Part III: Chapter Nine

by Gustave Flaubert

　　There is always after the death of anyone a kind of stupefaction;so difficult is it to grasp this advent of nothingness and toresign ourselves to believe in it. But still, when he saw thatshe did not move, Charles threw himself upon her, crying--

　　"Farewell! farewell!"

　　Homais and Canivet dragged him from the room.

　　"Restrain yourself "

　　"Yes." said he, struggling, "I'll be quiet. I'll not do anything.But leave me alone. I want to see her. She is my wife!"

　　And he wept.

　　"Cry," said the chemist; "let nature take her course; that willsolace you."

　　Weaker than a child, Charles let himself be led downstairs intothe sitting-room, and Monsieur Homais soon went home. On thePlace he was accosted by the blind man, who, having draggedhimself as far as Yonville, in the hope of getting theantiphlogistic pomade, was asking every passer-by where thedruggist lived.

　　"There now! as if I hadn't got other fish to fry. Well, so muchthe worse; you must come later on."

　　And he entered the shop hurriedly.

　　He had to write two letters, to prepare a soothing potion forBovary, to invent some lie that would conceal the poisoning, andwork it up into an article for the "Fanal," without counting thepeople who were waiting to get the news from him; and when theYonvillers had all heard his story of the arsenic that she hadmistaken for sugar in making a vanilla cream. Homais once morereturned to Bovary's.

　　He found him alone (Monsieur Canivet had left), sitting in anarm-chair near the window, staring with an idiotic look at theflags of the floor.

　　"Now," said the chemist, "you ought yourself to fix the hour forthe ceremony."

　　"Why? What ceremony?" Then, in a stammering, frightened voice,"Oh, no! not that. No! I want to see her here."

　　Homais, to keep himself in countenance, took up a water-bottle onthe whatnot to water the geraniums.

　　"Ah! thanks," said Charles; "you are good."

　　But he did not finish, choking beneath the crowd of memories thatthis action of the druggist recalled to him.

　　Then to distract him, Homais thought fit to talk a littlehorticulture: plants wanted humidity. Charles bowed his head insign of approbation.

　　"Besides, the fine days will soon be here again."

　　"Ah!" said Bovary.

　　The druggist, at his wit's end, began softly to draw aside thesmall window-curtain.

　　"Hallo! there's Monsieur Tuvache passing."

　　Charles repeated like a machine---

　　"Monsieur Tuvache passing!"

　　Homais did not dare to speak to him again about the funeralarrangements; it was the priest who succeeded in reconciling himto them.

　　He shut himself up in his consulting-room, took a pen, and aftersobbing for some time, wrote--

　　"I wish her to be buried in her wedding-dress, with white shoes,and a wreath. Her hair is to be spread out over her shoulders.Three coffins, one of oak, one of mahogany, one of lead. Let noone say anything to me. I shall have strength. Over all there isto be placed a large piece of green velvet. This is my wish; seethat it is done."

　　The two men were much surprised at Bovary's romantic ideas. Thechemist at once went to him and said--

　　"This velvet seems to me a superfetation. Besides, the expense--"

　　"What's that to you?" cried Charles. "Leave me! You did not loveher. Go!"

　　The priest took him by the arm for a turn in the garden. Hediscoursed on the vanity of earthly things. God was very great,was very good: one must submit to his decrees without a murmur;nay, must even thank him.

　　Charles burst out into blasphemies: "I hate your God!"

　　"The spirit of rebellion is still upon you," sighed theecclesiastic.

　　Bovary was far away. He was walking with great strides along bythe wall, near the espalier, and he ground his teeth; he raisedto heaven looks of malediction, but not so much as a leafstirred.

　　A fine rain was falling: Charles, whose chest was bare, at lastbegan to shiver; he went in and sat down in the kitchen.

　　At six o'clock a noise like a clatter of old iron was heard onthe Place; it was the "Hirondelle" coming in, and he remainedwith his forehead against the windowpane, watching all thepassengers get out, one after the other. Felicite put down amattress for him in the drawing-room. He threw himself upon itand fell asleep.

　　Although a philosopher, Monsieur Homais respected the dead. Sobearing no grudge to poor Charles, he came back again in theevening to sit up with the body; bringing with him three volumesand a pocket-book for taking notes.

　　Monsieur Bournisien was there, and two large candles were burningat the head of the bed, that had been taken out of the alcove.The druggist, on whom the silence weighed, was not long before hebegan formulating some regrets about this "unfortunate youngwoman." and the priest replied that there was nothing to do nowbut pray for her.

