Part II: Chapter Ten

by Gustave Flaubert

　　Gradually Rodolphe's fears took possession of her. At first, lovehad intoxicated her; and she had thought of nothing beyond. Butnow that he was indispensable to her life, she feared to loseanything of this, or even that it should be disturbed. When shecame back from his house she looked all about her, anxiouslywatching every form that passed in the horizon, and every villagewindow from which she could be seen. She listened for steps,cries, the noise of the ploughs, and she stopped short, white,and trembling more than the aspen leaves swaying overhead.

　　One morning as she was thus returning, she suddenly thought shesaw the long barrel of a carbine that seemed to be aimed at her.It stuck out sideways from the end of a small tub half-buried inthe grass on the edge of a ditch. Emma, half-fainting withterror, nevertheless walked on, and a man stepped out of the tublike a Jack-in-the-box. He had gaiters buckled up to the knees,his cap pulled down over his eyes, trembling lips, and a rednose. It was Captain Binet lying in ambush for wild ducks.

　　"You ought to have called out long ago!" he exclaimed; "When onesees a gun, one should always give warning."

　　The tax-collector was thus trying to hide the fright he had had,for a prefectorial order having prohibited duckhunting except inboats, Monsieur Binet, despite his respect for the laws, wasinfringing them, and so he every moment expected to see the ruralguard turn up. But this anxiety whetted his pleasure, and, allalone in his tub, he congratulated himself on his luck and on hiscuteness. At sight of Emma he seemed relieved from a greatweight, and at once entered upon a conversation.

　　"It isn't warm; it's nipping."

　　Emma answered nothing. He went on--

　　"And you're out so early?"

　　"Yes," she said stammering; "I am just coming from the nursewhere my child is."

　　"Ah! very good! very good! For myself, I am here, just as yousee me, since break of day; but the weather is so muggy, thatunless one had the bird at the mouth of the gun--"

　　"Good evening, Monsieur Binet," she interrupted him, turning onher heel.

　　"Your servant, madame," he replied drily; and he went back intohis tub.

　　Emma regretted having left the tax-collector so abruptly. Nodoubt he would form unfavourable conjectures. The story about thenurse was the worst possible excuse, everyone at Yonville knowingthat the little Bovary had been at home with her parents for ayear. Besides, no one was living in this direction; this path ledonly to La Huchette. Binet, then, would guess whence she came,and he would not keep silence; he would talk, that was certain.She remained until evening racking her brain with everyconceivable lying project, and had constantly before her eyesthat imbecile with the game-bag.

　　Charles after dinner, seeing her gloomy, proposed, by way ofdistraction, to take her to the chemist's, and the first personshe caught sight of in the shop was the taxcollector again. Hewas standing in front of the counter, lit up by the gleams of thered bottle, and was saying--

　　"Please give me half an ounce of vitriol."

　　"Justin," cried the druggist, "bring us the sulphuric acid." Thento Emma, who was going up to Madame Homais' room, "No, stay here;it isn't worth while going up; she is just coming down. Warmyourself at the stove in the meantime. Excuse me. Good-day,doctor," (for the chemist much enjoyed pronouncing the word"doctor," as if addressing another by it reflected on himselfsome of the grandeur that he found in it). "Now, take care not toupset the mortars! You'd better fetch some chairs from the littleroom; you know very well that the arm-chairs are not to be takenout of the drawing-room."

　　And to put his arm-chair back in its place he was darting awayfrom the counter, when Binet asked him for half an ounce of sugaracid.

　　"Sugar acid!" said the chemist contemptuously, "don't know it;I'm ignorant of it! But perhaps you want oxalic acid. It isoxalic acid, isn't it?"

　　Binet explained that he wanted a corrosive to make himself somecopperwater with which to remove rust from his hunting things.

　　Emma shuddered. The chemist began saying--

　　"Indeed the weather is not propitious on account of the damp."

　　"Nevertheless," replied the tax-collector, with a sly look,"there are people who like it."

　　She was stifling.

　　"And give me--"

　　"Will he never go?" thought she.

　　"Half an ounce of resin and turpentine, four ounces of yellowwax, and three half ounces of animal charcoal, if you please, toclean the varnished leather of my togs."

　　The druggist was beginning to cut the wax when Madame Homaisappeared, Irma in her arms, Napoleon by her side, and Athaliefollowing. She sat down on the velvet seat by the window, and thelad squatted down on a footstool, while his eldest sister hoveredround the jujube box near her papa. The latter was fillingfunnels and corking phials, sticking on labels, making upparcels. Around him all were silent; only from time to time, wereheard the weights jingling in the balance, and a few low wordsfrom the chemist giving directions to his pupil.

　　"And how's the little woman?" suddenly asked Madame Homais.

　　"Silence!" exclaimed her husband, who was writing down somefigures in his waste-book.

