Part III: Chapter Two

by Gustave Flaubert

　　On reaching the inn, Madame Bovary was surprised not to see thediligence. Hivert, who had waited for her fifty-three minutes,had at last started.

　　Yet nothing forced her to go; but she had given her word that shewould return that same evening. Moreover, Charles expected her,and in her heart she felt already that cowardly docility that isfor some women at once the chastisement and atonement ofadultery.

　　She packed her box quickly, paid her bill, took a cab in theyard, hurrying on the driver, urging him on, every momentinquiring about the time and the miles traversed. He succeeded incatching up the "Hirondelle" as it neared the first houses ofQuincampoix.

　　Hardly was she seated in her corner than she closed her eyes, andopened them at the foot of the hill, when from afar sherecognised Felicite, who was on the lookout in front of thefarrier's shop. Hivert pulled in his horses and, the servant,climbing up to the window, said mysteriously--

　　"Madame, you must go at once to Monsieur Homais. It's forsomething important."

　　The village was silent as usual. At the corner of the streetswere small pink heaps that smoked in the air, for this was thetime for jam-making, and everyone at Yonville prepared his supplyon the same day. But in front of the chemist's shop one mightadmire a far larger heap, and that surpassed the others with thesuperiority that a laboratory must have over ordinary stores, ageneral need over individual fancy.

　　She went in. The large arm-chair was upset, and even the "Fanalde Rouen" lay on the ground, outspread between two pestles. Shepushed open the lobby door, and in the middle of the kitchen,amid brown jars full of picked currants, of powdered sugar andlump sugar, of the scales on the table, and of the pans on thefire, she saw all the Homais, small and large, with apronsreaching to their chins, and with forks in their hands. Justinwas standing up with bowed head, and the chemist was screaming--

　　"Who told you to go and fetch it in the Capharnaum."

　　"What is it? What is the matter?"

　　"What is it?" replied the druggist. "We are making preserves;they are simmering; but they were about to boil over, becausethere is too much juice, and I ordered another pan. Then he, fromindolence, from laziness, went and took, hanging on its nail inmy laboratory, the key of the Capharnaum."

　　It was thus the druggist called a small room under the leads,full of the utensils and the goods of his trade. He often spentlong hours there alone, labelling, decanting, and doing up again;and he looked upon it not as a simple store, but as a veritablesanctuary, whence there afterwards issued, elaborated by hishands, all sorts of pills, boluses, infusions, lotions, andpotions, that would bear far and wide his celebrity. No one inthe world set foot there, and he respected it so, that he sweptit himself. Finally, if the pharmacy, open to all comers, was thespot where he displayed his pride, the Capharnaum was the refugewhere, egoistically concentrating himself, Homais delighted inthe exercise of his predilections, so that Justin'sthoughtlessness seemed to him a monstrous piece of irreverence,and, redder than the currants, he repeated--

　　"Yes, from the Capharnaum! The key that locks up the acids andcaustic alkalies! To go and get a spare pan! a pan with a lid!and that I shall perhaps never use! Everything is of importancein the delicate operations of our art! But, devil take it! onemust make distinctions, and not employ for almost domesticpurposes that which is meant for pharmaceutical! It is as if onewere to carve a fowl with a scalpel; as if a magistrate--"

　　"Now be calm," said Madame Homais.

　　And Athalie, pulling at his coat, cried "Papa! papa!"

　　"No, let me alone," went on the druggist "let me alone, hang it!My word! One might as well set up for a grocer. That's it! go it!respect nothing! break, smash, let loose the leeches, burn themallow-paste, pickle the gherkins in the window jars, tear up thebandages!"

　　"I thought you had--"said Emma.

　　"Presently! Do you know to what you exposed yourself? Didn't yousee anything in the corner, on the left, on the third shelf?Speak, answer, articulate something."

　　"I--don't--know," stammered the young fellow.

　　"Ah! you don't know! Well, then, I do know! You saw a bottle ofblue glass, sealed with yellow wax, that contains a white powder,on which I have even written 'Dangerous!' And do you know what isin it? Arsenic! And you go and touch it! You take a pan that wasnext to it!"

