Part II: Chapter Eight

by Gustave Flaubert

　　At last it came, the famous agricultural show. On the morning ofthe solemnity all the inhabitants at their doors were chattingover the preparations. The pediment of the town hall had beenhung with garlands of ivy; a tent had been erected in a meadowfor the banquet; and in the middle of the Place, in front of thechurch, a kind of bombarde was to announce the arrival of theprefect and the names of the successful farmers who had obtainedprizes. 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, tightlybuttoned in his tunic, his figure was so stiff and motionlessthat the whole vital portion of his person seemed to havedescended into his legs, which rose in a cadence of set stepswith a single movement. As there was some rivalry between thetax-collector and the colonel, both, to show off their talents,drilled their men separately. One saw the red epaulettes and theblack breastplates pass and re-pass alternately; there was no endto it, and it constantly began again. There had never been such adisplay of pomp. Several citizens had scoured their houses theevening before; tri-coloured flags hung from half-open windows;all the public-houses were full; and in the lovely weather thestarched caps, the golden crosses, and the coloured neckerchiefsseemed whiter than snow, shone in the sun, and relieved with themotley colours the sombre monotony of the frock-coats and bluesmocks. The neighbouring farmers' wives, when they got off theirhorses, pulled out the long pins that fastened around them theirdresses, turned up for fear of mud; and the husbands, for theirpart, in order to save their hats, kept their handkerchiefsaround them, holding one corner between their teeth.

　　The crowd came into the main street from both ends of thevillage. People poured in from the lanes, the alleys, the houses;and from time to time one heard knockers banging against doorsclosing behind women with their gloves, who were going out to seethe fete. What was most admired were two long lamp-stands coveredwith lanterns, that flanked a platform on which the authoritieswere to sit. Besides this there were against the four columns ofthe town hall four kinds of poles, each bearing a small standardof greenish cloth, embellished with inscriptions in gold letters.

　　On one was written, "To Commerce"; on the other, "ToAgriculture"; on the third, "To Industry"; and on the fourth, "Tothe Fine Arts."

　　But the jubilation that brightened all faces seemed to darkenthat of Madame Lefrancois, the innkeeper. Standing on herkitchen-steps she muttered to herself, "What rubbish! whatrubbish! With their canvas booth! Do they think the prefect willbe glad to dine down there under a tent like a gipsy? They callall this fussing doing good to the place! Then it wasn't worthwhile sending to Neufchatel for the keeper of a cookshop! And forwhom? For cowherds! tatterdemalions!"

　　The druggist was passing. He had on a frock-coat, nankeentrousers, beaver shoes, and, for a wonder, a hat with a lowcrown.

　　"Your servant! Excuse me, I am in a hurry." And as the fat widowasked where he was going--

　　"It seems odd to you, doesn't it, I who am always more cooped upin my laboratory than the man's rat in his cheese."

　　"What cheese?" asked the landlady.

　　"Oh, nothing! nothing!" Homais continued. "I merely wished toconvey to you, Madame Lefrancois, that I usually live at homelike a recluse. To-day, however, considering the circumstances,it is necessary--"

　　"Oh, you're going down there!" she said contemptuously.

　　"Yes, I am going," replied the druggist, astonished. "Am I not amember of the consulting commission?"

　　Mere Lefrancois looked at him for a few moments, and ended bysaying with a smile--

　　"That's another pair of shoes! But what does agriculture matterto you? Do you understand anything about it?"

　　"Certainly I understand it, since I am a druggist--that is tosay, a chemist. And the object of chemistry, Madame Lefrancois,being the knowledge of the reciprocal and molecular action of allnatural bodies, it follows that agriculture is comprised withinits domain. And, in fact, the composition of the manure, thefermentation of liquids, the analyses of gases, and the influenceof miasmata, what, I ask you, is all this, if it isn't chemistry,pure and simple?"

　　The landlady did not answer. Homais went on--

　　"Do you think that to be an agriculturist it is necessary to havetilled the earth or fattened fowls oneself? It is necessaryrather to know the composition of the substances in question--thegeological strata, the atmospheric actions, the quality of thesoil, the minerals, the waters, the density of the differentbodies, their capillarity, and what not. And one must be masterof all the principles of hygiene in order to direct, criticizethe construction of buildings, the feeding of animals, the dietof domestics. And, moreover, Madame Lefrancois, one must knowbotany, be able to distinguish between plants, you understand,which are the wholesome and those that are deleterious, which areunproductive and which nutritive, if it is well to pull them uphere and re-sow them there, to propagate some, destroy others; inbrief, one must keep pace with science by means of pamphlets andpublic papers, be always on the alert to find out improvements."

