Part II: Chapter Eleven

by Gustave Flaubert

　　He had recently read a eulogy on a new method for curingclub-foot, and as he was a partisan of progress, he conceived thepatriotic idea that Yonville, in order to keep to the fore, oughtto have some operations for strephopody or club-foot.

　　"For," said he to Emma, "what risk is there? See--" (and heenumerated on his fingers the advantages of the attempt),"success, almost certain relief and beautifying of the patient,celebrity acquired by the operator. Why, for example, should notyour husband relieve poor Hippolyte of the 'Lion d'Or'? Note thathe would not fail to tell about his cure to all the travellers,and then" (Homais lowered his voice and looked round him) "who isto prevent me from sending a short paragraph on the subject tothe paper? Eh! goodness me! an article gets about; it is talkedof; it ends by making a snowball! And who knows? who knows?"

　　In fact, Bovary might succeed. Nothing proved to Emma that he wasnot clever; and what a satisfaction for her to have urged him toa step by which his reputation and fortune would be increased!She only wished to lean on something more solid than love.

　　Charles, urged by the druggist and by her, allowed himself to bepersuaded. He sent to Rouen for Dr. Duval's volume, and everyevening, holding his head between both hands, plunged into thereading of it.

　　While he was studying equinus, varus, and valgus, that is to say,katastrephopody, endostrephopody, and exostrephopody (or better,the various turnings of the foot downwards, inwards, andoutwards, with the hypostrephopody and anastrephopody), otherwisetorsion downwards and upwards, Monsier Homais, with all sorts ofarguments, was exhorting the lad at the inn to submit to theoperation.

　　"You will scarcely feel, probably, a slight pain; it is a simpleprick, like a little blood-letting, less than the extraction ofcertain corns."

　　Hippolyte, reflecting, rolled his stupid eyes.

　　"However," continued the chemist, "it doesn't concern me. It'sfor your sake, for pure humanity! I should like to see you, myfriend, rid of your hideous caudication, together with thatwaddling of the lumbar regions which, whatever you say, mustconsiderably interfere with you in the exercise of your calling."

　　Then Homais represented to him how much jollier and brisker hewould feel afterwards, and even gave him to understand that hewould be more likely to please the women; and the stable-boybegan to smile heavily. Then he attacked him through his vanity:

　　"Aren't you a man? Hang it! what would you have done if you hadhad to go into the army, to go and fight beneath the standard?Ah! Hippolyte!"

　　And Homais retired, declaring that he could not understand thisobstinacy, this blindness in refusing the benefactions ofscience.

　　The poor fellow gave way, for it was like a conspiracy. Binet,who never interfered with other people's business, MadameLefrancois, Artemise, the neighbours, even the mayor, MonsieurTuvache--everyone persuaded him, lectured him, shamed him; butwhat finally decided him was that it would cost him nothing.Bovary even undertook to provide the machine for the operation.This generosity was an idea of Emma's, and Charles consented toit, thinking in his heart of hearts that his wife was an angel.

　　So by the advice of the chemist, and after three fresh starts, hehad a kind of box made by the carpenter, with the aid of thelocksmith, that weighed about eight pounds, and in which iron,wood, sheer-iron, leather, screws, and nuts had not been spared.

　　But to know which of Hippolyte's tendons to cut, it was necessaryfirst of all to find out what kind of club-foot he had.

　　He had a foot forming almost a straight line with the leg, which,however, did not prevent it from being turned in, so that it wasan equinus together with something of a varus, or else a slightvarus with a strong tendency to equinus. But with this equinus,wide in foot like a horse's hoof, with rugose skin, dry tendons,and large toes, on which the black nails looked as if made ofiron, the clubfoot ran about like a deer from morn till night. Hewas constantly to be seen on the Place, jumping round the carts,thrusting his limping foot forwards. He seemed even stronger onthat leg than the other. By dint of hard service it had acquired,as it were, moral qualities of patience and energy; and when hewas given some heavy work, he stood on it in preference to itsfellow.

　　Now, as it was an equinus, it was necessary to cut the tendon ofAchilles, and, if need were, the anterior tibial muscle could beseen to afterwards for getting rid of the varus; for the doctordid not dare to risk both operations at once; he was eventrembling already for fear of injuring some important region thathe did not know.