　　"Why didn't you bring her?" she went on in a low voice.

　　"Hush! hush!" said Emma, pointing with her finger to thedruggist.

　　But Binet, quite absorbed in looking over his bill, had probablyheard nothing. At last he went out. Then Emma, relieved, uttereda deep sigh.

　　"How hard you are breathing!" said Madame Homais.

　　"Well, you see, it's rather warm," she replied.

　　So the next day they talked over how to arrange their rendezvous.Emma wanted to bribe her servant with a present, but it would bebetter to find some safe house at Yonville. Rodolphe promised tolook for one.

　　All through the winter, three or four times a week, in the deadof night he came to the garden. Emma had on purpose taken awaythe key of the gate, which Charles thought lost.

　　To call her, Rodolphe threw a sprinkle of sand at the shutters.She jumped up with a start; but sometimes he had to wait, forCharles had a mania for chatting by the fireside, and he wouldnot stop. She was wild with impatience; if her eyes could havedone it, she would have hurled him out at the window. At last shewould begin to undress, then take up a book, and go on readingvery quietly as if the book amused her. But Charles, who was inbed, called to her to come too.

　　"Come, now, Emma," he said, "it is time."

　　"Yes, I am coming," she answered.

　　Then, as the candles dazzled him; he turned to the wall and fellasleep. She escaped, smiling, palpitating, undressed. Rodolphehad a large cloak; he wrapped her in it, and putting his armround her waist, he drew her without a word to the end of thegarden.

　　It was in the arbour, on the same seat of old sticks whereformerly Leon had looked at her so amorously on the summerevenings. She never thought of him now.

　　The stars shone through the leafless jasmine branches. Behindthem they heard the river flowing, and now and again on the bankthe rustling of the dry reeds. Masses of shadow here and thereloomed out in the darkness, and sometimes, vibrating with onemovement, they rose up and swayed like immense black wavespressing forward to engulf them. The cold of the nights made themclasp closer; the sighs of their lips seemed to them deeper;their eyes that they could hardly see, larger; and in the midstof the silence low words were spoken that fell on their soulssonorous, crystalline, and that reverberated in multipliedvibrations.

　　When the night was rainy, they took refuge in the consulting-roombetween the cart-shed and the stable. She lighted one of thekitchen candles that she had hidden behind the books. Rodolphesettled down there as if at home. The sight of the library, ofthe bureau, of the whole apartment, in fine, excited hismerriment, and he could not refrain from making jokes aboutCharles, which rather embarrassed Emma. She would have liked tosee him more serious, and even on occasions more dramatic; as,for example, when she thought she heard a noise of approachingsteps in the alley.

　　"Someone is coming!" she said.

　　He blew out the light.

　　"Have you your pistols?"

　　"Why?"

　　"Why, to defend yourself," replied Emma.

　　"From your husband? Oh, poor devil!" And Rodolphe finished hissentence with a gesture that said, "I could crush him with aflip of my finger."

　　She was wonder-stricken at his bravery, although she felt in it asort of indecency and a naive coarseness that scandalised her.

　　Rodolphe reflected a good deal on the affair of the pistols. Ifshe had spoken seriously, it was very ridiculous, he thought,even odious; for he had no reason to hate the good Charles, notbeing what is called devoured by jealousy; and on this subjectEmma had taken a great vow that he did not think in the best oftaste.

　　Besides, she was growing very sentimental. She had insisted onexchanging miniatures; they had cut off handfuls of hair, and nowshe was asking for a ring--a real wedding-ring, in sign of aneternal union. She often spoke to him of the evening chimes, ofthe voices of nature. Then she talked to him of her mother--hers!and of his mother--his! Rodolphe had lost his twenty years ago.Emma none the less consoled him with caressing words as one wouldhave done a lost child, and she sometimes even said to him,gazing at the moon

　　"I am sure that above there together they approve of our love."

　　But she was so pretty. He had possessed so few women of suchingenuousness. This love without debauchery was a new experiencefor him, and, drawing him out of his lazy habits, caressed atonce his pride and his sensuality. Emma's enthusiasm, which hisbourgeois good sense disdained, seemed to him in his heart ofhearts charming, since it was lavished on him. Then, sure ofbeing loved, he no longer kept up appearances, and insensibly hisways changed.

　　He had no longer, as formerly, words so gentle that they made hercry, nor passionate caresses that made her mad, so that theirgreat love, which engrossed her life, seemed to lessen beneathher like the water of a stream absorbed into its channel, and shecould see the bed of it. She would not believe it; she redoubledin tenderness, and Rodolphe concealed his indifference less andless.

　　She did not know if she regretted having yielded to him, orwhether she did not wish, on the contrary, to enjoy him the more.The humiliation of feeling herself weak was turning to rancour,tempered by their voluptuous pleasures. It was not affection; itwas like a continual seduction. He subjugated her; she almostfeared him.