　　The landlady never took her eyes off the "Cafe Francois" and thechemist went on--

　　"Would to God our agriculturists were chemists, or that at leastthey would pay more attention to the counsels of science. Thuslately I myself wrote a considerable tract, a memoir of overseventy-two pages, entitled, 'Cider, its Manufacture and itsEffects, together with some New Reflections on the Subject,' thatI sent to the Agricultural Society of Rouen, and which evenprocured me the honour of being received among itsmembers--Section, Agriculture; Class, Pomological.

　　Well, if my work had been given to the public--" But the druggiststopped, Madame Lefrancois seemed so preoccupied.

　　"Just look at them!" she said. "It's past comprehension! Such acookshop as that!" And with a shrug of the shoulders thatstretched out over her breast the stitches of her knitted bodice,she pointed with both hands at her rival's inn, whence songs wereheard issuing. "Well, it won't last long," she added. "It'll beover before a week."

　　Homais drew back with stupefaction. She came down three steps andwhispered in his ear--

　　"What! you didn't know it? There is to be an execution in nextweek. It's Lheureux who is selling him out; he has killed himwith bills."

　　"What a terrible catastrophe!" cried the druggist, who alwaysfound expressions in harmony with all imaginable circumstances.

　　Then the landlady began telling him the story that she had heardfrom Theodore, Monsieur Guillaumin's servant, and although shedetested Tellier, she blamed Lheureux. He was "a wheedler, asneak."

　　"There!" she said. "Look at him! he is in the market; he isbowing to Madame Bovary, who's got on a green bonnet. Why, she'staking Monsieur Boulanger's arm."

　　"Madame Bovary!" exclaimed Homais. "I must go at once and pay hermy respects. Perhaps she'll be very glad to have a seat in theenclosure under the peristyle." And, without heeding MadameLefrancois, who was calling him back to tell him more about it,the druggist walked off rapidly with a smile on his lips, withstraight knees, bowing copiously to right and left, and taking upmuch room with the large tails of his frock-coat that flutteredbehind him in the wind.

　　Rodolphe, having caught sight of him from afar, hurried on, butMadame Bovary lost her breath; so he walked more slowly, and,smiling at her, said in a rough tone--

　　"It's only to get away from that fat fellow, you know, thedruggist." She pressed his elbow.

　　"What's the meaning of that?" he asked himself. And he looked ather out of the corner of his eyes.

　　Her profile was so calm that one could guess nothing from it. Itstood out in the light from the oval of her bonnet, with paleribbons on it like the leaves of weeds. Her eyes with their longcurved lashes looked straight before her, and though wide open,they seemed slightly puckered by the cheek-bones, because of theblood pulsing gently under the delicate skin. A pink line ranalong the partition between her nostrils. Her head was bent uponher shoulder, and the pearl tips of her white teeth were seenbetween her lips.

　　"Is she making fun of me?" thought Rodolphe.

　　Emma's gesture, however, had only been meant for a warning; forMonsieur Lheureux was accompanying them, and spoke now and againas if to enter into the conversation.

　　"What a superb day! Everybody is out! The wind is east!"

　　And neither Madame Bovary nor Rodolphe answered him, whilst atthe slightest movement made by them he drew near, saying, "I begyour pardon!" and raised his hat.

　　When they reached the farrier's house, instead of following theroad up to the fence, Rodolphe suddenly turned down a path,drawing with him Madame Bovary. He called out--

　　"Good evening, Monsieur Lheureux! See you again presently."

　　"How you got rid of him!" she said, laughing.

　　"Why," he went on, "allow oneself to be intruded upon by others?And as to-day I have the happiness of being with you--"

　　Emma blushed. He did not finish his sentence. Then he talked ofthe fine weather and of the pleasure of walking on the grass. Afew daisies had sprung up again.

　　"Here are some pretty Easter daisies," he said, "and enough ofthem to furnish oracles to all the amorous maids in the place."

　　He added, "Shall I pick some? What do you think?"

　　"Are you in love?" she asked, coughing a little.

　　"H'm, h'm! who knows?" answered Rodolphe.

　　The meadow began to fill, and the housewives hustled you withtheir great umbrellas, their baskets, and their babies. One hadoften to get out of the way of a long file of country folk,servant-maids with blue stockings, flat shoes, silver rings, andwho smelt of milk, when one passed close to them. They walkedalong holding one another by the hand, and thus they spread overthe whole field from the row of open trees to the banquet tent.

　　But this was the examination time, and the farmers one after theother entered a kind of enclosure formed by a long cord supportedon sticks.

