Madame Bovary - Penn State University
Madame Bovary - Penn State University Madame Bovary - Penn State University
Madame Bovarysmoked with lips protruding, spitting every moment, recoilingat every puff.she awoke, “Ah! I was there a week—a fortnight—three weeksWhenever the Wednesday came round she said to herself as“You’ll make yourself ill,” she said scornfully.ago.”He put down his cigar and ran to swallow a glass of cold And little by little the faces grew confused in her remembrance.water at the pump. Emma seizing hold of the cigar case threwit quickly to the back of the cupboard.She forgot the tune of the quadrilles; she no longer saw theThe next day was a long one. She walked about her little liveries and appointments so distinctly; some details escapedgarden, up and down the same walks, stopping before the her, but the regret remained with her.beds, before the espalier, before the plaster curate, lookingwith amazement at all these things of once-on-a-time thatshe knew so well. How far off the ball seemed already! Whatwas it that thus set so far asunder the morning of the daybefore yesterday and the evening of to-day? Her journey toVaubyessard had made a hole in her life, like one of thosegreat crevices that a storm will sometimes make in one nightin mountains. Still she was resigned. She devoutly put awayin her drawers her beautiful dress, down to the satin shoeswhose soles were yellowed with the slippery wax of the dancingfloor. Her heart was like these. In its friction against wealthsomething had come over it that could not be effaced.The memory of this ball, then, became an occupation for Emma.50
FlaubertChapter NineAt night, when the carriers passed under her windows intheir carts singing the “Marjolaine,” she awoke, and listenedOFTEN WHEN CHARLES was out she took from the cupboard, to the noise of the iron-bound wheels, which, as they gainedbetween the folds of the linen where she had left it, the green the country road, was soon deadened by the soil. “They willsilk cigar case. She looked at it, opened it, and even smelt the be there to-morrow!” she said to herself.odour of the lining—a mixture of verbena and tobacco. Whose And she followed them in thought up and down the hills,was it? The Viscount’s? Perhaps it was a present from his mistress.It had been embroidered on some rosewood frame, a the stars. At the end of some indefinite distance there wastraversing villages, gliding along the highroads by the light ofpretty little thing, hidden from all eyes, that had occupied many always a confused spot, into which her dream died.hours, and over which had fallen the soft curls of the pensive She bought a plan of Paris, and with the tip of her finger onworker. A breath of love had passed over the stitches on the the map she walked about the capital. She went up the boulevards,stopping at every turning, between the lines of thecanvas; each prick of the needle had fixed there a hope or amemory, and all those interwoven threads of silk were but the streets, in front of the white squares that represented the houses.continuity of the same silent passion. And then one morning At last she would close the lids of her weary eyes, and see inthe Viscount had taken it away with him. Of what had they the darkness the gas jets flaring in the wind and the steps ofspoken when it lay upon the wide-mantelled chimneys between carriages lowered with much noise before the peristyles offlower-vases and Pompadour clocks? She was at Tostes; he was theatres.at Paris now, far away! What was this Paris like? What a vague She took in “La Corbeille,” a lady’s journal, and the “Sylphename! She repeated it in a low voice, for the mere pleasure of it; des Salons.” She devoured, without skipping a work, all theit rang in her ears like a great cathedral bell; it shone before her accounts of first nights, races, and soirees, took interest in theeyes, even on the labels of her pomade-pots.debut of a singer, in the opening of a new shop. She knew the51
- Page 1 and 2: Madame BovarybyGustave FlaubertTran
- Page 8 and 9: fetes begged the beadle to let him
- Page 10 and 11: Madame Bovaryat the doors, he opene
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- Page 14 and 15: Madame Bovaryof colossal size, shon
- Page 16: Madame Bovarya week, without counti
- Page 19 and 20: FlaubertChapter Threeeeat one’s h
- Page 21 and 22: Flaubertand the faint clucking of a