　　"Yet," Homais went on, "one of two things; either she died in astate of grace (as the Church has it), and then she has no needof our prayers; or else she departed impertinent (that is, Ibelieve, the ecclesiastical expression), and then--"

　　Bournisien interrupted him, replying testily that it was none theless necessary to pray.

　　"But," objected the chemist, "since God knows all our needs, whatcan be the good of prayer?"

　　"What!" cried the ecclesiastic, "prayer! Why, aren't you aChristian?"

　　"Excuse me," said Homais; "I admire Christianity. To begin with,it enfranchised the slaves, introduced into the world amorality--"

　　"That isn't the question. All the texts-"

　　"Oh! oh! As to texts, look at history; it, is known that all thetexts have been falsified by the Jesuits."

　　Charles came in, and advancing towards the bed, slowly drew thecurtains.

　　Emma's head was turned towards her right shoulder, the corner ofher mouth, which was open, seemed like a black hole at the lowerpart of her face; her two thumbs were bent into the palms of herhands; a kind of white dust besprinkled her lashes, and her eyeswere beginning to disappear in that viscous pallor that lookslike a thin web, as if spiders had spun it over. The sheet sunkin from her breast to her knees, and then rose at the tips of hertoes, and it seemed to Charles that infinite masses, an enormousload, were weighing upon her.

　　The church clock struck two. They could hear the loud murmur ofthe river flowing in the darkness at the foot of the terrace.Monsieur Bournisien from time to time blew his nose noisily, andHomais' pen was scratching over the paper.

　　"Come, my good friend," he said, "withdraw; this spectacle istearing you to pieces."

　　Charles once gone, the chemist and the cure recommenced theirdiscussions.

　　"Read Voltaire," said the one, "read D'Holbach, read the'Encyclopaedia'!"

　　"Read the 'Letters of some Portuguese Jews,'" said the other;"read 'The Meaning of Christianity,' by Nicolas, formerly amagistrate."

　　They grew warm, they grew red, they both talked at once withoutlistening to each other. Bournisien was scandalized at suchaudacity; Homais marvelled at such stupidity; and they were onthe point of insulting one another when Charles suddenlyreappeared. A fascination drew him. He was continually comingupstairs.

　　He stood opposite her, the better to see her, and he lost himselfin a contemplation so deep that it was no longer painful.

　　He recalled stories of catalepsy, the marvels of magnetism, andhe said to himself that by willing it with all his force he mightperhaps succeed in reviving her. Once he even bent towards he,and cried in a low voice, "Emma! Emma!" His strong breathing madethe flames of the candles tremble against the wall.

　　At daybreak Madame Bovary senior arrived. Charles as he embracedher burst into another flood of tears. She tried, as the chemisthad done, to make some remarks to him on the expenses of thefuneral. He became so angry that she was silent, and he evencommissioned her to go to town at once and buy what wasnecessary.

　　Charles remained alone the whole afternoon; they had taken Bertheto Madame Homais'; Felicite was in the room upstairs with MadameLefrancois.

　　In the evening he had some visitors. He rose, pressed theirhands, unable to speak. Then they sat down near one another, andformed a large semicircle in front of the fire. With loweredfaces, and swinging one leg crossed over the other knee, theyuttered deep sighs at intervals; each one was inordinately bored,and yet none would be the first to go.

　　Homais, when he returned at nine o'clock (for the last two daysonly Homais seemed to have been on the Place), was laden with astock of camphor, of benzine, and aromatic herbs. He also carrieda large jar full of chlorine water, to keep off all miasmata.Just then the servant, Madame Lefrancois, and Madame Bovarysenior were busy about Emma, finishing dressing her, and theywere drawing down the long stiff veil that covered her to hersatin shoes.

　　Felicite was sobbing--"Ah! my poor mistress! my poor mistress!"

　　"Look at her," said the landlady, sighing; "how pretty she stillis! Now, couldn't you swear she was going to get up in a minute?"

　　Then they bent over her to put on her wreath. They had to raisethe head a little, and a rush of black liquid issued, as if shewere vomiting, from her mouth.

　　"Oh, goodness! The dress; take care!" cried Madame Lefrancois."Now, just come and help," she said to the chemist. "Perhapsyou're afraid?"

　　"I afraid?" replied he, shrugging his shoulders. "I dare say!I've seen all sorts of things at the hospital when I was studyingpharmacy. We used to make punch in the dissecting room!Nothingness does not terrify a philosopher; and, as I often say,I even intend to leave my body to the hospitals, in order, lateron, to serve science."

　　The cure on his arrival inquired how Monsieur Bovary was, and, onthe reply of the druggist, went on--"The blow, you see, is stilltoo recent."