　　The beasts were there, their noses towards the cord, and making aconfused line with their unequal rumps. Drowsy pigs wereburrowing in the earth with their snouts, calves were bleating,lambs baaing; the cows, on knees folded in, were stretching theirbellies on the grass, slowly chewing the cud, and blinking theirheavy eyelids at the gnats that buzzed round them. Plough-menwith bare arms were holding by the halter prancing stallions thatneighed with dilated nostrils looking towards the mares. Thesestood quietly, stretching out their heads and flowing manes,while their foals rested in their shadow, or now and then cameand sucked them. And above the long undulation of these crowdedanimals one saw some white mane rising in the wind like a wave,or some sharp horns sticking out, and the heads of men runningabout. Apart, outside the enclosure, a hundred paces off, was alarge black bull, muzzled, with an iron ring in its nostrils, andwho moved no more than if he had been in bronze. A child in ragswas holding him by a rope.

　　Between the two lines the committee-men were walking with heavysteps, examining each animal, then consulting one another in alow voice. One who seemed of more importance now and then tooknotes in a book as he walked along. This was the president of thejury, Monsieur Derozerays de la Panville. As soon as herecognised Rodolphe he came forward quickly, and smiling amiably,said--

　　"What! Monsieur Boulanger, you are deserting us?"

　　Rodolphe protested that he was just coming. But when thepresident had disappeared--

　　"Ma foi!*" said he, "I shall not go. Your company is better thanhis."

　　*Upon my word!

　　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 infront of some fine beast, which Madame Bovary did not at all admire.He noticed this, and began jeering at the Yonville ladies and theirdresses; then he apologised for the negligence of his own. He had thatincongruity of common and elegant in which the habitually vulgar thinkthey see the revelation of an eccentric existence, of theperturbations of sentiment, the tyrannies of art, and always acertain contempt for social conventions, that seduces orexasperates them. Thus his cambric shirt with plaited cuffs wasblown out by the wind in the opening of his waistcoat of greyticking, and his broad-striped trousers disclosed at the anklenankeen boots with patent leather gaiters.

　　These were so polished that they reflected the grass. He trampledon horses's dung with them, one hand in the pocket of his jacketand his straw hat on one side.

　　"Besides," added he, "when one lives in the country--"

　　"It's waste of time," said Emma.

　　"That is true," replied Rodolphe. "To think that not one of thesepeople is capable of understanding even the cut of a coat!"

　　Then they talked about provincial mediocrity, of the lives itcrushed, the illusions lost there.

　　"And I too," said Rodolphe, "am drifting into depression."

　　"You!" she said in astonishment; "I thought you verylight-hearted."

　　"Ah! yes. I seem so, because in the midst of the world I know howto wear the mask of a scoffer upon my face; and yet, how many atime at the sight of a cemetery by moonlight have I not askedmyself whether it were not better to join those sleeping there!"

　　"Oh! and your friends?" she said. "You do not think of them."

　　"My friends! What friends? Have I any? Who cares for me?" And heaccompanied the last words with a kind of whistling of the lips.

　　But they were obliged to separate from each other because of agreat pile of chairs that a man was carrying behind them. He wasso overladen with them that one could only see the tips of hiswooden shoes and the ends of his two outstretched arms. It wasLestiboudois, the gravedigger, who was carrying the church chairsabout amongst the people. Alive to all that concerned hisinterests, he had hit upon this means of turning the show toaccount; and his idea was succeeding, for he no longer knew whichway to turn. In fact, the villagers, who were hot, quarreled forthese seats, whose straw smelt of incense, and they leant againstthe thick backs, stained with the wax of candles, with a certainveneration.

　　Madame Bovary again took Rodolphe's arm; he went on as ifspeaking to himself--

　　"Yes, I have missed so many things. Always alone! Ah! if I hadsome 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 everything, overcome everything!"

　　"Yet it seems to me," said Emma, "that you are not to be pitied."

　　"Ah! you think so?" said Rodolphe.

　　"For, after all," she went on, "you are free--" she hesitated,"rich--"

　　"Do not mock me," he replied.

　　And she protested that she was not mocking him, when the reportof a cannon resounded. Immediately all began hustling one anotherpell-mell towards the village.

　　It was a false alarm. The prefect seemed not to be coming, andthe members of the jury felt much embarrassed, not knowing ifthey ought to begin the meeting or still wait.

　　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 waswhipping lustily. Binet had only just time to shout, "Presentarms!" and the colonel to imitate him. All ran towards theenclosure; everyone pushed forward. A few even forgot theircollars; but the equipage of the prefect seemed to anticipate thecrowd, and the two yoked jades, trapesing in their harness, cameup at a little trot in front of the peristyle of the town hall atthe very moment when the National Guard and firemen deployed,beating drums and marking time.

　　"Present!" shouted Binet.

　　"Halt!" shouted the colonel. "Left about, march."

