Madame Bovary - Penn State University

Madame BovaryThe curtains were in red levantine, that hung from the ceiling the glass to the rings on her fingers. They were so completelyand bulged out too much towards the bell-shaped bedside; lost in the possession of each other that they thought themselvesin their own house, and that they would live there tilland nothing in the world was so lovely as her brown head andwhite skin standing out against this purple colour, when, with death, like two spouses eternally young. They said “our room,”a movement of shame, she crossed her bare arms, hiding her “our carpet,” she even said “my slippers,” a gift of Leon’s, aface in her hands.whim she had had. They were pink satin, bordered withThe warm room, with its discreet carpet, its gay ornaments, swansdown. When she sat on his knees, her leg, then tooand its calm light, seemed made for the intimacies of passion. short, hung in the air, and the dainty shoe, that had no backThe curtain-rods, ending in arrows, their brass pegs, and the to it, was held only by the toes to her bare foot.great balls of the fire-dogs shone suddenly when the sun came He for the first time enjoyed the inexpressible delicacy ofin. On the chimney between the candelabra there were two feminine refinements. He had never met this grace of language,this reserve of clothing, these poses of the weary dove.of those pink shells in which one hears the murmur of the seaif one holds them to the ear.He admired the exaltation of her soul and the lace on herHow they loved that dear room, so full of gaiety, despite its petticoat. Besides, was she not “a lady” and a married woman—rather faded splendour! They always found the furniture in a real mistress, in fine?the same place, and sometimes hairpins, that she had forgottenthe Thursday before, under the pedestal of the clock. They ful, talkative, taciturn, passionate, careless, she awakened inBy the diversity of her humour, in turn mystical or mirth-lunched by the fireside on a little round table, inlaid with him a thousand desires, called up instincts or memories. Sherosewood. Emma carved, put bits on his plate with all sorts was the mistress of all the novels, the heroine of all the dramas,the vague “she” of all the volumes of verse. He foundof coquettish ways, and she laughed with a sonorous and libertinelaugh when the froth of the champagne ran over from again on her shoulder the amber colouring of the “Odalisque226