Chapter 10 Section IX

When Charles was away, she used to go to the cupboard and take out from among the folded napkins the green silk cigar-case. She looked at the cigarette case, opened it, smelled the lining, and it smelled of verbena and smoke.Whose is this? ...It belongs to the viscount.Maybe it was a gift from a mistress.It was embroidered on a mahogany trellis, and the mistress kept the trestle like a treasure for fear of being discovered. How much time she spent on it!The soft curly hair hangs on the frame, which is the heavy heart of the embroiderer.The breath of love permeates the stitches on the embroidery base cloth; each stitch is either hope or memory, and these criss-cross threads are just silently and endlessly telling the heart of the lover .Then, one morning, the Viscount took the cigarette case away.What did it hear the Vicomte say, when the cigarette case was placed on the broad mantelpiece, between the vase and the Pompadour clock?Now, she's at Toth.And he, he was in Paris, how far away!What is Paris like?The reputation is too great to measure!She amused herself by repeating the words in a low voice; the name sounded like church bells to her, and shone brightly on the label of the balsam bottle.At night, a sea fishmonger drove a cart and passed under her window, singing the song "Mozhiluan", which woke her up; On the road, the noise is getting smaller and smaller. "They'll be in Paris tomorrow!" she said to herself.And her thoughts followed them up and down, through villages, and on the high roads under the stars.No matter how far she walked, she would always reach a vague place, so her dream was broken.

She bought a map of Paris and traced the route on the paper with her finger to visit the capital.She walked up the street and stopped at every corner, where two roads crossed, or when she saw a white square representing a house.Finally, tired of looking, she closed her eyes, but in the darkness she also saw the gas lights flickering in the wind, and heard the carriage lower its pedals with a click before the colonnade of the theatre. She subscribed to the women's magazine "Flower Basket" and "Sarong Fairy".She devoured the news of the horse races, the live reports of theater evenings and first performances, she was interested in the debut of the diva, and the opening of the store.She knew the fashions of fashion, the addresses of the best tailors, the daily performances of Forest Park and the Opera House.She studied the interiors described by Eugène Sue; she read the novels of Balzac and George Sand, and sought the gratification of her personal desires in fantasy.Even at table she had her book with her, which she opened while Charles ate and talked to her.Whenever she reads, she always thinks of the Viscount.She actually established a connection between the Viscount and the fictional characters in the book.The circle of contact centered on the Viscount grew wider and wider, and the light from his head spread farther and farther, until it left his face and shone on other faces in her dreams.In Emma's eyes Paris was more indistinct than the ocean, shining in a gilded silver air.However, this bustling crowd can still be classified into different categories.Emma was blinded by seeing only two or three types of people, thinking that they represented all mankind.The first were the diplomats, who walked on shiny floors, in a living room wall-paneled with mirrors, and oval table tops covered with velvet blankets laced with gold.There are long gowns, big secrets, anxieties masked by smiles.The second category is the duchess' social circle, they are pale and don't get up until four o'clock in the afternoon; He would wear out his horses for pleasure, go to Bud Hot Springs in the summer, and finally, at nearly forty, marry a rich heir.The third type of people is the colorful and group of literati and stage stars, who come to the private seats of hotels and restaurants after midnight to eat, drink and have fun by candlelight.They're the kind of people who spend like kings with their money, ambitious and often whimsical.They live a superior life, between heaven and earth, in the storm, they appear otherworldly.People other than these three categories were lost in the vast crowd, and had no fixed place in Emma's heart, as if they didn't exist at all.And no matter what, the closer she was to her, the less she would bother to think about it.Everything around her, the dreary fields, the stupid little townsfolk, and the vulgarity of life, seemed to her an anomaly in the world, a special environment in which she had been unfortunate enough to fall. A boundless world full of happiness and passion.Dazzled by desire, she mistakenly believed that the luxury of the senses was the real pleasure of the soul, and that the elegance of manners was the delicacy of feeling.Isn't love like Indian flowers and trees, which require intensive cultivation of soil and a particularly warm climate?The sighs under the moonlight, the reluctant hugs, the helpless hands full of tears, the blood boiling of the body and the lingering affection of the soul, can they leave the background of the balcony of the castle?Only in the castle, there are leisurely years, screen windows and embroidery rooms, thick carpets, dense flower pots, couches on high platforms, jewels and gorgeous livery of servants.