　　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 thecarriage a gentleman in a short coat with silver braiding, withbald brow, and wearing a tuft of hair at the back of his head, ofa sallow complexion and the most benign appearance. His eyes,very large and covered by heavy lids, were half-closed to look atthe crowd, while at the same time he raised his sharp nose, andforced a smile upon his sunken mouth. He recognised the mayor byhis scarf, and explained to him that the prefect was not able tocome. He himself was a councillor at the prefecture; then headded a few apologies. Monsieur Tuvache answered them withcompliments; the other confessed himself nervous; and theyremained 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. Thecouncillor pressing his little cocked hat to his breast repeatedhis bows, while Tuvache, bent like a bow, also smiled, stammered,tried to say something, protested his devotion to the monarchyand the honour that was being done to Yonville.

　　Hippolyte, the groom from the inn, took the head of the horsesfrom the coachman, and, limping along with his club-foot, ledthem to the door of the "Lion d'Or", where a number of peasantscollected to look at the carriage. The drum beat, the howitzerthundered, and the gentlemen one by one mounted the platform,where they sat down in red utrecht velvet arm-chairs that hadbeen lent by Madame Tuvache.

　　All these people looked alike. Their fair flabby faces, somewhattanned by the sun, were the colour of sweet cider, and theirpuffy whiskers emerged from stiff collars, kept up by whitecravats with broad bows. All the waist-coats were of velvet,double-breasted; all the watches had, at the end of a longribbon, an oval cornelian seal; everyone rested his two hands onhis thighs, carefully stretching the stride of their trousers,whose unsponged glossy cloth shone more brilliantly than theleather of their heavy boots.

　　The ladies of the company stood at the back under the vestibulebetween the pillars while the common herd was opposite, standingup or sitting on chairs. As a matter of fact, Lestiboudois hadbrought thither all those that he had moved from the field, andhe even kept running back every minute to fetch others from thechurch. He caused such confusion with this piece of business thatone had great difficulty in getting to the small steps of theplatform.

　　"I think," said Monsieur Lheureux to the chemist, who was passingto his place, "that they ought to have put up two Venetian mastswith something rather severe and rich for ornaments; it wouldhave been a very pretty effect."

　　"To be sure," replied Homais; "but what can you expect? The mayortook everything on his own shoulders. He hasn't much taste. PoorTuvache! and he is even completely destitute of what is calledthe genius of art."

　　Rodolphe, meanwhile, with Madame Bovary, had gone up to the firstfloor of the town hall, to the "council-room," and, as it wasempty, he declared that they could enjoy the sight there morecomfortably. He fetched three stools from the round table underthe bust of the monarch, and having carried them to one of thewindows, they sat down by each other.

　　There was commotion on the platform, long whisperings, muchparleying. At last the councillor got up. They knew now that hisname was Lieuvain, and in the crowd the name was passed from oneto the other. After he had collated a few pages, and bent overthem to see better, he began--

　　"Gentlemen! May I be permitted first of all (before addressingyou on the object of our meeting to-day, and this sentiment will,I am sure, be shared by you all), may I be permitted, I say, topay a tribute to the higher administration, to the government tothe monarch, gentle men, our sovereign, to that beloved king, towhom no branch of public or private prosperity is a matter ofindifference, and who directs with a hand at once so firm andwise the chariot of the state amid the incessant perils of astormy sea, knowing, moreover, how to make peace respected aswell as war, industry, commerce, agriculture, and the fine arts?"

　　"I ought," said Rodolphe, "to get back a little further."

　　"Why?" said Emma.

　　But at this moment the voice of the councillor rose to anextraordinary pitch. He declaimed--

　　"This is no longer the time, gentlemen, when civil discordensanguined our public places, when the landlord, thebusiness-man, the working-man himself, falling asleep at night,lying down to peaceful sleep, trembled lest he should be awakenedsuddenly by the noise of incendiary tocsins, when the mostsubversive doctrines audaciously sapped foundations."

　　"Well, someone down there might see me," Rodolphe resumed, "thenI should have to invent excuses for a fortnight; and with my badreputation--"

　　"Oh, you are slandering yourself," said Emma.

　　"No! It is dreadful, I assure you."

　　"But, gentlemen," continued the councillor, "if, banishing frommy memory the remembrance of these sad pictures, I carry my eyesback to the actual situation of our dear country, what do I seethere? Everywhere commerce and the arts are flourishing;everywhere new means of communication, like so many new arteriesin the body of the state, establish within it new relations. Ourgreat industrial centres have recovered all their activity;religion, more consolidated, smiles in all hearts; our ports arefull, confidence is born again, and France breathes once more!"

　　"Besides," added Rodolphe, "perhaps from the world's point ofview they are right."

　　"How so?" she asked.

　　"What!" said he. "Do you not know that there are souls constantlytormented? They need by turns to dream and to act, the purestpassions and the most turbulent joys, and thus they flingthemselves into all sorts of fantasies, of follies."

