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Главная
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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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- Стр. 170/303
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The
diligence
stopped
at
the
"
Croix-Rouge
"
in
the
Place
Beauvoisine
.
It
was
the
inn
that
is
in
every
provincial
faubourg
,
with
large
stables
and
small
bedrooms
,
where
one
sees
in
the
middle
of
the
court
chickens
pilfering
the
oats
under
the
muddy
gigs
of
the
commercial
travellers
--
a
good
old
house
,
with
worm-eaten
balconies
that
creak
in
the
wind
on
winter
nights
,
always
full
of
people
,
noise
,
and
feeding
,
whose
black
tables
are
sticky
with
coffee
and
brandy
,
the
thick
windows
made
yellow
by
the
flies
,
the
damp
napkins
stained
with
cheap
wine
,
and
that
always
smells
of
the
village
,
like
ploughboys
dressed
in
Sundayclothes
,
has
a
cafe
on
the
street
,
and
towards
the
countryside
a
kitchen-garden
.
Charles
at
once
set
out
He
muddled
up
the
stage-boxes
with
the
gallery
,
the
pit
with
the
boxes
;
asked
for
explanations
,
did
not
understand
them
;
was
sent
from
the
box-office
to
the
acting-manager
;
came
back
to
the
inn
,
returned
to
the
theatre
,
and
thus
several
times
traversed
the
whole
length
of
the
town
from
the
theatre
to
the
boulevard
.
Madame
Bovary
bought
a
bonnet
,
gloves
,
and
a
bouquet
.
The
doctor
was
much
afraid
of
missing
the
beginning
,
and
,
without
having
had
time
to
swallow
a
plate
of
soup
,
they
presented
themselves
at
the
doors
of
the
theatre
,
which
were
still
closed
.
The
crowd
was
waiting
against
the
wall
,
symmetrically
enclosed
between
the
balustrades
.
At
the
corner
of
the
neighbouring
streets
huge
bills
repeated
in
quaint
letters
"
Lucie
de
Lammermoor-Lagardy-Opera-etc
.
"
The
weather
was
fine
,
the
people
were
hot
,
perspiration
trickled
amid
the
curls
,
and
handkerchiefs
taken
from
pockets
were
mopping
red
foreheads
;
and
now
and
then
a
warm
wind
that
blew
from
the
river
gently
stirred
the
border
of
the
tick
awnings
hanging
from
the
doors
of
the
public-houses
.
A
little
lower
down
,
however
,
one
was
refreshed
by
a
current
of
icy
air
that
smelt
of
tallow
,
leather
,
and
oil
.
This
was
an
exhalation
from
the
Rue
des
Charrettes
,
full
of
large
black
warehouses
where
they
made
casks
.
For
fear
of
seeming
ridiculous
,
Emma
before
going
in
wished
to
have
a
little
stroll
in
the
harbour
,
and
Bovary
prudently
kept
his
tickets
in
his
hand
,
in
the
pocket
of
his
trousers
,
which
he
pressed
against
his
stomach
.
Her
heart
began
to
beat
as
soon
as
she
reached
the
vestibule
.
She
involuntarily
smiled
with
vanity
on
seeing
the
crowd
rushing
to
the
right
by
the
other
corridor
while
she
went
up
the
staircase
to
the
reserved
seats
.
She
was
as
pleased
as
a
child
to
push
with
her
finger
the
large
tapestried
door
.
She
breathed
in
with
all
her
might
the
dusty
smell
of
the
lobbies
,
and
when
she
was
seated
in
her
box
she
bent
forward
with
the
air
of
a
duchess
.
The
theatre
was
beginning
to
fill
;
opera-glasses
were
taken
from
their
cases
,
and
the
subscribers
,
catching
sight
of
one
another
,
were
bowing
.
They
came
to
seek
relaxation
in
the
fine
arts
after
the
anxieties
of
business
;
but
"
business
"
was
not
forgotten
;
they
still
talked
cottons
,
spirits
of
wine
,
or
indigo
.
The
heads
of
old
men
were
to
be
seen
,
inexpressive
and
peaceful
,
with
their
hair
and
complexions
looking
like
silver
medals
tarnished
by
steam
of
lead
.
The
young
beaux
were
strutting
about
in
the
pit
,
showing
in
the
opening
of
their
waistcoats
their
pink
or
applegreen
cravats
,
and
Madame
Bovary
from
above
admired
them
leaning
on
their
canes
with
golden
knobs
in
the
open
palm
of
their
yellow
gloves
.
Now
the
lights
of
the
orchestra
were
lit
,
the
lustre
,
let
down
from
the
ceiling
,
throwing
by
the
glimmering
of
its
facets
a
sudden
gaiety
over
the
theatre
;
then
the
musicians
came
in
one
after
the
other
;
and
first
there
was
the
protracted
hubbub
of
the
basses
grumbling
,
violins
squeaking
,
cornets
trumpeting
,
flutes
and
flageolets
fifing
.
But
three
knocks
were
heard
on
the
stage
,
a
rolling
of
drums
began
,
the
brass
instruments
played
some
chords
,
and
the
curtain
rising
,
discovered
a
country-scene
.
It
was
the
cross-roads
of
a
wood
,
with
a
fountain
shaded
by
an
oak
to
the
left
.
Peasants
and
lords
with
plaids
on
their
shoulders
were
singing
a
hunting-song
together
;
then
a
captain
suddenly
came
on
,
who
evoked
the
spirit
of
evil
by
lifting
both
his
arms
to
heaven
.
Another
appeared
;
they
went
away
,
and
the
hunters
started
afresh
.
She
felt
herself
transported
to
the
reading
of
her
youth
,
into
the
midst
of
Walter
Scott
.
She
seemed
to
hear
through
the
mist
the
sound
of
the
Scotch
bagpipes
re-echoing
over
the
heather
.