　　Then Homais congratulated him on not being exposed, like otherpeople, to the loss of a beloved companion; whence there followeda discussion on the celibacy of priests.

　　"For," said the chemist, "it is unnatural that a man should dowithout women! There have been crimes--"

　　"But, good heaven!" cried the ecclesiastic, "how do you expect anindividual who is married to keep the secrets of theconfessional, for example?"

　　Homais fell foul of the confessional. Bournisien defended it; heenlarged on the acts of restitution that it brought about. Hecited various anecdotes about thieves who had suddenly becomehonest. Military men on approaching the tribunal of penitence hadfelt the scales fall from their eyes. At Fribourg there was aminister--

　　His companion was asleep. Then he felt somewhat stifled by theover-heavy atmosphere of the room; he opened the window; thisawoke the chemist.

　　"Come, take a pinch of snuff," he said to him. "Take it; it'llrelieve you."

　　A continual barking was heard in the distance. "Do you hear thatdog howling?" said the chemist.

　　"They smell the dead," replied the priest. "It's like bees; theyleave their hives on the decease of any person."

　　Homais made no remark upon these prejudices, for he had againdropped asleep. Monsieur Bournisien, stronger than he, went onmoving his lips gently for some time, then insensibly his chinsank down, he let fall his big black boot, and began to snore.

　　They sat opposite one another, with protruding stomachs,puffed-up faces, and frowning looks, after so much disagreementuniting at last in the same human weakness, and they moved nomore than the corpse by their side, that seemed to be sleeping.

　　Charles coming in did not wake them. It was the last time; hecame to bid her farewell.

　　The aromatic herbs were still smoking, and spirals of bluishvapour blended at the window-sash with the fog that was comingin. There were few stars, and the night was warm. The wax of thecandles fell in great drops upon the sheets of the bed. Charleswatched them burn, tiring his eyes against the glare of theiryellow flame.

　　The watering on the satin gown shimmered white as moonlight. Emmawas lost beneath it; and it seemed to him that, spreading beyondher own self, she blended confusedly with everything around her--the silence, the night, the passing wind, the damp odours risingfrom the ground.

　　Then suddenly he saw her in the garden at Tostes, on a benchagainst the thorn hedge, or else at Rouen in the streets, on thethreshold of their house, in the yard at Bertaux. He again heardthe laughter of the happy boys beneath the apple-trees: the roomwas filled with the perfume of her hair; and her dress rustled inhis arms with a noise like electricity. The dress was still thesame.

　　For a long while he thus recalled all his lost joys, herattitudes, her movements, the sound of her voice. Upon one fit ofdespair followed another, and even others, inexhaustible as thewaves of an overflowing sea.

　　A terrible curiosity seized him. Slowly, with the tips of bisfingers, palpitating, he lifted her veil. But he uttered a cry ofhorror that awoke the other two.

　　They dragged him down into the sitting-room. Then Felicite cameup to say that he wanted some of her hair.

　　"Cut some off," replied the druggist.

　　And as she did not dare to, he himself stepped forward, scissorsin hand. He trembled so that he pierced the skin of the temple inseveral places. At last, stiffening himself against emotion,Homais gave two or three great cuts at random that left whitepatches amongst that beautiful black hair.

　　The chemist and the cure plunged anew into their occupations, notwithout sleeping from time to time, of which they accused eachother reciprocally at each fresh awakening. Then MonsieurBournisien sprinkled the room with holy water and Homais threw alittle chlorine water on the floor.

　　Felicite had taken care to put on the chest of drawers, for eachof them, a bottle of brandy, some cheese, and a large roll. Andthe druggist, who could not hold out any longer, about four inthe morning sighed--

　　"My word! I should like to take some sustenance."

　　The priest did not need any persuading; he went out to go and saymass, came back, and then they ate and hobnobbed, giggling alittle without knowing why, stimulated by that vague gaiety thatcomes upon us after times of sadness, and at the last glass thepriest said to the druggist, as he clapped him on the shoulder--

　　"We shall end by understanding one another."

　　In the passage downstairs they met the undertaker's men, who werecoming in. Then Charles for two hours had to suffer the tortureof hearing the hammer resound against the wood. Next day theylowered her into her oak coffin, that was fitted into the othertwo; but as the bier was too large, they had to fill up the gapswith the wool of a mattress. At last, when the three lids hadbeen planed down, nailed, soldered, it was placed outside infront of the door; the house was thrown open, and the people ofYonville began to flock round.

　　Old Rouault arrived, and fainted on the Place when he saw theblack cloth!