　　Then she looked at him as one looks at a traveller who hasvoyaged over strange lands, and went on--

　　"We have not even this distraction, we poor women!"

　　"A sad distraction, for happiness isn't found in it."

　　"But is it ever found?" she asked.

　　"Yes; one day it comes," he answered.

　　"And this is what you have understood," said the councillor.

　　"You, farmers, agricultural labourers! you pacific pioneers of awork that belongs wholly to civilization! you, men of progressand morality, you have understood, I say, that political stormsare even more redoubtable than atmospheric disturbances!"

　　"It comes one day," repeated Rodolphe, "one day suddenly, andwhen one is despairing of it. Then the horizon expands; it is asif a voice cried, 'It is here!' You feel the need of confidingthe whole of your life, of giving everything, sacrificingeverything to this being. There is no need for explanations; theyunderstand one another. They have seen each other in dreams!"

　　(And he looked at her.) "In fine, here it is, this treasure sosought after, here before you. It glitters, it flashes; yet onestill doubts, one does not believe it; one remains dazzled, as ifone went out iron darkness into light."

　　And as he ended Rodolphe suited the action to the word. He passedhis hand over his face, like a man seized with giddiness. Then helet it fall on Emma's. She took hers away.

　　"And who would be surprised at it, gentlemen? He only who is soblind, so plunged (I do not fear to say it), so plunged in theprejudices of another age as still to misunderstand the spirit ofagricultural populations. Where, indeed, is to be found morepatriotism than in the country, greater devotion to the publicwelfare, more intelligence, in a word? And, gentlemen, I do notmean that superficial intelligence, vain ornament of idle minds,but rather that profound and balanced intelligence that appliesitself above all else to useful objects, thus contributing to thegood of all, to the common amelioration and to the support of thestate, born of respect for law and the practice of duty--"

　　"Ah! again!" said Rodolphe. "Always 'duty.' I am sick of theword. They are a lot of old blockheads in flannel vests and ofold women with foot-warmers and rosaries who constantly droneinto our ears 'Duty, duty!' Ah! by Jove! one's duty is to feelwhat is great, cherish the beautiful, and not accept all theconventions of society with the ignominy that it imposes uponus."

　　"Yet--yet--" objected Madame Bovary.

　　"No, no! Why cry out against the passions? Are they not the onebeautiful thing on the earth, the source of heroism, ofenthusiasm, of poetry, music, the arts, of everything, in aword?"

　　"But one must," said Emma, "to some extent bow to the opinion ofthe world and accept its moral code."

　　"Ah! but there are two," he replied. "The small, theconventional, that of men, that which constantly changes, thatbrays out so loudly, that makes such a commotion here below, ofthe earth earthly, like the mass of imbeciles you see down there.

　　But the other, the eternal, that is about us and above, like thelandscape that surrounds us, and the blue heavens that give uslight."

　　Monsieur Lieuvain had just wiped his mouth with apocket-handkerchief. He continued--

　　"And what should I do here gentlemen, pointing out to you theuses of agriculture? Who supplies our wants? Who provides ourmeans of subsistence? Is it not the agriculturist? Theagriculturist, gentlemen, who, sowing with laborious hand thefertile furrows of the country, brings forth the corn, which,being ground, is made into a powder by means of ingeniousmachinery, comes out thence under the name of flour, and fromthere, transported to our cities, is soon delivered at thebaker's, who makes it into food for poor and rich alike. Again,is it not the agriculturist who fattens, for our clothes, hisabundant flocks in the pastures? For how should we clotheourselves, how nourish ourselves, without the agriculturist? And,gentlemen, is it even necessary to go so far for examples? Whohas not frequently reflected on all the momentous things that weget out of that modest animal, the ornament of poultry-yards,that provides us at once with a soft pillow for our bed, withsucculent flesh for our tables, and eggs? But I should never endif I were to enumerate one after the other all the differentproducts which the earth, well cultivated, like a generousmother, lavishes upon her children. Here it is the vine,elsewhere the apple tree for cider, there colza, farther oncheeses and flax. Gentlemen, let us not forget flax, which hasmade such great strides of late years, and to which I will moreparticularly call your attention."

　　He had no need to call it, for all the mouths of the multitudewere wide open, as if to drink in his words. Tuvache by his sidelistened to him with staring eyes. Monsieur Derozerays from timeto time softly closed his eyelids, and farther on the chemist,with his son Napoleon between his knees, put his hand behind hisear in order not to lose a syllable. The chins of the othermembers of the jury went slowly up and down in their waistcoatsin sign of approval. The firemen at the foot of the platformrested on their bayonets; and Binet, motionless, stood without-turned elbows, the point of his sabre in the air. Perhaps hecould hear, but certainly he could see nothing, because of thevisor of his helmet, that fell down on his nose. His lieutenant,the youngest son of Monsieur Tuvache, had a bigger one, for hiswas enormous, and shook on his head, and from it an end of hiscotton scarf peeped out. He smiled beneath it with a perfectlyinfantine sweetness, and his pale little face, whence drops wererunning, wore an expression of enjoyment and sleepiness.