　　Neither Ambrose Pare, applying for the first time since Celsus,after an interval of fifteen centuries, a ligature to an artery,nor Dupuytren, about to open an abscess in the brain, nor Gensoulwhen he first took away the superior maxilla, had hearts thattrembled, hands that shook, minds so strained as Monsieur Bovarywhen he approached Hippolyte, his tenotome between his fingers.And as at hospitals, near by on a table lay a heap of lint, withwaxed thread, many bandages--a pyramid of bandages--every bandageto be found at the druggist's. It was Monsieur Homais who sincemorning had been organising all these preparations, as much todazzle the multitude as to keep up his illusions. Charles piercedthe skin; a dry crackling was heard. The tendon was cut, theoperation over. Hippolyte could not get over his surprise, butbent over Bovary's hands to cover them with kisses.

　　"Come, be calm," said the druggist; "later on you will show yourgratitude to your benefactor."

　　And he went down to tell the result to five or six inquirers whowere waiting in the yard, and who fancied that Hippolyte wouldreappear walking properly. Then Charles, having buckled hispatient into the machine, went home, where Emma, all anxiety,awaited him at the door. She threw herself on his neck; they satdown to table; he ate much, and at dessert he even wanted to takea cup of coffee, a luxury he only permitted himself on Sundayswhen there was company.

　　The evening was charming, full of prattle, of dreams together.They talked about their future fortune, of the improvements to bemade in their house; he saw people's estimation of him growing,his comforts increasing, his wife always loving him; and she washappy to refresh herself with a new sentiment, healthier, better,to feel at last some tenderness for this poor fellow who adoredher. The thought of Rodolphe for one moment passed through hermind, but her eyes turned again to Charles; she even noticed withsurprise that he had not bad teeth.

　　They were in bed when Monsieur Homais, in spite of the servant,suddenly entered the room, holding in his hand a sheet of paperjust written. It was the paragraph he intended for the "Fanal deRouen." He brought it for them to read.

　　"Read it yourself," said Bovary.

　　He read--

　　" 'Despite the prejudices that still invest a part of the face ofEurope like a net, the light nevertheless begins to penetrate ourcountry places. Thus on Tuesday our little town of Yonville founditself the scene of a surgical operation which is at the sametime an, act of loftiest philanthropy. Monsieur Bovary, one ofour, most distinguished practitioners--'"

　　"Oh, that is too much! too much!" said Charles, choking withemotion.

　　"No, no! not at all! What next!"

　　" '--Performed an operation on a club-footed man.' I have notused the scientific term, because you know in a newspapereveryone would not perhaps understand. The masses must--'"

　　"No doubt," said Bovary; "go on!"

　　"I proceed," said the chemist. "'Monsieur Bovary, one of our mostdistinguished practitioners, performed an operation on aclub-footed man called Hippolyte Tautain, stableman for the lasttwenty-five years at the hotel of the "Lion d'Or," kept by WidowLefrancois, at the Place d'Armes. The novelty of the attempt, andthe interest incident to the subject, had attracted such aconcourse of persons that there was a veritable obstruction onthe threshold of the establishment. The operation, moreover, wasperformed as if by magic, and barely a few drops of bloodappeared on the skin, as though to say that the rebellious tendonhad at last given way beneath the efforts of art. The patient,strangely enough--we affirm it as an eye-witness--complained ofno pain. His condition up to the present time leaves nothing tobe desired. Everything tends to show that his convelescence willbe brief; and who knows even if at our next village festivity weshall not see our good Hippolyte figuring in the bacchic dance inthe midst of a chorus of joyous boon-companions, and thus provingto all eyes by his verve and his capers his complete cure?Honour, then, to the generous savants! Honour to thoseindefatigable spirits who consecrate their vigils to theamelioration or to the alleviation of their kind! Honour, thricehonour! Is it not time to cry that the blind shall see, the deafhear, the lame walk? But that which fanaticism formerly promisedto its elect, science now accomplishes for all men. We shall keepour readers informed as to the successive phases of thisremarkable cure.' "

　　This did not prevent Mere Lefrancois, from coming five daysafter, scared, and crying out--

　　"Help! he is dying! I am going crazy!"

　　Charles rushed to the "Lion d'Or," and the chemist, who caughtsight of him passing along the Place hatless, abandoned his shop.He appeared himself breathless, red, anxious, and asking everyonewho was going up the stairs--

　　"Why, what's the matter with our interesting strephopode?"

