriers　passed　under　her　windows　in　their
carts　singing　the　〃Marjolaine；〃　she　awoke；　and　listened　to　the
noise　of　the　iron…bound　wheels；　which；　as　they　gained　the　country
road；　was　soon　deadened　by　the　soil。　〃They　will　be　there
to…morrow！〃　she　said　to　herself。
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；　into　which　her　dream　died。
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　peristyles　of
theatres。
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　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