Money troubles soon began again, Monsieur Lheureux urging on anew his friend Vincart, and Charles pledged himself for exorbitant3 sums; for he would never consent to let the smallest of the things that had belonged to HER be sold. His mother was exasperated4 with him; he grew even more angry than she did. He had altogether changed. She left the house.
Then everyone began “taking advantage” of him. Mademoiselle Lempereur presented a bill for six months’ teaching, although Emma had never taken a lesson (despite the receipted bill she had shown Bovary); it was an arrangement between the two women. The man at the circulating library demanded three years’ subscriptions5; Mere6 Rollet claimed the postage due for some twenty letters, and when Charles asked for an explanation, she had the delicacy7 to reply —
“Oh, I don’t know. It was for her business affairs.”
With every debt he paid Charles thought he had come to the end of them. But others followed ceaselessly. He sent in accounts for professional attendance. He was shown the letters his wife had written. Then he had to apologise.
Felicite now wore Madame Bovary’s gowns; not all, for he had kept some of them, and he went to look at them in her dressing-room, locking himself up there; she was about her height, and often Charles, seeing her from behind, was seized with an illusion, and cried out —
“Oh, stay, stay!”
But at Whitsuntide she ran away from Yonville, carried off by Theodore, stealing all that was left of the wardrobe.
It was about this time that the widow Dupuis had the honour to inform him of the “marriage of Monsieur Leon Dupuis her son, notary8 at Yvetot, to Mademoiselle Leocadie Leboeuf of Bondeville.” Charles, among the other congratulations he sent him, wrote this sentence —
“How glad my poor wife would have been!”
One day when, wandering aimlessly about the house, he had gone up to the attic9, he felt a pellet of fine paper under his slipper10. He opened it and read: “Courage, Emma, courage. I would not bring misery11 into your life.” It was Rodolphe’s letter, fallen to the ground between the boxes, where it had remained, and that the wind from the dormer window had just blown towards the door. And Charles stood, motionless and staring, in the very same place where, long ago, Emma, in despair, and paler even than he, had thought of dying. At last he discovered a small R at the bottom of the second page. What did this mean? He remembered Rodolphe’s attentions, his sudden, disappearance12, his constrained13 air when they had met two or three times since. But the respectful tone of the letter deceived him.
“Perhaps they loved one another platonically,” he said to himself.
Besides, Charles was not of those who go to the bottom of things; he shrank from the proofs, and his vague jealousy14 was lost in the immensity of his woe15.
Everyone, he thought, must have adored her; all men assuredly must have coveted16 her. She seemed but the more beautiful to him for this; he was seized with a lasting17, furious desire for her, that inflamed18 his despair, and that was boundless19, because it was now unrealisable.
To please her, as if she were still living, he adopted her predilections20, her ideas; he bought patent leather boots and took to wearing white cravats21. He put cosmetics22 on his moustache, and, like her, signed notes of hand. She corrupted23 him from beyond the grave.
He was obliged to sell his silver piece by piece; next he sold the drawing-room furniture. All the rooms were stripped; but the bedroom, her own room, remained as before. After his dinner Charles went up there. He pushed the round table in front of the fire, and drew up her armchair. He sat down opposite it. A candle burnt in one of the gilt24 candlesticks. Berthe by his side was painting prints.
He suffered, poor man, at seeing her so badly dressed, with laceless boots, and the arm-holes of her pinafore torn down to the hips25; for the charwoman took no care of her. But she was so sweet, so pretty, and her little head bent26 forward so gracefully27, letting the dear fair hair fall over her rosy28 cheeks, that an infinite joy came upon him, a happiness mingled29 with bitterness, like those ill-made wines that taste of resin30. He mended her toys, made her puppets from cardboard, or sewed up half-torn dolls. Then, if his eyes fell upon the workbox, a ribbon lying about, or even a pin left in a crack of the table, he began to dream, and looked so sad that she became as sad as he.