　　"Next to it!" cried Madame Hoinais, clasping her hands. "Arsenic!You might have poisoned us all."

　　And the children began howling as if they already had frightfulpains in their entrails.

　　"Or poison a patient!" continued the druggist. "Do you want tosee me in the prisoner's dock with criminals, in a court ofjustice? To see me dragged to the scaffold? Don't you know whatcare I take in managing things, although I am so thoroughly usedto it? Often I am horrified myself when I think of myresponsibility; for the Government persecutes us, and the absurdlegislation that rules us is a veritable Damocles' sword over ourheads."

　　Emma no longer dreamed of asking what they wanted her for, andthe druggist went on in breathless phrases--

　　"That is your return for all the kindness we have shown you! Thatis how you recompense me for the really paternal care that Ilavish on you! For without me where would you be? What would yoube doing? Who provides you with food, education, clothes, and allthe means of figuring one day with honour in the ranks ofsociety? But you must pull hard at the oar if you're to do that,and get, as, people say, callosities upon your hands. Fabricandofit faber, age quod agis.*

　　* The worker lives by working, do what he will.

　　He was so exasperated he quoted Latin. He would have quotedChinese or Greenlandish had he known those two languages, for hewas in one of those crises in which the whole soul showsindistinctly what it contains, like the ocean, which, in thestorm, opens itself from the seaweeds on its shores down to thesands of its abysses.

　　And he went on--

　　"I am beginning to repent terribly of having taken you up! Ishould certainly have done better to have left you to rot in yourpoverty and the dirt in which you were born. Oh, you'll never befit for anything but to herd animals with horns! You have noaptitude for science! You hardly know how to stick on a label!And there you are, dwelling with me snug as a parson, living inclover, taking your ease!"

　　But Emma, turning to Madame Homais, "I was told to come here--"

　　"Oh, dear me!" interrupted the good woman, with a sad air, "howam I to tell you? It is a misfortune!"

　　She could not finish, the druggist was thundering--"Empty it!Clean it! Take it back! Be quick!"

　　And seizing Justin by the collar of his blouse, he shook a bookout of his pocket. The lad stooped, but Homais was the quicker,and, having picked up the volume, contemplated it with staringeyes and open mouth.

　　"Conjugal--love!" he said, slowly separating the two words. "Ah!very good! very good! very pretty! And illustrations! Oh, this istoo much!"

　　Madame Homais came forward.

　　"No, do not touch it!"

　　The children wanted to look at the pictures.

　　"Leave the room," he said imperiously; and they went out.

　　First he walked up and down with the open volume in his hand,rolling his eyes, choking, tumid, apoplectic. Then he camestraight to his pupil, and, planting himself in front of him withcrossed arms--

　　"Have you every vice, then, little wretch? Take care! you are ona downward path. Did not you reflect that this infamous bookmight fall in the hands of my children, kindle a spark in theirminds, tarnish the purity of Athalie, corrupt Napoleon. He isalready formed like a man. Are you quite sure, anyhow, that theyhave not read it? Can you certify to me--"

　　"But really, sir," said Emma, "you wished to tell me--"

　　"Ah, yes! madame. Your father-in-law is dead."

　　In fact, Monsieur Bovary senior had expired the evening beforesuddenly from an attack of apoplexy as he got up from table, andby way of greater precaution, on account of Emma's sensibility,Charles had begged Homais to break the horrible news to hergradually. Homais had thought over his speech; he had rounded,polished it, made it rhythmical; it was a masterpiece of prudenceand transitions, of subtle turns and delicacy; but anger had gotthe better of rhetoric.

　　Emma, giving up all chance of hearing any details, left thepharmacy; for Monsieur Homais had taken up the thread of hisvituperations. However, he was growing calmer, and was nowgrumbling in a paternal tone whilst he fanned himself with hisskull-cap.

　　"It is not that I entirely disapprove of the work. Its author wasa doctor! There are certain scientific points in it that it isnot ill a man should know, and I would even venture to say that aman must know. But later--later! At any rate, not till you areman yourself and your temperament is formed."