　　The strephopode was writhing in hideous convulsions, so that themachine in which his leg was enclosed was knocked against thewall enough to break it.

　　With many precautions, in order not to disturb the position ofthe limb, the box was removed, and an awful sight presenteditself. The outlines of the foot disappeared in such a swellingthat the entire skin seemed about to burst, and it was coveredwith ecchymosis, caused by the famous machine. Hippolyte hadalready complained of suffering from it. No attention had beenpaid to him; they had to acknowledge that he had not beenaltogether wrong, and he was freed for a few hours. But, hardlyhad the oedema gone down to some extent, than the two savantsthought fit to put back the limb in the apparatus, strapping ittighter to hasten matters. At last, three days after, Hippolytebeing unable to endure it any longer, they once more removedthe machine, and were much surprised at the result they saw. Thelivid tumefaction spread over the leg, with blisters here andthere, whence there oozed a black liquid. Matters were taking aserious turn. Hippolyte began to worry himself, and MereLefrancois, had him installed in the little room near thekitchen, so that he might at least have some distraction.

　　But the tax-collector, who dined there every day, complainedbitterly of such companionship. Then Hippolyte was removed to thebilliard-room. He lay there moaning under his heavy coverings,pale with long beard, sunken eyes, and from time to time turninghis perspiring head on the dirty pillow, where the fliesalighted. Madame Bovary went to see him. She brought him linenfor his poultices; she comforted, and encouraged him. Besides, hedid not want for company, especially on market-days, when thepeasants were knocking about the billiard-balls round him, fencedwith the cues, smoked, drank, sang, and brawled.

　　"How are you?" they said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ah!you're not up to much, it seems, but it's your own fault. Youshould do this! do that!" And then they told him stories ofpeople who had all been cured by other remedies than his. Then byway of consolation they added--

　　"You give way too much! Get up! You coddle yourself like a king!All the same, old chap, you don't smell nice!"

　　Gangrene, in fact, was spreading more and more. Bovary himselfturned sick at it. He came every hour, every moment. Hippolytelooked at him with eyes full of terror, sobbing--

　　"When shall I get well? Oh, save me! How unfortunate I am! Howunfortunate I am!"

　　And the doctor left, always recommending him to diet himself.

　　"Don't listen to him, my lad," said Mere Lefrancois, "Haven'tthey tortured you enough already? You'll grow still weaker. Here!swallow this."

　　And she gave him some good beef-tea, a slice of mutton, a pieceof bacon, and sometimes small glasses of brandy, that he had notthe strength to put to his lips.

　　Abbe Bournisien, hearing that he was growing worse, asked to seehim. He began by pitying his sufferings, declaring at the sametime that he ought to rejoice at them since it was the will ofthe Lord, and take advantage of the occasion to reconcile himselfto Heaven.

　　"For," said the ecclesiastic in a paternal tone, "you ratherneglected your duties; you were rarely seen at divine worship.How many years is it since you approached the holy table? Iunderstand that your work, that the whirl of the world may havekept you from care for your salvation. But now is the time toreflect. Yet don't despair. I have known great sinners, who,about to appear before God (you are not yet at this point Iknow), had implored His mercy, and who certainly died in the bestframe of mind. Let us hope that, like them, you will set us agood example. Thus, as a precaution, what is to prevent you fromsaying morning and evening a 'Hail Mary, full of grace,' and 'OurFather which art in heaven'? Yes, do that, for my sake, to obligeme. That won't cost you anything. Will you promise me?"

　　The poor devil promised. The cure came back day after day. Hechatted with the landlady; and even told anecdotes interspersedwith jokes and puns that Hippolyte did not understand. Then, assoon as he could, he fell back upon matters of religion, puttingon an appropriate expression of face.

　　His zeal seemed successful, for the club-foot soon manifested adesire to go on a pilgrimage to Bon-Secours if he were cured; towhich Monsieur Bournisien replied that he saw no objection; twoprecautions were better than one; it was no risk anyhow.

　　The druggist was indignant at what he called the manoeuvres ofthe priest; they were prejudicial, he said, to Hippolyte'sconvalescence, and he kept repeating to Madame Lefrancois, "Leavehim alone! leave him alone! You perturb his morals with yourmysticism." But the good woman would no longer listen to him; hewas the cause of it all. From a spirit of contradiction she hungup near the bedside of the patient a basin filled with holy-waterand a branch of box.

