Part III: Chapter Ten

by Gustave Flaubert

　　He had only received the chemist's letter thirty-six hours afterthe event; and, from consideration for his feelings, Homais hadso worded it that it was impossible to make out what it was allabout.

　　First, the old fellow had fallen as if struck by apoplexy. Next,he understood that she was not dead, but she might be. At last,he had put on his blouse, taken his hat, fastened his spurs tohis boots, and set out at full speed; and the whole of the wayold Rouault, panting, was torn by anguish. Once even he wasobliged to dismount. He was dizzy; he heard voices round abouthim; he felt himself going mad.

　　Day broke. He saw three black hens asleep in a tree. Heshuddered, horrified at this omen. Then he promised the HolyVirgin three chasubles for the church, and that he would gobarefooted from the cemetery at Bertaux to the chapel ofVassonville.

　　He entered Maromme shouting for the people of the inn, burst openthe door with a thrust of his shoulder, made for a sack of oats,emptied a bottle of sweet cider into the manger, and againmounted his nag, whose feet struck fire as it dashed along.

　　He said to himself that no doubt they would save her; the doctorswould discover some remedy surely. He remembered all themiraculous cures he had been told about. Then she appeared to himdead. She was there; before his eyes, lying on her back in themiddle of the road. He reined up, and the hallucinationdisappeared.

　　At Quincampoix, to give himself heart, he drank three cups ofcoffee one after the other. He fancied they had made a mistake inthe name in writing. He looked for the letter in his pocket, feltit there, but did not dare to open it.

　　At last he began to think it was all a joke; someone's spite, thejest of some wag; and besides, if she were dead, one would haveknown it. But no! There was nothing extraordinary about thecountry; the sky was blue, the trees swayed; a flock of sheeppassed. He saw the village; he was seen coming bending forwardupon his horse, belabouring it with great blows, the girthsdripping with blood.

　　When he had recovered consciousness, he fell, weeping, intoBovary's arms: "My girl! Emma! my child! tell me--"

　　The other replied, sobbing, "I don't know! I don't know! It's acurse!"

　　The druggist separated them. "These horrible details are useless.I will tell this gentleman all about it. Here are the peoplecoming. Dignity! Come now! Philosophy!"

　　The poor fellow tried to show himself brave, and repeated severaltimes. "Yes! courage!"

　　"Oh," cried the old man, "so I will have, by God! I'll go alongo' her to the end!"

　　The bell began tolling. All was ready; they had to start. Andseated in a stall of the choir, side by side, they saw pass andrepass in front of them continually the three chantingchoristers.

　　The serpent-player was blowing with all his might. MonsieurBournisien, in full vestments, was singing in a shrill voice. Hebowed before the tabernacle, raising his hands, stretched out hisarms. Lestiboudois went about the church with his whalebonestick. The bier stood near the lectern, between four rows ofcandles. Charles felt inclined to get up and put them out.

　　Yet he tried to stir himself to a feeling of devotion, to throwhimself into the hope of a future life in which he should see heragain. He imagined to himself she had gone on a long journey, faraway, for along time. But when he thought of her lying there, andthat all was over, that they would lay her in the earth, he wasseized with a fierce, gloomy, despairful rage. At times hethought he felt nothing more, and he enjoyed this lull in hispain, whilst at the same time he reproached himself for being awretch.

　　The sharp noise of an iron-ferruled stick was heard on thestones, striking them at irregular intervals. It came from theend of the church, and stopped short at the lower aisles. A manin a coarse brown jacket knelt down painfully. It was Hippolyte,the stable-boy at the "Lion d'Or." He had put on his new leg.

　　One of the choristers went round the nave making a collection,and the coppers chinked one after the other on the silver plate.

　　"Oh, make haste! I am in pain!" cried Bovary, angrily throwinghim a five-franc piece. The churchman thanked him with a deep bow.

　　They sang, they knelt, they stood up; it was endless! Heremembered that once, in the early times, they had been to masstogether, and they had sat down on the other side, on the right,by the wall. The bell began again. There was a great moving ofchairs; the bearers slipped their three staves under the coffin,and everyone left the church.

　　Then Justin appeared at the door of the shop. He suddenly went inagain, pale, staggering.

　　People were at the windows to see the procession pass. Charles atthe head walked erect. He affected a brave air, and saluted witha nod those who, coming out from the lanes or from their doors,stood amidst the crowd.

　　The six men, three on either side, walked slowly, panting alittle. The priests, the choristers, and the two choirboysrecited the De profundis*, and their voices echoed over thefields, rising and falling with their undulations. Sometimes theydisappeared in the windings of the path; but the great silvercross rose always before the trees.

　　*Psalm CXXX.