　　The square as far as the houses was crowded with people. One sawfolk leaning on their elbows at all the windows, others standingat doors, and Justin, in front of the chemist's shop, seemedquite transfixed by the sight of what he was looking at. In spiteof the silence Monsieur Lieuvain's voice was lost in the air. Itreached you in fragments of phrases, and interrupted here andthere by the creaking of chairs in the crowd; then you suddenlyheard the long bellowing of an ox, or else the bleating of thelambs, who answered one another at street corners. In fact, thecowherds and shepherds had driven their beasts thus far, andthese lowed from time to time, while with their tongues they toredown some scrap of foliage that hung above their mouths.

　　Rodolphe had drawn nearer to Emma, and said to her in a lowvoice, speaking rapidly--

　　"Does not this conspiracy of the world revolt you? Is there asingle sentiment it does not condemn? The noblest instincts, thepurest sympathies are persecuted, slandered; and if at length twopoor souls do meet, all is so organised that they cannot blendtogether. Yet they will make the attempt; they will flutter theirwings; they will call upon each other. Oh! no matter. Sooner orlater, in six months, ten years, they will come together, willlove; for fate has decreed it, and they are born one for theother."

　　His arms were folded across his knees, and thus lifting his facetowards Emma, close by her, he looked fixedly at her. She noticedin his eyes small golden lines radiating from black pupils; sheeven smelt the perfume of the pomade that made his hair glossy.

　　Then a faintness came over her; she recalled the Viscount who hadwaltzed with her at Vaubyessard, and his beard exhaled like thisair an odour of vanilla and citron, and mechanically shehalf-closed her eyes the better to breathe it in. But in makingthis movement, as she leant back in her chair, she saw in thedistance, 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 yellowcarriage that Leon had so often come back to her, and by thisroute down there that he had gone for ever. She fancied she sawhim opposite at his windows; then all grew confused; cloudsgathered; it seemed to her that she was again turning in thewaltz 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 allthe time she was conscious of the scent of Rodolphe's head by herside. This sweetness of sensation pierced through her olddesires, and these, like grains of sand under a gust of wind,eddied to and fro in the subtle breath of the perfume whichsuffused her soul. She opened wide her nostrils several times todrink in the freshness of the ivy round the capitals. She tookoff her gloves, she wiped her hands, then fanned her face withher handkerchief, while athwart the throbbing of her temples sheheard the murmur of the crowd and the voice of the councillorintoning his phrases. He said--"Continue, persevere; listenneither to the suggestions of routine, nor to the over-hastycouncils of a rash empiricism.

　　Apply yourselves, above all, to the amelioration of the soil, togood 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 thevanquished, and will fraternise with him in the hope of bettersuccess. And you, aged servants, humble domestics, whose hardlabour no Government up to this day has taken into consideration,come hither to receive the reward of your silent virtues, and beassured that the state henceforward has its eye upon you; that itencourages you, protects you; that it will accede to your justdemands, and alleviate as much as in it lies the burden of yourpainful sacrifices."

　　Monsieur Lieuvain then sat down; Monsieur Derozerays got up,beginning another speech. His was not perhaps so florid as thatof the councillor, but it recommended itself by a more directstyle, that is to say, by more special knowledge and moreelevated considerations. Thus the praise of the Government tookup less space in it; religion and agriculture more. He showed init the relations of these two, and how they had alwayscontributed to civilisation. Rodolphe with Madame Bovary wastalking dreams, presentiments, magnetism. Going back to thecradle of society, the orator painted those fierce times when menlived on acorns in the heart of woods. Then they had left off theskins of beasts, had put on cloth, tilled the soil, planted thevine. Was this a good, and in this discovery was there not moreof injury than of gain? Monsieur Derozerays set himself thisproblem. From magnetism little by little Rodolphe had come toaffinities, and while the president was citing Cincinnatus andhis plough, Diocletian, planting his cabbages, and the Emperorsof China inaugurating the year by the sowing of seed, the youngman was explaining to the young woman that these irresistibleattractions find their cause in some previous state of existence.

　　"Thus we," he said, "why did we come to know one another? Whatchance willed it? It was because across the infinite, like twostreams that flow but to unite; our special bents of mind haddriven us towards each other."

　　And he seized her hand; she did not withdraw it.

　　"For good farming generally!" cried the president.

　　"Just now, for example, when I went to your house."