No one now came to see them, for Justin had run away to Rouen, where he was a grocer’s assistant, and the druggist’s children saw less and less of the child, Monsieur Homais not caring, seeing the difference of their social position, to continue the intimacy31.
The blind man, whom he had not been able to cure with the pomade, had gone back to the hill of Bois-Guillaume, where he told the travellers of the vain attempt of the druggist, to such an extent, that Homais when he went to town hid himself behind the curtains of the “Hirondelle” to avoid meeting him. He detested32 him, and wishing, in the interests of his own reputation, to get rid of him at all costs, he directed against him a secret battery, that betrayed the depth of his intellect and the baseness of his vanity. Thus, for six consecutive33 months, one could read in the “Fanal de Rouen” editorials such as these —
“All who bend their steps towards the fertile plains of Picardy have, no doubt, remarked, by the Bois-Guillaume hill, a wretch34 suffering from a horrible facial wound. He importunes35, persecutes36 one, and levies37 a regular tax on all travellers. Are we still living in the monstrous38 times of the Middle Ages, when vagabonds were permitted to display in our public places leprosy and scrofulas they had brought back from the Crusades?”
Or —
“In spite of the laws against vagabondage, the approaches to our great towns continue to be infected by bands of beggars. Some are seen going about alone, and these are not, perhaps, the least dangerous. What are our ediles about?”
Then Homais invented anecdotes39 —
“Yesterday, by the Bois-Guillaume hill, a skittish40 horse —” And then followed the story of an accident caused by the presence of the blind man.
He managed so well that the fellow was locked up. But he was released. He began again, and Homais began again. It was a struggle. Homais won it, for his foe41 was condemned42 to life-long confinement43 in an asylum44.
This success emboldened45 him, and henceforth there was no longer a dog run over, a barn burnt down, a woman beaten in the parish, of which he did not immediately inform the public, guided always by the love of progress and the hate of priests. He instituted comparisons between the elementary and clerical schools to the detriment46 of the latter; called to mind the massacre47 of St. Bartholomew a propos of a grant of one hundred francs to the church, and denounced abuses, aired new views. That was his phrase. Homais was digging and delving48; he was becoming dangerous.
However, he was stifling49 in the narrow limits of journalism50, and soon a book, a work was necessary to him. Then he composed “General Statistics of the Canton of Yonville, followed by Climatological Remarks.” The statistics drove him to philosophy. He busied himself with great questions: the social problem: moralisation of the poorer classes, pisciculture, caoutchouc, railways, etc. He even began to blush at being a bourgeois51. He affected52 the artistic53 style, he smoked. He bought two chic54 Pompadour statuettes to adorn55 his drawing-room.
He by no means gave up his shop. On the contrary, he kept well abreast56 of new discoveries. He followed the great movement of chocolates; he was the first to introduce “cocoa” and “revalenta” into the Seine-Inferieure. He was enthusiastic about the hydro-electric Pulvermacher chains; he wore one himself, and when at night he took off his flannel57 vest, Madame Homais stood quite dazzled before the golden spiral beneath which he was hidden, and felt her ardour redouble for this man more bandaged than a Scythian, and splendid as one of the Magi.
He had fine ideas about Emma’s tomb. First he proposed a broken column with some drapery, next a pyramid, then a Temple of Vesta, a sort of rotunda58, or else a “mass of ruins.” And in all his plans Homais always stuck to the weeping willow59, which he looked upon as the indispensable symbol of sorrow.
Charles and he made a journey to Rouen together to look at some tombs at a funeral furnisher’s, accompanied by an artist, one Vaufrylard, a friend of Bridoux’s, who made puns all the time. At last, after having examined some hundred designs, having ordered an estimate and made another journey to Rouen, Charles decided60 in favour of a mausoleum, which on the two principal sides was to have a “spirit bearing an extinguished torch.”
As to the inscription61, Homais could think of nothing so fine as Sta viator23, and he got no further; he racked his brain, he constantly repeated Sta viator. At last he hit upon Amabilen conjugem calcas24, which was adopted.
