Madame Bovary - Penn State University

Madame Bovarydeath-rattles, examined basins, turned over a good deal of dirty moreover, his morals inspired confidence. He was speciallylinen; but every evening he found a blazing fire, his dinner ready, successful with catarrhs and chest complaints. Being mucheasy-chairs, and a well-dressed woman, charming with an odour afraid of killing his patients, Charles, in fact only prescribedof freshness, though no one could say whence the perfume sedatives, from time to time and emetic, a footbath, or leeches.came, or if it were not her skin that made odorous her chemise. It was not that he was afraid of surgery; he bled people copiouslylike horses, and for the taking out of teeth he had theShe charmed him by numerous attentions; now it was somenew way of arranging paper sconces for the candles, a flounce “devil’s own wrist.”that she altered on her gown, or an extraordinary name for Finally, to keep up with the times, he took in “La Ruchesome very simple dish that the servant had spoilt, but that Medicale,” a new journal whose prospectus had been sent him.Charles swallowed with pleasure to the last mouthful. At He read it a little after dinner, but in about five minutes theRouen she saw some ladies who wore a bunch of charms on warmth of the room added to the effect of his dinner sentthe watch-chains; she bought some charms. She wanted for him to sleep; and he sat there, his chin on his two hands andher mantelpiece two large blue glass vases, and some time his hair spreading like a mane to the foot of the lamp. Emmaafter an ivory necessaire with a silver-gilt thimble. The less looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. Why, at least, wasCharles understood these refinements the more they seduced not her husband one of those men of taciturn passions whohim. They added something to the pleasure of the senses and work at their books all night, and at last, when about sixty,to the comfort of his fireside. It was like a golden dust sandingall along the narrow path of his life.ill-fitting black coat? She could have wished this name ofthe age of rheumatism sets in, wear a string of orders on theirHe was well, looked well; his reputation was firmly established. Bovary, which was hers, had been illustrious, to see it displayedat the booksellers’, repeated in the newspapers, knownThe country-folk loved him because he was not proud. Hepetted the children, never went to the public house, and, to all France. But Charles had no ambition.54