　　"To Monsieur Bizat of Quincampoix."

　　"Did I know I should accompany you?"

　　"Seventy francs."

　　"A hundred times I wished to go; and I followed you--I remained."

　　"Manures!"

　　"And I shall remain to-night, to-morrow, all other days, all mylife!"

　　"To Monsieur Caron of Argueil, a gold medal!"

　　"For I have never in the society of any other person found socomplete a charm."

　　"To Monsieur Bain of Givry-Saint-Martin."

　　"And I shall carry away with me the remembrance of you."

　　"For a merino ram!"

　　"But you will forget me; I shall pass away like a shadow."

　　"To Monsieur Belot of Notre-Dame."

　　"Oh, no! I shall be something in your thought, in your life,shall I not?"

　　"Porcine race; prizes--equal, to Messrs. Leherisse andCullembourg, sixty francs!"

　　Rodolphe was pressing her hand, and he felt it all warm andquivering like a captive dove that wants to fly away; but,whether she was trying to take it away or whether she wasanswering his pressure; she made a movement with her fingers. Heexclaimed--

　　"Oh, I thank you! You do not repulse me! You are good! Youunderstand that I am yours! Let me look at you; let mecontemplate you!"

　　A gust of wind that blew in at the window ruffled the cloth onthe table, and in the square below all the great caps of thepeasant women were uplifted by it like the wings of whitebutterflies fluttering.

　　"Use of oil-cakes," continued the president. He was hurrying on:"Flemish manure-flax-growing-drainage-long leases-domesticservice."

　　Rodolphe was no longer speaking. They looked at one another. Asupreme desire made their dry lips tremble, and wearily, withoutan effort, their fingers intertwined.

　　"Catherine Nicaise Elizabeth Leroux, of Sassetot-la-Guerriere,for fifty-four years of service at the same farm, a silvermedal--value, twenty-five francs!"

　　"Where is Catherine Leroux?" repeated the councillor.

　　She did not present herself, and one could hear voiceswhispering--

　　"Go up!"

　　"Don't be afraid!"

　　"Oh, how stupid she is!"

　　"Well, is she there?" cried Tuvache.

　　"Yes; here she is."

　　"Then let her come up!"

　　Then there came forward on the platform a little old woman withtimid bearing, who seemed to shrink within her poor clothes. Onher feet she wore heavy wooden clogs, and from her hips hung alarge blue apron. Her pale face framed in a borderless cap wasmore wrinkled than a withered russet apple. And from the sleevesof her red jacket looked out two large hands with knotty joints,the dust of barns, the potash of washing the grease of wools hadso encrusted, roughened, hardened these that they seemed dirty,although they had been rinsed in clear water; and by dint of longservice they remained half open, as if to bear humble witness forthemselves of so much suffering endured. Something of monasticrigidity dignified her face. Nothing of sadness or of emotionweakened that pale look. In her constant living with animals shehad caught their dumbness and their calm. It was the first timethat she found herself in the midst of so large a company, andinwardly scared by the flags, the drums, the gentlemen infrock-coats, and the order of the councillor, she stoodmotionless, not knowing whether to advance or run away, nor whythe crowd was pushing her and the jury were smiling at her.

　　Thus stood before these radiant bourgeois this half-century ofservitude.

　　"Approach, venerable Catherine Nicaise Elizabeth Leroux!" saidthe councillor, who had taken the list of prize-winners from thepresident; and, looking at the piece of paper and the old womanby turns, he repeated in a fatherly tone--"Approach! approach!"

　　"Are you deaf?" said Tuvache, fidgeting in his armchair; and hebegan shouting in her ear, "Fifty-four years of service. A silvermedal! Twenty-five francs! For you!"

　　Then, when she had her medal, she looked at it, and a smile ofbeatitude spread over her face; and as she walked away they couldhear her muttering "I'll give it to our cure up home, to say somemasses for me!"

　　"What fanaticism!" exclaimed the chemist, leaning across to thenotary.

　　The meeting was over, the crowd dispersed, and now that thespeeches had been read, each one fell back into his place again,and everything into the old grooves; the masters bullied theservants, and these struck the animals, indolent victors, goingback to the stalls, a green-crown on their horns.

　　The National Guards, however, had gone up to the first floor ofthe town hall with buns spitted on their bayonets, and thedrummer of the battalion carried a basket with bottles. MadameBovary took Rodolphe's arm; he saw her home; they separated ather door; then he walked about alone in the meadow while hewaited for the time of the banquet.