　　When Emma knocked at the door. Charles, who was waiting for her,came forward with open arms and said to her with tears in hisvoice--

　　"Ah! my dear!"

　　And he bent over her gently to kiss her. But at the contact ofhis lips the memory of the other seized her, and she passed herhand over her face shuddering.

　　But she made answer, "Yes, I know, I know!"

　　He showed her the letter in which his mother told the eventwithout any sentimental hypocrisy. She only regretted her husbandhad not received the consolations of religion, as he had died atDaudeville, in the street, at the door of a cafe after apatriotic dinner with some ex-officers.

　　Emma gave him back the letter; then at dinner, for appearance'ssake, she affected a certain repugnance. But as he urged her totry, she resolutely began eating, while Charles opposite her satmotionless in a dejected attitude.

　　Now and then he raised his head and gave her a long look full ofdistress. Once he sighed, "I should have liked to see him again!"

　　She was silent. At last, understanding that she must saysomething, "How old was your father?" she asked.

　　"Fifty-eight."

　　"Ah!"

　　And that was all.

　　A quarter of an hour after he added, "My poor mother! what willbecome of her now?"

　　She made a gesture that signified she did not know. Seeing her sotaciturn, Charles imagined her much affected, and forced himselfto say nothing, not to reawaken this sorrow which moved him. And,shaking off his own--

　　"Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?" he asked.

　　"Yes."

　　When the cloth was removed, Bovary did not rise, nor did Emma;and as she looked at him, the monotony of the spectacle drovelittle by little all pity from her heart. He seemed to herpaltry, weak, a cipher--in a word, a poor thing in every way. Howto get rid of him? What an interminable evening! Somethingstupefying like the fumes of opium seized her.

　　They heard in the passage the sharp noise of a wooden leg on theboards. It was Hippolyte bringing back Emma's luggage. In orderto put it down he described painfully a quarter of a circle withhis stump.

　　"He doesn't even remember any more about it," she thought,looking at the poor devil, whose coarse red hair was wet withperspiration.

　　Bovary was searching at the bottom of his purse for a centime,and without appearing to understand all there was of humiliationfor him in the mere presence of this man, who stood there like apersonified reproach to his incurable incapacity.

　　"Hallo! you've a pretty bouquet," he said, noticing Leon'sviolets on the chimney.

　　"Yes," she replied indifferently; "it's a bouquet I bought justnow from a beggar."

　　Charles picked up the flowers, and freshening his eyes, red withtears, against them, smelt them delicately.

　　She took them quickly from his hand and put them in a glass ofwater.

　　The next day Madame Bovary senior arrived. She and her son weptmuch. Emma, on the pretext of giving orders, disappeared. Thefollowing day they had a talk over the mourning. They went andsat down with their workboxes by the waterside under the arbour.

　　Charles was thinking of his father, and was surprised to feel somuch affection for this man, whom till then he had thought hecared little about. Madame Bovary senior was thinking of herhusband. The worst days of the past seemed enviable to her. Allwas forgotten beneath the instinctive regret of such a longhabit, and from time to time whilst she sewed, a big tear rolledalong her nose and hung suspended there a moment. Emma wasthinking that it was scarcely forty-eight hours since they hadbeen together, far from the world, all in a frenzy of joy, andnot having eyes enough to gaze upon each other. She tried torecall the slightest details of that past day. But the presenceof her husband and mother-in-law worried her. She would haveliked to hear nothing, to see nothing, so as not to disturb themeditation on her love, that, do what she would, became lost inexternal sensations.

　　She was unpicking the lining of a dress, and the strips werescattered around her. Madame Bovary senior was plying her scissorwithout looking up, and Charles, in his list slippers and his oldbrown surtout that he used as a dressing-gown, sat with bothhands in his pockets, and did not speak either; near them Berthe,in a little white pinafore, was raking sand in the walks with herspade. Suddenly she saw Monsieur Lheureux, the linendraper, comein through the gate.