The boy at the post station came to wash the mare every morning, his big wooden overshoes trampled on the corridor, there were holes in his blouse, and his bare feet wore cloth shoes.It should be enough to have such a little groom in shorts!He would leave when he had finished his work, because Charles would lead the horses into the stables, unsaddle and bridle them himself, and the maid would bring the bale and put it in the manger, and she would do nothing else. After Natasie left Todd in tears, Emma found a well-behaved fourteen-year-old orphan to work.She forbade the little girl to wear a bonnet, taught her not to use "you" but to address her as "ma'am", served a glass of water on a plate, knocked on the door before coming in, taught her to iron and starch her clothes, and waited for her to dress. , wanting to train her to be a personal maid.The new maid was obedient and did not complain so as not to be dismissed by the mistress; and as the wife often left the cupboard open, Felicite stole a small bag of sugar every evening and ate it alone in bed after evening prayers.In the afternoon, she sometimes went to the opposite post station to chat with the coachman.The wife stayed in the upstairs room.

Emma wore a room gown with an open collar, and a pleated shirt with three gold buttons was visible between the shawl lapels.She wears a belt with large tassels around her waist, and a pair of garnet-red slippers on her feet, and a bunch of wide ribbons spread out over the insteps.She bought herself blotters, a pen, letter envelopes, although she had no correspondent; she dusted the shelves, looked in the mirror, picked up a book, which she dropped absently on her lap.She wanted to travel, or go back to the monastery.She wanted both to die and to go to Paris. Whether it rains or snows, Charles rides around everywhere on horseback.He ate scrambled eggs at the farm table, thrust his arms into the damp mattress, spattered his face with hot blood from the patient as he bled, listened to the hoarse panting of the dying, checked the toilet bowl, rolled up the patient's filthy Clothes, but coming home every night, there was always a warm fire waiting for him, a ready dinner, comfortable furniture, and a well-groomed wife with a charm, a fragrance from nowhere Does her flesh smell her underwear?

She does many little things to win his favor: sometimes she puts a new pattern of paper-cuts on the candle tray, sometimes changes the border of his robe, sometimes gives a common dish that the maid burns out with a nice name, Xia I ate it up with relish.She had seen some dame at Rouen with a chain of dainty ornaments on their watch-chains; she bought one too.On the mantelpiece she placed two large vases of blue glass, and soon afterwards an ivory sewing-case and a silver-gilt thimble.The more Charles doesn't understand these tricks, the more elegant he feels.They delight his senses and make his home comfortable.This is the golden sand laid on the path of his life.

He is in good health and looks good, and already has a reputation in the country.Country people like him because he has no airs.He stroked children's heads, never entered the door of the hotel, and his character made people believe that he was reliable.He is best at curing colds and chest inflammation.Charles was very afraid that the patient would die and cause trouble for him. In fact, the medicine he prescribed was nothing more than sedatives, or occasional emetics, or scalding feet and sucking blood with leeches.He was not afraid of surgery; he bled people like he bled horses, and pulled out teeth with the strength of "pincers."