　　The feast was long, noisy, ill served; the guests were so crowdedthat they could hardly move their elbows; and the narrow planksused for forms almost broke down under their weight. They atehugely. Each one stuffed himself on his own account. Sweat stoodon every brow, and a whitish steam, like the vapour of a streamon an autumn morning, floated above the table between the hanginglamps. Rodolphe, leaning against the calico of the tent wasthinking so earnestly of Emma that he heard nothing. Behind himon the grass the servants were piling up the dirty plates, hisneighbours were talking; he did not answer them; they filled hisglass, and there was silence in his thoughts in spite of thegrowing noise. He was dreaming of what she had said, of the lineof her lips; her face, as in a magic mirror, shone on the platesof the shakos, the folds of her gown fell along the walls, anddays of love unrolled to all infinity before him in the vistas ofthe future.

　　He saw her again in the evening during the fireworks, but she waswith her husband, Madame Homais, and the druggist, who wasworrying about the danger of stray rockets, and every moment heleft the company to go and give some advice to Binet.

　　The pyrotechnic pieces sent to Monsieur Tuvache had, through anexcess of caution, been shut up in his cellar, and so the damppowder would not light, and the principal set piece, that was torepresent a dragon biting his tail, failed completely. Now andthen a meagre Roman-candle went off; then the gaping crowd sentup a shout that mingled with the cry of the women, whose waistswere being squeezed in the darkness. Emma silently nestledagainst Charles's shoulder; then, raising her chin, she watchedthe luminous rays of the rockets against the dark sky. Rodolphegazed at her in the light of the burning lanterns.

　　They went out one by one. The stars shone out. A few crops ofrain began to fall. She knotted her fichu round her bare head.

　　At this moment the councillor's carriage came out from the inn.

　　His coachman, who was drunk, suddenly dozed off, and one couldsee from the distance, above the hood, between the two lanterns,the mass of his body, that swayed from right to left with thegiving of the traces.

　　"Truly," said the druggist, "one ought to proceed most rigorouslyagainst drunkenness! I should like to see written up weekly atthe door of the town hall on a board ad hoc* the names of allthose who during the week got intoxicated on alcohol. Besides,with regard to statistics, one would thus have, as it were,public records that one could refer to in case of need. Butexcuse me!"

　　*Specifically for that.

　　And he once more ran off to the captain. The latter was goingback to see his lathe again.

　　"Perhaps you would not do ill," Homais said to him, "to send oneof your men, or to go yourself--"

　　"Leave me alone!" answered the tax-collector. "It's all right!"

　　"Do not be uneasy," said the druggist, when he returned to hisfriends. "Monsieur Binet has assured me that all precautions havebeen taken. No sparks have fallen; the pumps are full. Let us goto rest."

　　"Ma foi! I want it," said Madame Homais, yawning at large. "Butnever mind; we've had a beautiful day for our fete."

　　Rodolphe repeated in a low voice, and with a tender look, "Oh,yes! very beautiful!"

　　And having bowed to one another, they separated.

　　Two days later, in the "Final de Rouen," there was a long articleon the show. Homais had composed it with verve the very nextmorning.

　　"Why these festoons, these flowers, these garlands? Whitherhurries this crowd like the waves of a furious sea under thetorrents of a tropical sun pouring its heat upon our heads?"

　　Then he spoke of the condition of the peasants. Certainly theGovernment was doing much, but not enough. "Courage!" he cried toit; "a thousand reforms are indispensable; let us accomplishthem!" Then touching on the entry of the councillor, he did notforget "the martial air of our militia;" nor "our most merryvillage maidens;" nor the "bald-headed old men like patriarchswho were there, and of whom some, the remnants of our phalanxes,still felt their hearts beat at the manly sound of the drums." Hecited himself among the first of the members of the jury, and heeven called attention in a note to the fact that Monsieur Homais,chemist, had sent a memoir on cider to the agricultural society.

　　When he came to the distribution of the prizes, he painted thejoy of the prize-winners in dithyrambic strophes. "The fatherembraced the son, the brother the brother, the husband hisconsort. More than one showed his humble medal with pride; and nodoubt when he got home to his good housewife, he hung it upweeping on the modest walls of his cot.

　　"About six o'clock a banquet prepared in the meadow of MonsieurLeigeard brought together the principal personages of the fete.

　　The greatest cordiality reigned here. Divers toasts wereproposed: Monsieur Lieuvain, the King; Monsieur Tuvache, thePrefect; Monsieur Derozerays, Agriculture; Monsieur Homais,Industry and the Fine Arts, those twin sisters; MonsieurLeplichey, Progress. In the evening some brilliant fireworks on asudden illumined the air. One would have called it a veritablekaleidoscope, a real operatic scene; and for a moment our littlelocality might have thought itself transported into the midst ofa dream of the 'Thousand and One Nights.' "Let us state that nountoward event disturbed this family meeting." And he added "Onlythe absence of the clergy was remarked. No doubt the priestsunderstand progress in another fashion. Just as you please,messieurs the followers of Loyola!"