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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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"
Good-bye
,
my
dear
children
.
I
kiss
you
,
my
girl
,
you
too
,
my
son-in-law
,
and
the
little
one
on
both
cheeks
.
I
am
,
with
best
compliments
,
your
loving
father
.
"
Theodore
Rouault
.
"
She
held
the
coarse
paper
in
her
fingers
for
some
minutes
.
The
spelling
mistakes
were
interwoven
one
with
the
other
,
and
Emma
followed
the
kindly
thought
that
cackled
right
through
it
like
a
hen
half
hidden
in
the
hedge
of
thorns
.
The
writing
had
been
dried
with
ashes
from
the
hearth
,
for
a
little
grey
powder
slipped
from
the
letter
on
to
her
dress
,
and
she
almost
thought
she
saw
her
father
bending
over
the
hearth
to
take
up
the
tongs
.
How
long
since
she
had
been
with
him
,
sitting
on
the
footstool
in
the
chimney-corner
,
where
she
used
to
burn
the
end
of
a
bit
of
wood
in
the
great
flame
of
the
sea-sedges
!
She
remembered
the
summer
evenings
all
full
of
sunshine
.
The
colts
neighed
when
anyone
passed
by
,
and
galloped
,
galloped
.
Under
her
window
there
was
a
beehive
,
and
sometimes
the
bees
wheeling
round
in
the
light
struck
against
her
window
like
rebounding
balls
of
gold
.
What
happiness
there
had
been
at
that
time
,
what
freedom
,
what
hope
!
What
an
abundance
of
illusions
!
Nothing
was
left
of
them
now
.
She
had
got
rid
of
them
all
in
her
soul
's
life
,
in
all
her
successive
conditions
of
lifemaidenhood
,
her
marriage
,
and
her
love
--
thus
constantly
losing
them
all
her
life
through
,
like
a
traveller
who
leaves
something
of
his
wealth
at
every
inn
along
his
road
.
But
what
then
,
made
her
so
unhappy
?
What
was
the
extraordinary
catastrophe
that
had
transformed
her
?
And
she
raised
her
head
,
looking
round
as
if
to
seek
the
cause
of
that
which
made
her
suffer
.
An
April
ray
was
dancing
on
the
china
of
the
whatnot
;
the
fire
burned
;
beneath
her
slippers
she
felt
the
softness
of
the
carpet
;
the
day
was
bright
,
the
air
warm
,
and
she
heard
her
child
shouting
with
laughter
.
In
fact
,
the
little
girl
was
just
then
rolling
on
the
lawn
in
the
midst
of
the
grass
that
was
being
turned
.
She
was
lying
flat
on
her
stomach
at
the
top
of
a
rick
.
The
servant
was
holding
her
by
her
skirt
.
Lestiboudois
was
raking
by
her
side
,
and
every
time
he
came
near
she
lent
forward
,
beating
the
air
with
both
her
arms
"
Bring
her
to
me
,
"
said
her
mother
,
rushing
to
embrace
her
.
"
How
I
love
you
,
my
poor
child
!
How
I
love
you
!
"
Then
noticing
that
the
tips
of
her
ears
were
rather
dirty
,
she
rang
at
once
for
warm
water
,
and
washed
her
,
changed
her
linen
,
her
stockings
,
her
shoes
,
asked
a
thousand
questions
about
her
health
,
as
if
on
the
return
from
a
long
journey
,
and
finally
,
kissing
her
again
and
crying
a
little
,
she
gave
her
back
to
the
servant
,
who
stood
quite
thunderstricken
at
this
excess
of
tenderness
.
That
evening
Rodolphe
found
her
more
serious
than
usual
.