　　The women followed in black cloaks with turned-down hoods; eachof them carried in her hands a large lighted candle, and Charlesfelt himself growing weaker at this continual repetition ofprayers and torches, beneath this oppressive odour of wax and ofcassocks. A fresh breeze was blowing; the rye and colza weresprouting, little dewdrops trembled at the roadsides and on thehawthorn hedges. All sorts of joyous sounds filled the air; thejolting of a cart rolling afar off in the ruts, the crowing of acock, repeated again and again, or the gambling of a foal runningaway under the apple-trees: The pure sky was fretted with rosyclouds; a bluish haze rested upon the cots covered with iris.Charles as he passed recognised each courtyard. He rememberedmornings like this, when, after visiting some patient, he cameout from one and returned to her.

　　The black cloth bestrewn with white beads blew up from time totime, laying bare the coffin. The tired bearers walked moreslowly, and it advanced with constant jerks, like a boat thatpitches with every wave.

　　They reached the cemetery. The men went right down to a place inthe grass where a grave was dug. They ranged themselves allround; and while the priest spoke, the red soil thrown up at thesides kept noiselessly slipping down at the corners.

　　Then when the four ropes were arranged the coffin was placed uponthem. He watched it descend; it seemed descending for ever. Atlast a thud was heard; the ropes creaked as they were drawn up.Then Bournisien took the spade handed to him by Lestiboudois;with his left hand all the time sprinkling water, with the righthe vigorously threw in a large spadeful; and the wood of thecoffin, struck by the pebbles, gave forth that dread sound thatseems to us the reverberation of eternity.

　　The ecclesiastic passed the holy water sprinkler to hisneighbour. This was Homais. He swung it gravely, then handed itto Charles, who sank to his knees in the earth and threw inhandfuls of it, crying, "Adieu!" He sent her kisses; he draggedhimself towards the grave, to engulf himself with her. They ledhim away, and he soon grew calmer, feeling perhaps, like theothers, a vague satisfaction that it was all over.

　　Old Rouault on his way back began quietly smoking a pipe, whichHomais in his innermost conscience thought not quite the thing.He also noticed that Monsieur Binet had not been present, andthat Tuvache had "made off" after mass, and that Theodore, thenotary's servant wore a blue coat, "as if one could not have gota black coat, since that is the custom, by Jove!" And to sharehis observations with others he went from group to group. Theywere deploring Emma's death, especially Lheureux, who had notfailed to come to the funeral.

　　"Poor little woman! What a trouble for her husband!"

　　The druggist continued, "Do you know that but for me he wouldhave committed some fatal attempt upon himself?"

　　"Such a good woman! To think that I saw her only last Saturday inmy shop."

　　"I haven't had leisure," said Homais, "to prepare a few wordsthat I would have cast upon her tomb."

　　Charles on getting home undressed, and old Rouault put on hisblue blouse. It was a new one, and as he had often during thejourney wiped his eyes on the sleeves, the dye had stained hisface, and the traces of tears made lines in the layer of dustthat covered it.

　　Madame Bovary senior was with them. All three were silent. Atlast the old fellow sighed--

　　"Do you remember, my friend, that I went to Tostes once when youhad just lost your first deceased? I consoled you at that time. Ithought of something to say then, but now--" Then, with a loudgroan that shook his whole chest, "Ah! this is the end for me, doyou see! I saw my wife go, then my son, and now to-day it's mydaughter."

　　He wanted to go back at once to Bertaux, saying that he could notsleep in this house. He even refused to see his granddaughter.

　　"No, no! It would grieve me too much. Only you'll kiss her manytimes for me. Good-bye! you're a good fellow! And then I shallnever forget that," he said, slapping his thigh. "Never fear, youshall always have your turkey."

　　But when he reached the top of the hill he turned back, as he hadturned once before on the road of Saint-Victor when he had partedfrom her. The windows of the village were all on fire beneath theslanting rays of the sun sinking behind the field. He put hishand over his eyes, and saw in the horizon an enclosure of walls,where trees here and there formed black clusters between whitestones; then he went on his way at a gentle trot, for his nag hadgone lame.

　　Despite their fatigue, Charles and his mother stayed very longthat evening talking together. They spoke of the days of the pastand of the future. She would come to live at Yonville; she wouldkeep house for him; they would never part again. She wasingenious and caressing, rejoicing in her heart at gaining oncemore an affection that had wandered from her for so many years.Midnight struck. The village as usual was silent, and Charles,awake, thought always of her.

　　Rodolphe, who, to distract himself, had been rambling about thewood all day, was sleeping quietly in his chateau, and Leon, downyonder, always slept.

　　There was another who at that hour was not asleep.

　　On the grave between the pine-trees a child was on his kneesweeping, and his heart, rent by sobs, was beating in the shadowbeneath the load of an immense regret, sweeter than the moon andfathomless as the night. The gate suddenly grated. It wasLestiboudois; he came to fetch his spade, that he had forgotten.He recognised Justin climbing over the wall, and at last knew whowas the culprit who stole his potatoes.