- Page 23 and 24: Flaubert“I ask nothing better”,
- Page 25 and 26: FlaubertAnd the shirts stood out fr
- Page 27 and 28: Flaubertin-law would not allow of s
- Page 29 and 30: FlaubertChapter Fivivethe people co
- Page 31 and 32: Flaubertand the morning air in his
- Page 33 and 34: Flaubertworld and eternity! If her
- Page 35 and 36: Flaubertminarets on the horizon; th
- Page 37 and 38: Flaubertunstable as the winds? Word
- Page 39 and 40: Flaubertdining in his old house. Sh
- Page 41 and 42: Flaubertsetting; the sky showed red
- Page 43 and 44: Flaubertportion of the painting—a
- Page 45 and 46: FlaubertDancing had begun. Guests w
- Page 47 and 48: Flaubertthing white, folded in a tr
- Page 49: FlaubertCharles, meanwhile, went to
- Page 53 and 54: Flaubertlar temperature? Signs by m
- Page 55 and 56: FlaubertAn Yvetot doctor whom he ha
- Page 57 and 58: Flaubertalong which, on drawing hea
- Page 59 and 60: FlaubertTowards the end of February
- Page 61 and 62: Flaubertis like a great unfolded ma
- Page 63 and 64: FlaubertBengal lights is seen the s
- Page 65 and 66: Flaubertsieur Homais; as long as th
- Page 67 and 68: Flaubertto confess to fellows which
- Page 69 and 70: FlaubertChapter TwowoAs he was a go
- Page 71 and 72: Flaubert“At any rate, you have so
- Page 73 and 74: Flaubert“In fact,” observed the
- Page 75 and 76: FlaubertChapter Threeeefor he often
- Page 77 and 78: Flaubertpassed his hands over her f
- Page 79 and 80: Flaubertover its head. This mockery
- Page 81 and 82: Flaubertstuck in its mouth; a Matth
- Page 83 and 84: Flaubert“If I can,” he answered
- Page 85 and 86: Flauberthis as to the probability o
- Page 87 and 88: Flaubertden; they saw each other te
- Page 89 and 90: Flaubertproaches with which he was
- Page 91 and 92: Flaubertjoke, “that it isn’t th
- Page 93 and 94: Flaubertmurmur; and when Leon saw h
- Page 95 and 96: FlaubertYet she had loathing of thi
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FlaubertChapter NineAt night, when the carriers passed under her windows intheir carts singing the “Marjolaine,” she awoke, and listenedOFTEN WHEN CHARLES was out she took from the cupboard, to the noise of the iron-bound wheels, which, as they gainedbetween the folds of the linen where she had left it, the green the country road, was soon deadened by the soil. “They willsilk cigar case. She looked at it, opened it, and even smelt the be there to-morrow!” she said to herself.odour of the lining—a mixture of verbena and tobacco. Whose And she followed them in thought up and down the hills,was it? The Viscount’s? Perhaps it was a present from his mistress.It had been embroidered on some rosewood frame, a the stars. At the end of some indefinite distance there wastraversing villages, gliding along the highroads by the light ofpretty little thing, hidden from all eyes, that had occupied many always a confused spot, into which her dream died.hours, and over which had fallen the soft curls of the pensive She bought a plan of Paris, and with the tip of her finger onworker. A breath of love had passed over the stitches on the the map she walked about the capital. She went up the boulevards,stopping at every turning, between the lines of thecanvas; each prick of the needle had fixed there a hope or amemory, and all those interwoven threads of silk were but the streets, in front of the white squares that represented the houses.continuity of the same silent passion. And then one morning At last she would close the lids of her weary eyes, and see inthe Viscount had taken it away with him. Of what had they the darkness the gas jets flaring in the wind and the steps ofspoken when it lay upon the wide-mantelled chimneys between carriages lowered with much noise before the peristyles offlower-vases and Pompadour clocks? She was at Tostes; he was theatres.at Paris now, far away! What was this Paris like? What a vague She took in “La Corbeille,” a lady’s journal, and the “Sylphename! She repeated it in a low voice, for the mere pleasure of it; des Salons.” She devoured, without skipping a work, all theit rang in her ears like a great cathedral bell; it shone before her accounts of first nights, races, and soirees, took interest in theeyes, even on the labels of her pomade-pots.debut of a singer, in the opening of a new shop. She knew the51
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