Finally, in order to "get informed," he received a call for subscriptions to The Doctor's House, and ordered a copy of this new publication.He read a page or two at supper; but the heat in the room, and the food being digested, he fell asleep within five minutes of reading; and so he dozed with his chin in his hands, his hair loose Removed lamp base.Emma shrugged her shoulders when she saw it. Why didn't she marry a better husband?At least he should marry a man who, although taciturn, spends his time reading until late at night. Then at the age of sixty, even if he has rheumatism, he can at least hang a string of medals on his ill-fitting black dress!How much she hoped that her current surname, that is, the surname Bovary, would be famous all over the world, and her works would be sold in bookstores.It appears frequently in newspapers and is known throughout France.But Charles has no ambitions!There is a doctor in Yifuto who recently consulted with him, right in front of the patient's bedside, in front of the patient's family.It just made him a little bit embarrassed.When Charles went home at night and talked about it, Emma was so angry that he scolded him as a colleague.Charles was grateful.He kissed her forehead with tears, not knowing that she was ashamed and annoyed, wishing to beat him to vent her anger.She went out into the passage, opened the window, and took a breath of fresh air.To calm myself down.

"There is such a wimp! A wimp:" she bit her lip and said in a low voice. The more she looked at him, the angrier she became.The older he gets, the more clumsy his movements become: when eating fruit, he cuts the cork of an empty bottle; after a meal, he licks his teeth with his tongue; Fat, the already small eyes are squeezed up by the swollen face, and they seem to be squeezed closer to the temples. As he dressed, Emma sometimes tucked the red trim of his cardigan under his vest, helped him retie his tie, and threw aside his old, faded gloves that he hated to throw away; What I believe is for his sake, but for her own, her personal likes and dislikes are extended to him, and she gets annoyed when she sees something that is not pleasing to the eye.Sometimes she also talked to him about books she had read, a passage from a novel, a new play, or an anecdote of "high society" in the newspapers; for, after all, Charles always A person always has obedient ears and a submissive mouth. Didn't she say a lot of intimate words to her little hound?Without the Hound, she might have confided in her heart about the logs in the fireplace and the pendulum on the fireplace.

Yet, deep in her soul, she's been waiting for something to happen.Like a shipwrecked sailor looking at the hazy mist on the horizon, hoping to see a white sail, she opened her desperate eyes and searched everywhere in the loneliness of her life.She did not know what opportunity she was expecting, nor what wind would bring it, and to what shore it would carry her, nor whether it would come in a skiff or a three-decker ship loaded up to the portholes. , Whether it is distress or happiness.But every morning, as soon as she woke up, she hoped that the opportunity would come that day. Yu Xian pricked up her ears to listen; when she didn't hear the opportunity coming, she was very surprised, so she jumped out of bed and looked for it until the sun went down.I am more sad at night than in the morning, and I hope that I am already in tomorrow.

Spring is here again.When the pear tree bloomed, it released a lazy heat that made her feel oppressed. As soon as July came, she counted on her fingers that October was still a few weeks away, and she thought to herself that the Marquis Anderweirel might give another ball at Vaubissa.But the whole month of September passed without invitations or invitations. This disappointment brought boredom, and her heart felt empty again, and so the endless, equally boring days began again. Now, the same day after day comes, without change, without number, without bringing anything new.As mundane as other people's lives are, at least there is always a chance for change.If luck happens by chance, it may bring about ever-changing changes, and even change the entire living environment.As for her, she didn't have any good luck.This is God's will!For her, the future is just a dark corridor, and at the end of the corridor is a tightly closed door.

