第55章
加入书架 A- A+
点击下载App,搜索"Madame Bovary",免费读到尾

  Thenhecalledherbacktoshowherthreeyardsofguipurethathehadlatelypickedup“atasale。“

  “Isn’titlovely?“saidLheureux。“Itisverymuchusednowforthebacksofarm-chairs。It’squitetherage。“

  And,morereadythanajuggler,hewrappeduptheguipureinsomebluepaperandputitinEmma’shands。

  “Butatleastletmeknow——“

  “Yes,anothertime,“hereplied,turningonhisheel。

  ThatsameeveningsheurgedBovarytowritetohismother,toaskhertosendasquicklyaspossiblethewholeofthebalanceduefromthefather’sestate。Themother-in-lawrepliedthatshehadnothingmore,thewindingupwasover,andtherewasduetothembesidesBarnevilleanincomeofsixhundredfrancs,thatshewouldpaythempunctually。

  ThenMadameBovarysentinaccountstotwoorthreepatients,andshemadelargeuseofthismethod,whichwasverysuccessful。Shewasalwayscarefultoaddapostscript:“Donotmentionthistomyhusband;youknowhowproudheis。Excuseme。Yoursobediently。“Thereweresomecomplaints;sheinterceptedthem。

  Togetmoneyshebegansellingheroldgloves,heroldhats,theoldoddsandends,andshebargainedrapaciously,herpeasantbloodstandingheringoodstead。Thenonherjourneytotownshepickedupnick-nackssecondhand,that,indefaultofanyoneelse,MonsieurLheureuxwouldcertainlytakeoffherhands。Sheboughtostrichfeathers,Chineseporcelain,andtrunks;sheborrowedfromFelicite,fromMadameLefrancois,fromthelandladyattheCroix-Rouge,fromeverybody,nomatterwhere。

  WiththemoneysheatlastreceivedfromBarnevilleshepaidtwobills;theotherfifteenhundredfrancsfelldue。Sherenewedthebills,andthusitwascontinually。

  Sometimes,itistrue,shetriedtomakeacalculation,butshediscoveredthingssoexorbitantthatshecouldnotbelievethempossible。Thensherecommenced,soongotconfused,gaveitallup,andthoughtnomoreaboutit。

  Thehousewasverydrearynow。Tradesmenwereseenleavingitwithangryfaces。Handkerchiefswerelyingaboutonthestoves,andlittleBerthe,tothegreatscandalofMadameHomais,worestockingswithholesinthem。IfCharlestimidlyventuredaremark,sheansweredroughlythatitwasn’therfault。

  Whatwasthemeaningofallthesefitsoftemper?Sheexplainedeverythingthroughheroldnervousillness,andreproachinghimselfwithhavingtakenherinfirmitiesforfaults,accusedhimselfofegotism,andlongedtogoandtakeherinhisarms。

  “Ah,no!“hesaidtohimself;“Ishouldworryher。“

  Andhedidnotstir。

  Afterdinnerhewalkedaboutaloneinthegarden;hetooklittleBertheonhisknees,andunfoldinghismedicaljournal,triedtoteachhertoread。Butthechild,whoneverhadanylessons,soonlookedupwithlarge,sadeyesandbegantocry。Thenhecomfortedher;wenttofetchwaterinhercantomakeriversonthesandpath,orbrokeoffbranchesfromtheprivethedgestoplanttreesinthebeds。Thisdidnotspoilthegardenmuch,allchokednowwithlongweeds。TheyowedLestiboudoisforsomanydays。Thenthechildgrewcoldandaskedforhermother。

  “Calltheservant,“saidCharles。“Youknow,dearie,thatmammadoesnotliketobedisturbed。“

  Autumnwassettingin,andtheleaveswerealreadyfalling,astheydidtwoyearsagowhenshewasill。Wherewoulditallend?

  Andhewalkedupanddown,hishandsbehindhisback。

  Madamewasinherroom,whichnooneentered。Shestayedtherealldaylong,torpid,halfdressed,andfromtimetotimeburningTurkishpastilleswhichshehadboughtatRoueninanAlgerian’sshop。Inordernottohaveatnightthissleepingmanstretchedatherside,bydintofmanoeuvring,sheatlastsucceededinbanishinghimtothesecondfloor,whileshereadtillmorningextravagantbooks,fullofpicturesoforgiesandthrillingsituations。Often,seizedwithfear,shecriedout,andCharleshurriedtoher。

  “Oh,goaway!“shewouldsay。

  Oratothertimes,consumedmoreardentlythaneverbythatinnerflametowhichadulteryaddedfuel,panting,tremulous,alldesire,shethrewopenherwindow,breathedinthecoldair,shooklooseinthewindhermassesofhair,tooheavy,and,gazinguponthestars,longedforsomeprincelylove。Shethoughtofhim,ofLeon。Shewouldthenhavegivenanythingforasingleoneofthosemeetingsthatsurfeitedher。

  Thesewerehergaladays。Shewantedthemtobesumptuous,andwhenhealonecouldnotpaytheexpenses,shemadeupthedeficitliberally,whichhappenedprettywelleverytime。Hetriedtomakeherunderstandthattheywouldbequiteascomfortablesomewhereelse,inasmallerhotel,butshealwaysfoundsomeobjection。

  Onedayshedrewsixsmallsilver-giltspoonsfromherbagtheywereoldRoualt’sweddingpresent,begginghimtopawnthematonceforher,andLeonobeyed,thoughtheproceedingannoyedhim。