　　Religion, however, seemed no more able to succour him thansurgery, and the invincible gangrene still spread from theextremities towards the stomach. It was all very well to vary thepotions and change the poultices; the muscles each day rottedmore and more; and at last Charles replied by an affirmative nodof the head when Mere Lefrancois, asked him if she could not, asa forlorn hope, send for Monsieur Canivet of Neufchatel, who wasa celebrity.

　　A doctor of medicine, fifty years of age, enjoying a goodposition and self-possessed, Charles's colleague did not refrainfrom laughing disdainfully when he had uncovered the leg,mortified to the knee. Then having flatly declared that it mustbe amputated, he went off to the chemist's to rail at the asseswho could have reduced a poor man to such a state. ShakingMonsieur Homais by the button of his coat, he shouted out in theshop--

　　"These are the inventions of Paris! These are the ideas of thosegentry of the capital! It is like strabismus, chloroform,lithotrity, a heap of monstrosities that the Government ought toprohibit. But they want to do the clever, and they cram you withremedies without, troubling about the consequences. We are not soclever, not we! We are not savants, coxcombs, fops! We arepractitioners; we cure people, and we should not dream ofoperating on anyone who is in perfect health. Straighten club-feet! As if one could straighten club-feet! It is as if onewished, for example, to make a hunchback straight!"

　　Homais suffered as he listened to this discourse, and heconcealed his discomfort beneath a courtier's smile; for heneeded to humour Monsier Canivet, whose prescriptions sometimescame as far as Yonville. So he did not take up the defence ofBovary; he did not even make a single remark, and, renouncing hisprinciples, he sacrificed his dignity to the more seriousinterests of his business.

　　This amputation of the thigh by Doctor Canivet was a great eventin the village. On that day all the inhabitants got up earlier,and the Grande Rue, although full of people, had somethinglugubrious about it, as if an execution had been expected. At thegrocer's they discussed Hippolyte's illness; the shops did nobusiness, and Madame Tuvache, the mayor's wife, did not stir fromher window, such was her impatience to see the operator arrive.

　　He came in his gig, which he drove himself. But the springs ofthe right side having at length given way beneath the weight ofhis corpulence, it happened that the carriage as it rolled alongleaned over a little, and on the other cushion near him could beseen a large box covered in red sheep-leather, whose three brassclasps shone grandly.

　　After he had entered like a whirlwind the porch of the "Liond'Or," the doctor, shouting very loud, ordered them to unharnesshis horse. Then he went into the stable to see that he was eatinghis oats all right; for on arriving at a patient's he first ofall looked after his mare and his gig. People even said aboutthis--

　　"Ah! Monsieur Canivet's a character!"

　　And he was the more esteemed for this imperturbable coolness. Theuniverse to the last man might have died, and he would not havemissed the smallest of his habits.

　　Homais presented himself.

　　"I count on you," said the doctor. "Are we ready? Come along!"

　　But the druggist, turning red, confessed that he was toosensitive to assist at such an operation.

　　"When one is a simple spectator," he said, "the imagination, youknow, is impressed. And then I have such a nervous system!"

　　"Pshaw!" interrupted Canivet; "on the contrary, you seem to meinclined to apoplexy. Besides, that doesn't astonish me, for youchemist fellows are always poking about your kitchens, which mustend by spoiling your constitutions. Now just look at me. I get upevery day at four o'clock; I shave with cold water (and am nevercold). I don't wear flannels, and I never catch cold; my carcassis good enough! I live now in one way, now in another, like aphilosopher, taking pot-luck; that is why I am not squeamish likeyou, and it is as indifferent to me to carve a Christian as thefirst fowl that turns up. Then, perhaps, you will say, habit!habit!"

　　Then, without any consideration for Hippolyte, who was sweatingwith agony between his sheets, these gentlemen entered into aconversation, in which the druggist compared the coolness of asurgeon to that of a general; and this comparison was pleasing toCanivet, who launched out on the exigencies of his art. He lookedupon, it as a sacred office, although the ordinary practitionersdishonoured it. At last, coming back to the patient, he examinedthe bandages brought by Homais, the same that had appeared forthe club-foot, and asked for someone to hold the limb for him.Lestiboudois was sent for, and Monsieur Canivet having turned uphis sleeves, passed into the billiard-room, while the druggiststayed with Artemise and the landlady, both whiter than theiraprons, and with ears strained towards the door.