She gave up music: why play?Who are you listening to?Since she never had the opportunity to wear a short-sleeved velvet gown, at a concert, she played with her deft fingers on the ivory keys of an Ella piano, feeling the ecstatic admiration of her audience blowing around her like a breeze. , then, why did she bother herself to learn music?Her portfolio and embroidery were also thrown in the closet.What is the use?What is the use?Needlework also irritated her. "I understand everything," she said to herself.So she stayed around doing nothing, burning the pokers red, or watching it rain. How wretched she felt when the bells tolled Vespers on Sunday!She was dumbfounded, paying attention to the hoarse bell.There was a cat on the roof, walking slowly with its back arched in the dim daylight.The wind from the road whipped up clouds of dust.From time to time a dog barked in the distance, and the monotonous tolling of the bell continued, disappearing into the fields. People from the church came out.The women wore polished wooden shoes, the peasants changed into new smocks, and the children with bare heads jumped and jumped in front of the adults, walking home together.Five or six men, always these few, gambled with corks at the gate of the inn until dark. winter is very cold.Every morning the windows were covered with a layer of frost, and the light that came in through the windows was as gray as through frosted glass, and sometimes remained gray throughout the day without change.From four o'clock in the afternoon, lights had to be turned on.When the weather was fine, she went downstairs into the garden.The dew left a silver hollow lace on the cabbage, and some transparent silver long lines connected the two cabbages.Birds could not be heard, as if everything was hibernating.The fruit trees by the wall were covered with grass, and the vines were lying under the eaves of the wall like a big sick snake. When I got closer, I saw a bunch of myriads there.Under the cedar near the fence, the plaster statue of the priest wearing a three-cornered hat and still reciting sutras has lost his right foot, and even the plaster has froze and peeled off, leaving white ringworm on the priest's face. She went back upstairs again, closed the door, and turned on the charcoal. The heat from the fireplace made her drowsy, and she felt that boredom weighed heavily on her heart.It might be better if she went downstairs to chat with the maid, but she was ashamed to go down. Every day at a certain time, the primary school principal in a black satin cap would push open the shutters of his house, and a country policeman with a saber hanging from his smock would walk past her door.In the evening and early in the morning, the post horses in a row of three would cross the street to drink at the pond, and sometimes the doorbell of a small tavern would ring once or twice; The signs of several small copper basins creaked.On the glass window of the barbershop, an outdated fashion picture was pasted, and a wax bust of a woman with yellow hair was used as an ornament.The barber is also complaining about the lack of business and the hopeless future, and dreams of opening a shop in a big city, such as East Rouen, on the docks, near the theater, so he walks up and down the street all day, from the village office He walked all the way to the church and waited for customers with a worried look on his face.As soon as Madame Bovary opened her eyes, she could be seen wearing her Greek cap on one side and her tweed jacket like a sentry. Sometimes in the afternoon she would see a man's head appearing outside the panes of the room, with a weather-beaten face and black whiskers, slowly opening his mouth wide and smiling, showing his white teeth.And so the waltz began immediately, and in a small parlor on the accordion danced figurines the size of a finger, women in rose kerchiefs, mountain men in jackets, monkeys in black dresses, and men in shorts. , Turning around between the long and short sofas and tables, the mirrors with strips of gold paper on the corners showed their dancing postures.The man cranked the accordion crank, looked around, looked at the windows.From time to time, he spit out a long mouthful of thick yellow phlegm toward the boundary stone. At the same time, because the hard leather strap of the accordion was hanging on his shoulders, he was tired, so he always had to use his knees to support the organ box, which was hung by an Arabic-style copper hook. Yes, covered by a rose-coloured taffeta curtain, from which came loud music, sometimes sad and drawn out, sometimes cheerful and rapid.These tunes were played on the stage, sung in the drawing room, danced under the chandeliers, and the echoes of the outside world reached Emma's ears.Endless, wildly dancing music rose and fell in her head; like a dancer girl in a Hindu temple dancing on a carpet of flowers, her thoughts danced to the music, swaying from side to side, coming from dreams. , Go to the dream, the old hatred is only frowned, and the new worry is on the heart again.After the accordion player put away the alms he got in his hat, he pulled down a piece of blue, old woolen material, put it on the accordion, put it on his back, dragged his heavy steps, and