  Hewasafraidofcompromisinghimself。

  Then,on,reflection,hebegantothinkhismistress’swaysweregrowingodd,andthattheywereperhapsnotwronginwishingtoseparatehimfromher。

  Infactsomeonehadsenthismotheralonganonymouslettertowarnherthathewas“ruininghimselfwithamarriedwoman,“andthegoodladyatonceconjuringuptheeternalbugbearoffamiliesthevagueperniciouscreature,thesiren,themonster,whodwellsfantasticallyindepthsoflove,wrotetoLawyerDubocage,hisemployer,whobehavedperfectlyintheaffair。Hekepthimforthreequartersofanhourtryingtoopenhiseyes,towarnhimoftheabyssintowhichhewasfalling。Suchanintriguewoulddamagehimlateron,whenhesetupforhimself。

  Heimploredhimtobreakwithher,and,ifhewouldnotmakethissacrificeinhisowninterest,todoitatleastforhis,Dubocage’ssake。

  AtlastLeonsworehewouldnotseeEmmaagain,andhereproachedhimselfwithnothavingkepthisword,consideringalltheworryandlecturesthiswomanmightstilldrawdownuponhim,withoutreckoningthejokesmadebyhiscompanionsastheysatroundthestoveinthemorning。Besides,hewassoontobeheadclerk;itwastimetosettledown。Sohegaveuphisflute,exaltedsentiments,andpoetry;foreverybourgeoisintheflushofhisyouth,wereitbutforaday,amoment,hasbelievedhimselfcapableofimmensepassions,ofloftyenterprises。Themostmediocrelibertinehasdreamedofsultanas;everynotarybearswithinhimthedebrisofapoet。

  HewasborednowwhenEmmasuddenlybegantosobonhisbreast,andhisheart,likethepeoplewhocanonlystandacertainamountofmusic,dozedtothesoundofalovewhosedelicacieshenolongernoted。

  Theyknewoneanothertoowellforanyofthosesurprisesofpossessionthatincreaseitsjoysahundred-fold。Shewasassickofhimashewaswearyofher。Emmafoundagaininadulteryalltheplatitudesofmarriage。

  Buthowtogetridofhim?Then,thoughshemightfeelhumiliatedatthebasenessofsuchenjoyment,sheclungtoitfromhabitorfromcorruption,andeachdayshehungeredafterthemthemore,exhaustingallfelicityinwishingfortoomuchofit。SheaccusedLeonofherbaffledhopes,asifhehadbetrayedher;andsheevenlongedforsomecatastrophethatwouldbringabouttheirseparation,sinceshehadnotthecouragetomakeuphermindtoitherself。

  Shenonethelesswentonwritinghimloveletters,invirtueofthenotionthatawomanmustwritetoherlover。

  Butwhilstshewroteitwasanothermanshesaw,aphantomfashionedoutofhermostardentmemories,ofherfinestreading,herstrongestlusts,andatlasthebecamesoreal,sotangible,thatshepalpitatedwondering,without,however,thepowertoimaginehimclearly,solostwashe,likeagod,beneaththeabundanceofhisattributes。Hedweltinthatazurelandwheresilkladdershangfrombalconiesunderthebreathofflowers,inthelightofthemoon。Shefelthimnearher;hewascoming,andwouldcarryherrightawayinakiss。

  Thenshefellbackexhausted,forthesetransportsofvagueloveweariedhermorethangreatdebauchery。

  Shenowfeltconstantachealloverher。Oftensheevenreceivedsummonses,stampedpaperthatshebarelylookedat。Shewouldhavelikednottobealive,ortobealwaysasleep。

  OnMid-LentshedidnotreturntoYonville,butintheeveningwenttoamaskedball。Sheworevelvetbreeches,redstockings,aclubwig,andthree-corneredhatcockedononeside。Shedancedallnighttothewildtonesofthetrombones;peoplegatheredroundher,andinthemorningshefoundherselfonthestepsofthetheatretogetherwithfiveorsixmasks,debardeuses*andsailors,Leon’scomrades,whoweretalkingabouthavingsupper。

  *Peopledressedaslongshoremen。

  Theneighbouringcafeswerefull。Theycaughtsightofoneontheharbour,averyindifferentrestaurant,whoseproprietorshowedthemtoalittleroomonthefourthfloor。

  Themenwerewhisperinginacorner,nodoubtconsortingaboutexpenses。Therewereaclerk,twomedicalstudents,andashopman——whatcompanyforher!Astothewomen,Emmasoonperceivedfromthetoneoftheirvoicesthattheymustalmostbelongtothelowestclass。Thenshewasfrightened,pushedbackherchair,andcastdownhereyes。

  Theothersbegantoeat;sheatenothing。Herheadwasonfire,hereyessmarted,andherskinwasice-cold。Inherheadsheseemedtofeeltheflooroftheball-roomreboundingagainbeneaththerhythmicalpulsationofthethousandsofdancingfeet。Andnowthesmellofthepunch,thesmokeofthecigars,madehergiddy。Shefainted,andtheycarriedhertothewindow。

  Daywasbreaking,andagreatstainofpurplecolourbroadenedoutinthepalehorizonovertheSt。Catherinehills。Thelividriverwasshiveringinthewind;therewasnooneonthebridges;

  thestreetlampsweregoingout。

  Sherevived,andbeganthinkingofBertheasleepyonderintheservant’sroom。Thenacartfilledwithlongstripsofironpassedby,andmadeadeafeningmetallicvibrationagainstthewallsofthehouses。

点击下载App,搜索"Madame Bovary",免费读到尾