A strange thing was that Bovary, while continually thinking of Emma, was forgetting her. He grew desperate as he felt this image fading from his memory in spite of all efforts to retain it. Yet every night he dreamt of her; it was always the same dream. He drew near her, but when he was about to clasp her she fell into decay in his arms.
For a week he was seen going to church in the evening. Monsieur Bournisien even paid him two or three visits, then gave him up. Moreover, the old fellow was growing intolerant, fanatic62, said Homais. He thundered against the spirit of the age, and never failed, every other week, in his sermon, to recount the death agony of Voltaire, who died devouring63 his excrements, as everyone knows.
In spite of the economy with which Bovary lived, he was far from being able to pay off his old debts. Lheureux refused to renew any more bills. A distraint became imminent64. Then he appealed to his mother, who consented to let him take a mortgage on her property, but with a great many recriminations against Emma; and in return for her sacrifice she asked for a shawl that had escaped the depredations65 of Felicite. Charles refused to give it her; they quarrelled.
She made the first overtures66 of reconciliation67 by offering to have the little girl, who could help her in the house, to live with her. Charles consented to this, but when the time for parting came, all his courage failed him. Then there was a final, complete rupture68.
As his affections vanished, he clung more closely to the love of his child. She made him anxious, however, for she coughed sometimes, and had red spots on her cheeks.
Opposite his house, flourishing and merry, was the family of the chemist, with whom everything was prospering69. Napoleon helped him in the laboratory, Athalie embroidered70 him a skullcap, Irma cut out rounds of paper to cover the preserves, and Franklin recited Pythagoras’ table in a breath. He was the happiest of fathers, the most fortunate of men.
Not so! A secret ambition devoured71 him. Homais hankered after the cross of the Legion of Honour. He had plenty of claims to it.
“First, having at the time of the cholera72 distinguished73 myself by a boundless devotion; second, by having published, at my expense, various works of public utility, such as” (and he recalled his pamphlet entitled, “Cider, its manufacture and effects,” besides observation on the lanigerous plant-louse, sent to the Academy; his volume of statistics, and down to his pharmaceutical74 thesis); “without counting that I am a member of several learned societies” (he was member of a single one).
“In short!” he cried, making a pirouette, “if it were only for distinguishing myself at fires!”
Then Homais inclined towards the Government. He secretly did the prefect great service during the elections. He sold himself — in a word, prostituted himself. He even addressed a petition to the sovereign in which he implored75 him to “do him justice”; he called him “our good king,” and compared him to Henri IV.
And every morning the druggist rushed for the paper to see if his nomination76 were in it. It was never there. At last, unable to bear it any longer, he had a grass plot in his garden designed to represent the Star of the Cross of Honour with two little strips of grass running from the top to imitate the ribband. He walked round it with folded arms, meditating77 on the folly78 of the Government and the ingratitude79 of men.
From respect, or from a sort of sensuality that made him carry on his investigations80 slowly, Charles had not yet opened the secret drawer of a rosewood desk which Emma had generally used. One day, however, he sat down before it, turned the key, and pressed the spring. All Leon’s letters were there. There could be no doubt this time. He devoured them to the very last, ransacked81 every corner, all the furniture, all the drawers, behind the walls, sobbing82, crying aloud, distraught, mad. He found a box and broke it open with a kick. Rodolphe’s portrait flew full in his face in the midst of the overturned love-letters.
People wondered at his despondency. He never went out, saw no one, refused even to visit his patients. Then they said “he shut himself up to drink.”
Sometimes, however, some curious person climbed on to the garden hedge, and saw with amazement83 this long-bearded, shabbily clothed, wild man, who wept aloud as he walked up and down.
In the evening in summer he took his little girl with him and led her to the cemetery84. They came back at nightfall, when the only light left in the Place was that in Binet’s window.
The voluptuousness85 of his grief was, however, incomplete, for he had no one near him to share it, and he paid visits to Madame Lefrancois to be able to speak of her.