　　Appearances, nevertheless, were calmer than ever, Rodolphe havingsucceeded in carrying out the adultery after his own fancy; andat the end of six months, when the spring-time came, they were toone another like a married couple, tranquilly keeping up adomestic flame.

　　It was the time of year when old Rouault sent his turkey inremembrance of the setting of his leg. The present always arrivedwith a letter. Emma cut the string that tied it to the basket,and read the following lines:--

　　"My Dear Children--I hope this will find you well, and that thisone will be as good as the others. For it seems to me a littlemore tender, if I may venture to say so, and heavier. But nexttime, for a change, I'll give you a turkeycock, unless you have apreference for some dabs; and send me back the hamper, if youplease, with the two old ones. I have had an accident with mycart-sheds, whose covering flew off one windy night among thetrees. The harvest has not been overgood either. Finally, I don'tknow when I shall come to see you. It is so difficult now toleave the house since I am alone, my poor Emma."

　　Here there was a break in the lines, as if the old fellow haddropped his pen to dream a little while.

　　"For myself, I am very well, except for a cold I caught the otherday at the fair at Yvetot, where I had gone to hire a shepherd,having turned away mine because he was too dainty. How we are tobe pitied with such a lot of thieves! Besides, he was also rude.I heard from a pedlar, who, travelling through your part of thecountry this winter, had a tooth drawn, that Bovary was as usualworking hard. That doesn't surprise me; and he showed me histooth; we had some coffee together. I asked him if he had seenyou, and he said not, but that he had seen two horses in thestables, from which I conclude that business is looking up. Somuch the better, my dear children, and may God send you everyimaginable happiness! It grieves me not yet to have seen my dearlittle grand-daughter, Berthe Bovary. I have planted an Orleansplum-tree for her in the garden under your room, and I won't haveit touched unless it is to have jam made for her by and bye, thatI will keep in the cupboard for her when she comes.

　　"Good-bye, my dear children. I kiss you, my girl, you too, myson-in-law, and the little one on both cheeks. I am, with bestcompliments, your loving father.

　　"Theodore Rouault."

　　She held the coarse paper in her fingers for some minutes. Thespelling mistakes were interwoven one with the other, and Emmafollowed the kindly thought that cackled right through it like ahen half hidden in the hedge of thorns. The writing had beendried with ashes from the hearth, for a little grey powderslipped from the letter on to her dress, and she almost thoughtshe saw her father bending over the hearth to take up the tongs.How long since she had been with him, sitting on the footstool inthe chimney-corner, where she used to burn the end of a bit ofwood in the great flame of the sea-sedges! She remembered thesummer evenings all full of sunshine. The colts neighed whenanyone passed by, and galloped, galloped. Under her window therewas a beehive, and sometimes the bees wheeling round in the lightstruck against her window like rebounding balls of gold. Whathappiness there had been at that time, what freedom, what hope!What an abundance of illusions! Nothing was left of them now. Shehad got rid of them all in her soul's life, in all her successiveconditions of lifemaidenhood, her marriage, and her love--thusconstantly losing them all her life through, like a traveller wholeaves something of his wealth at every inn along his road.

　　But what then, made her so unhappy? What was the extraordinarycatastrophe that had transformed her? And she raised her head,looking round as if to seek the cause of that which made hersuffer.

　　An April ray was dancing on the china of the whatnot; the fireburned; beneath her slippers she felt the softness of the carpet;the day was bright, the air warm, and she heard her childshouting with laughter.

　　In fact, the little girl was just then rolling on the lawn in themidst of the grass that was being turned. She was lying flat onher stomach at the top of a rick. The servant was holding her byher skirt. Lestiboudois was raking by her side, and every time hecame near she lent forward, beating the air with both her arms.

　　"Bring her to me," said her mother, rushing to embrace her. "HowI love you, my poor child! How I love you!"

　　Then noticing that the tips of her ears were rather dirty, sherang at once for warm water, and washed her, changed her linen,her stockings, her shoes, asked a thousand questions about herhealth, as if on the return from a long journey, and finally,kissing her again and crying a little, she gave her back to theservant, who stood quite thunderstricken at this excess oftenderness.

　　That evening Rodolphe found her more serious than usual.

　　"That will pass over," he concluded; "it's a whim:"

　　And he missed three rendezvous running. When he did come, sheshowed herself cold and almost contemptuous.

　　"Ah! you're losing your time, my lady!"

　　And he pretended not to notice her melancholy sighs, nor thehandkerchief she took out.

　　Then Emma repented. She even asked herself why she detestedCharles; if it had not been better to have been able to love him?But he gave her no opportunities for such a revival of sentiment,so that she was much embarrassed by her desire for sacrifice,when the druggist came just in time to provide her with anopportunity.