　　Bovary during this time did not dare to stir from his house.

　　He kept downstairs in the sitting-room by the side of thefireless chimney, his chin on his breast, his hands clasped, hiseyes staring. "What a mishap!" he thought, "what a mishap!"Perhaps, after all, he had made some slip. He thought it over,but could hit upon nothing. But the most famous surgeons alsomade mistakes; and that is what no one would ever believe!People, on the contrary, would laugh, jeer! It would spread asfar as Forges, as Neufchatel, as Rouen, everywhere! Who could sayif his colleagues would not write against him. Polemics wouldensue; he would have to answer in the papers. Hippolyte mighteven prosecute him. He saw himself dishonoured, ruined, lost; andhis imagination, assailed by a world of hypotheses, tossedamongst them like an empty cask borne by the sea and floatingupon the waves.

　　Emma, opposite, watched him; she did not share his humiliation;she felt another--that of having supposed such a man was worthanything. As if twenty times already she had not sufficientlyperceived his mediocrity.

　　Charles was walking up and down the room; his boots creaked onthe floor.

　　"Sit down," she said; "you fidget me."

　　He sat down again.

　　How was it that she--she, who was so intelligent--could haveallowed herself to be deceived again? and through what deplorablemadness had she thus ruined her life by continual sacrifices? Sherecalled all her instincts of luxury, all the privations of hersoul, the sordidness of marriage, of the household, her dreamsinking into the mire like wounded swallows; all that she hadlonged for, all that she had denied herself, all that she mighthave had! And for what? for what?

　　In the midst of the silence that hung over the village aheart-rending cry rose on the air. Bovary turned white tofainting. She knit her brows with a nervous gesture, then wenton. And it was for him, for this creature, for this man, whounderstood nothing, who felt nothing! For he was there quitequiet, not even suspecting that the ridicule of his name wouldhenceforth sully hers as well as his. She had made efforts tolove him, and she had repented with tears for having yielded toanother!

　　"But it was perhaps a valgus!" suddenly exclaimed Bovary, who wasmeditating.

　　At the unexpected shock of this phrase falling on her thoughtlike a leaden bullet on a silver plate, Emma, shuddering, raisedher head in order to find out what he meant to say; and theylooked at the other in silence, almost amazed to see each other,so far sundered were they by their inner thoughts. Charles gazedat her with the dull look of a drunken man, while he listenedmotionless to the last cries of the sufferer, that followed eachother in long-drawn modulations, broken by sharp spasms like thefar-off howling of some beast being slaughtered. Emma bit her wanlips, and rolling between her fingers a piece of coral that shehad broken, fixed on Charles the burning glance of her eyes liketwo arrows of fire about to dart forth. Everything in himirritated her now; his face, his dress, what he did not say, hiswhole person, his existence, in fine. She repented of her pastvirtue as of a crime, and what still remained of it rumbled awaybeneath the furious blows of her pride. She revelled in all theevil ironies of triumphant adultery. The memory of her lover cameback to her with dazzling attractions; she threw her whole soulinto it, borne away towards this image with a fresh enthusiasm;and Charles seemed to her as much removed from her life, asabsent forever, as impossible and annihilated, as if he had beenabout to die and were passing under her eyes.

　　There was a sound of steps on the pavement. Charles looked up,and through the lowered blinds he saw at the corner of the marketin the broad sunshine Dr. Canivet, who was wiping his brow withhis handkerchief. Homais, behind him, was carrying a large redbox in his hand, and both were going towards the chemist's.

　　Then with a feeling of sudden tenderness and discouragementCharles turned to his wife saying to her--

　　"Oh, kiss me, my own!"

　　"Leave me!" she said, red with anger.

　　"What is the matter?" he asked, stupefied. "Be calm; composeyourself. You know well enough that I love you. Come!"

　　"Enough!" she cried with a terrible look.

　　And escaping from the room, Emma closed the door so violentlythat the barometer fell from the wall and smashed on the floor.

　　Charles sank back into his arm-chair overwhelmed, trying todiscover what could be wrong with her, fancying some nervousillness, weeping, and vaguely feeling something fatal andincomprehensible whirling round him.

　　When Rodolphe came to the garden that evening, he found hismistress waiting for him at the foot of the steps on the loweststair. They threw their arms round one another, and all theirrancour melted like snow beneath the warmth of that kiss.