But the landlady86 only listened with half an ear, having troubles like himself. For Lheureux had at last established the “Favorites du Commerce,” and Hivert, who enjoyed a great reputation for doing errands, insisted on a rise of wages, and was threatening to go over “to the opposition87 shop.”
One day when he had gone to the market at Argueil to sell his horse — his last resource — he met Rodolphe.
They both turned pale when they caught sight of one another. Rodolphe, who had only sent his card, first stammered88 some apologies, then grew bolder, and even pushed his assurance (it was in the month of August and very hot) to the length of inviting89 him to have a bottle of beer at the public-house.
Leaning on the table opposite him, he chewed his cigar as he talked, and Charles was lost in reverie at this face that she had loved. He seemed to see again something of her in it. It was a marvel90 to him. He would have liked to have been this man.
The other went on talking agriculture, cattle, pasturage, filling out with banal91 phrases all the gaps where an allusion92 might slip in. Charles was not listening to him; Rodolphe noticed it, and he followed the succession of memories that crossed his face. This gradually grew redder; the nostrils93 throbbed94 fast, the lips quivered. There was at last a moment when Charles, full of a sombre fury, fixed95 his eyes on Rodolphe, who, in something of fear, stopped talking. But soon the same look of weary lassitude came back to his face.
“I don’t blame you,” he said.
Rodolphe was dumb. And Charles, his head in his hands, went on in a broken voice, and with the resigned accent of infinite sorrow —
“No, I don’t blame you now.”
He even added a fine phrase, the only one he ever made —
“It is the fault of fatality96!”
Rodolphe, who had managed the fatality, thought the remark very offhand97 from a man in his position, comic even, and a little mean.
The next day Charles went to sit down on the seat in the arbour. Rays of light were straying through the trellis, the vine leaves threw their shadows on the sand, the jasmines perfumed the air, the heavens were blue, Spanish flies buzzed round the lilies in bloom, and Charles was suffocating98 like a youth beneath the vague love influences that filled his aching heart.
At seven o’clock little Berthe, who had not seen him all the afternoon, went to fetch him to dinner.
His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes closed, his mouth open, and in his hand was a long tress of black hair.
“Come along, papa,” she said.
And thinking he wanted to play; she pushed him gently. He fell to the ground. He was dead.
Thirty-six hours after, at the druggist’s request, Monsieur Canivet came thither99. He made a post-mortem and found nothing.
When everything had been sold, twelve francs seventy-five centimes remained, that served to pay for Mademoiselle Bovary’s going to her grandmother. The good woman died the same year; old Rouault was paralysed, and it was an aunt who took charge of her. She is poor, and sends her to a cotton-factory to earn a living.
Since Bovary’s death three doctors have followed one another at Yonville without any success, so severely100 did Homais attack them. He has an enormous practice; the authorities treat him with consideration, and public opinion protects him.
He has just received the cross of the Legion of Honour.
The End
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1
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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notary
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| n.公证人，公证员 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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17
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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predilections
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| n.偏爱，偏好，嗜好( predilection的名词复数 ) | |
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cravats
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| n.（系在衬衫衣领里面的）男式围巾( cravat的名词复数 ) | |
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22
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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25
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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resin
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| n.树脂，松香，树脂制品；vt.涂树脂 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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importunes
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的第三人称单数 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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persecutes
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的第三人称单数 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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37
levies
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| （部队）征兵( levy的名词复数 )； 募捐； 被征募的军队 | |
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38
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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40
skittish
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| adj.易激动的，轻佻的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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42
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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44
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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45
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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47
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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48
delving
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
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49
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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50
journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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51
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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52
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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53
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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54
chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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55
adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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56
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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57
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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58
rotunda
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| n.圆形建筑物；圆厅 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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prospering
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的现在分词 ) | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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pharmaceutical
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| adj.药学的，药物的；药用的，药剂师的 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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voluptuousness
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| n.风骚，体态丰满 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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