madame bovary(包法利夫人)-第53章

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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
re…echoing　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　Edgar…Lagardy　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　brown…coloured　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
hairdresser　and　the　toreador。
》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
double…basses；　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；　〃To…morrow！　to…morrow！〃
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。
〃But　why；〃　asked　Bovary；　〃does　that　gentleman　persecute　her？〃
〃No；　no！〃　she　answered；　〃he　is　her　lover！〃
〃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　hethe　ugly　little　man　with　a　cock's　feather　in
his　hat？〃
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　troth…ring　that　is　to
deceive　Lucie；　thought　it　was　a　love…gift　sent　by　Edgar。　He
confessed；　moreover；　that　he　did　not　understand　the　story　because
of　the　music；　which　interfered　very　much　with　the　words。
〃What　does　it　matter？〃　said　Emma。　〃Do　be　quiet！〃
〃Yes；　but　you　know；〃　he　went　on；　leaning　against　her　shoulder；　〃I
like　to　understand　things。〃
〃Be　quiet！　be　quiet！〃　she　cried　impatiently。
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　under　the　velvet　hangings　a　man　appeared　in　a　black　cloak。
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　half…opened
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　silver…gilt　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
fault…findings　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　trellis…work　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　all　my　dreams！〃
The　curtain　fell。
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
arm…chair　with　palpitations　that　choked　her。　Charles；　fearing
that　she　would　faint；　ran　to　the　refreshment…room　to　get　a　glass
of　barley…water。
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　three…fourths　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　i