walked away slowly. .Her eyes followed him away. But what she couldn't bear especially was during dinner.The restaurant downstairs is so small.The stove smoked, the door creaked, the walls leaked, the floor was damp; the bitterness of life seemed to be on her plate, and the smell of the broth brought a sickness to the depths of her soul.Charles took too long to eat, so she nibbled at the hazelnuts bit by bit, or, leaning on her elbow, drew stripes on the oilcloth with the point of her knife.Now, too, she let the housework go, and when her mother-in-law came to Toth for Lent, she was amazed at the change.Indeed, the daughter-in-law, who used to be so fussy, didn't bother to dress up all day long, wore gray cotton socks, and lit stinky earthen candles at night.She repeated that they were not rich, and had to live frugally, and that she was content, happy, and fond of Toth, and other old and new ones, to gag her mother-in-law.Besides, Emma didn't seem to intend to listen to her mother-in-law's advice.Once, Mrs. Bovary actually mentioned that the master should take care of the religious life of the servants. Emma's answer was only to give her an angry look and a cold smile, which frightened the old woman no longer to meddle in other things. . Emma became increasingly difficult to serve and erratic.She ordered a few dishes by herself, but she didn't eat at all. She only drank fresh milk one day, but only wanted a few cups of crude tea the next day. But only wearing a thin shirt.After she scolded the maid, she would always send something to make amends, or give her a vacation and let her go to the next door to calm down, just like she sometimes gave all the silver coins in her pocket to the poor, although she did not It is not merciful, nor is it easy to sympathize with others.It's just that like most country people, there are calluses on the hands of their parents deep in their souls. At the end of February, Papa Rouault himself sent his son-in-law a fat hen to commemorate the first anniversary of his recovery, and he stayed in Todt for three days.Charles had to see the sick, and Emma was his only companion.He smoked in the bedroom, spat on the mantelpiece, and talked only of crops, cattle, sheep, chickens, and town councils; Accident.Besides, if she looks down on someone or something, she doesn't hide it. Sometimes she likes to make weird talks, and she talks about bad things when others say good things. She likes to talk about things that are offensive , her husband's eyes widened. Is this bad life going to last forever?Could she never jump out of the fire pit?She is not as good as those women who live happily!She had seen several duchesses in Wabissa who had thicker waists and uglier manners than her, and she could only resent God for being so unfair.She leaned her head against the wall and wept; she envied the lively life, the party wearing a mask, which she had never heard of, but which she thought she should enjoy, the fun beyond the wild. She was pale and her heart was irregular; Charles ordered her to take valerian decoction and take camphor baths.But no matter what method she tried, her illness seemed to be getting worse and worse. There were days when she had a high fever and babbled and babbled; the excitement was over, and then she felt numb and said nothing or moved.If she regained a little consciousness, she took a bottle of cologne and sprinkled it on her arms. Because she kept complaining about Toth's badness, Charles also thought that the cause of her illness must be the acclimatization of the environment.Falling headfirst into this idea, he also seriously considered relocating to a better place, and planned to open in another place. From then on, she drank vinegar, wanted to lose weight, and got a little dry cough, which made her lose her appetite. It's too bad for Charles to leave Toth. He has lived here for four years, and it's hard for him to gain a foothold!But what if you don't leave!He takes her to Rouen to see his teacher.The teacher said that she was suffering from neurosis and should change the air. Charles asked around, and heard that there is a large town in the New Castle district, called Rongzhen Abbey, and the doctor is a refugee from Poland, who has moved to another place last week.So he wrote to the local pharmacist.Find out the size of the population, how far away is the nearest peer, how much does his predecessor earn per year, etc.The answer he received was satisfactory, and he decided that if Emma's condition did not improve by the spring, he would have to move. When preparing to move, one day, she was tidying up drawers.Something pricked her finger.It was a wire from her wedding bouquet.The orange buds were yellow and dusty, and the silver edges of the ribbons were showing.She threw the paper flower into the fire, and the flower burned.faster than hay.In the ashes, it is like a red thorn, slowly consumed.She watched the paper flowers burn.The small fruits made of hard paper split, the copper wires were bent, the gold and silver wires were melted, and the paper corollas shrank, floating along the bottom plate like black butterflies, and finally flew out of the chimney. By the time they left Toth in March, Madame Bovary was pregnant.