madame bovary-第30章

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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　wonted　movement；
the　sudden　cessation　of　any　prolonged　vibration；　brings　on。

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　shadow。

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
moss…covered　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　tete…a…teteshe　gathered　it　all　up；　took
everything；　and　made　it　all　serve　as　fuel　for　her　melancholy。

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　cold　that　pierced　her。

Then　the　evil　days　of　Tostes　began　again。　She　thought　herself　now
far　more　unhappy；　for　she　had　the　experience　of　grief；　with　the
certainty　that　it　would　not　end。

A　woman　who　had　laid　on　herself　such　sacrifices　could　well　allow
herself　certain　whims。　She　bought　a　Gothic　prie…dieu；　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　dressing…gown；　and；　with　closed　blinds　and　a　book　in　her
hand；　she　lay　stretched　out　on　a　couch　in　this　garb。

She　often　changed　her　coiffure；　she　did　her　hair　a　la　Chinoise；
in　flowing　curls；　in　plaited　coils；　she　parted　in　on　one　side　and
rolled　it　under　like　a　man's。

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　was　being　called　to　a　patient。　〃I'm　coming；〃

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；　passed　on　to　other　books。

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　enough　to　dare　her　to；　she　swallowed　the
brandy　to　the　last　drop。

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　temples；
she　talked　much　of　her　old　age。

She　often　fainted。　One　day　she　even　spat　blood；　and；　as　Charles
fussed　around　her　showing　his　anxiety

〃Bah！〃　she　answered；　〃what　does　it　matter？〃

Charles　fled　to　his　study　and　wept　there；　both　his　elbows　on　the
table；　sitting　in　an　arm…chair　at　his　bureau　under　the
phrenological　head。

Then　he　wrote　to　his　mother　begging　her　to　come；　and　they　had
many　long　consultations　together　on　the　subject　of　Emma。

What　should　they　decide？　What　was　to　be　done　since　she　rejected
all　medical　treatment？　〃Do　you　know　what　your　wife　wants？〃
replied　Madame　Bovary　senior。

〃She　wants　to　be　forced　to　occupy　herself　with　some　manual　work。

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。

Yet　she　is　always　busy；〃　said　Charles。

〃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　has　no　religion　always　ends　by　turning　out
badly。〃

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　lending…library　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　daughter…in…law　were　cold。　During　the　three　weeks　that
they　had　been　together　they　had　not　exchanged　half…a…dozen　words
apart　from　the　inquiries　and　phrases　when　they　met　at　table　and
in　the　evening　before　going　to　bed。

Madame　Bovary　left　on　a　Wednesday；　the　market…day　at　Yonville。

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　pyramids　of
eggs　and　hampers　of　cheeses；　from　which　sticky　straw　stuck　out。

Near　the　corn…machines　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　gentlem