　　He came to offer his services "under the sad circumstances." Emmaanswered that she thought she could do without. The shopkeeperwas not to be beaten.

　　"I beg your pardon," he said, "but I should like to have aprivate talk with you." Then in a low voice, "It's about thataffair--you know."

　　Charles crimsoned to his ears. "Oh, yes! certainly." And in hisconfusion, turning to his wife, "Couldn't you, my darling?"

　　She seemed to understand him, for she rose; and Charles said tohis mother, "It is nothing particular. No doubt, some householdtrifle." He did not want her to know the story of the bill,fearing her reproaches.

　　As soon as they were alone, Monsieur Lheureux in sufficientlyclear terms began to congratulate Emma on the inheritance, thento talk of indifferent matters, of the espaliers, of the harvest,and of his own health, which was always so-so, always having upsand downs. In fact, he had to work devilish hard, although hedidn't make enough, in spite of all people said, to find butterfor his bread.

　　Emma let him talk on. She had bored herself so prodigiously thelast two days.

　　"And so you're quite well again?" he went on. "Ma foi! I saw yourhusband in a sad state. He's a good fellow, though we did have alittle misunderstanding."

　　She asked what misunderstanding, for Charles had said nothing ofthe dispute about the goods supplied to her.

　　"Why, you know well enough," cried Lheureux. "It was about yourlittle fancies--the travelling trunks."

　　He had drawn his hat over his eyes, and, with his hands behindhis back, smiling and whistling, he looked straight at her in anunbearable manner. Did he suspect anything?

　　She was lost in all kinds of apprehensions. At last, however, hewent on--

　　"We made it up, all the same, and I've come again to proposeanother arrangement."

　　This was to renew the bill Bovary had signed. The doctor, ofcourse, would do as he pleased; he was not to trouble himself,especially just now, when he would have a lot of worry. "And hewould do better to give it over to someone else--to you, forexample. With a power of attorney it could be easily managed, andthen we (you and I) would have our little business transactionstogether."

　　She did not understand. He was silent. Then, passing to histrade, Lheureux declared that madame must require something. Hewould send her a black barege, twelve yards, just enough to makea gown.

　　"The one you've on is good enough for the house, but you wantanother for calls. I saw that the very moment that I came in.I've the eye of an American!"

　　He did not send the stuff; he brought it. Then he came again tomeasure it; he came again on other pretexts, always trying tomake himself agreeable, useful, "enfeoffing himself," as Homaiswould have said, and always dropping some hint to Emma about thepower of attorney. He never mentioned the bill; she did not thinkof it. Charles, at the beginning of her convalescence, hadcertainly said something about it to her, but so many emotionshad passed through her head that she no longer remembered it.Besides, she took care not to talk of any money questions. MadameBovary seemed surprised at this, and attributed the change in herways to the religious sentiments she had contracted during herillness.

　　But as soon as she was gone, Emma greatly astounded Bovary by herpractical good sense. It would be necessary to make inquiries, tolook into mortgages, and see if there were any occasion for asale by auction or a liquidation. She quoted technical termscasually, pronounced the grand words of order, the future,foresight, and constantly exaggerated the difficulties ofsettling his father's affairs so much, that at last one day sheshowed him the rough draft of a power of attorney to manage andadminister his business, arrange all loans, sign and endorse allbills, pay all sums, etc. She had profited by Lheureux's lessons.Charles naively asked her where this paper came from.

　　"Monsieur Guillaumin"; and with the utmost coolness she added, "Idon't trust him overmuch. Notaries have such a bad reputation.Perhaps we ought to consult--we only know--no one."

　　"Unless Leon--" replied Charles, who was reflecting. But it wasdifficult to explain matters by letter. Then she offered to makethe journey, but he thanked her. She insisted. It was quite acontest of mutual consideration. At last she cried with affectedwaywardness--

　　"No, I will go!"

　　"How good you are!" he said, kissing her forehead.

　　The next morning she set out in the "Hirondelle" to go to Rouento consult Monsieur Leon, and she stayed there three days.