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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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- Стр. 172/303
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"
Be
quiet
!
be
quiet
!
"
she
cried
impatiently
.
Lucie
advanced
,
half
supported
by
her
women
,
a
wreath
of
orange
blossoms
in
her
hair
,
and
paler
than
the
white
satin
of
her
gown
.
Emma
dreamed
of
her
marriage
day
;
she
saw
herself
at
home
again
amid
the
corn
in
the
little
path
as
they
walked
to
the
church
.
Oh
,
why
had
not
she
,
like
this
woman
,
resisted
,
implored
?
She
,
on
the
contrary
,
had
been
joyous
,
without
seeing
the
abyss
into
which
she
was
throwing
herself
.
Ah
!
if
in
the
freshness
of
her
beauty
,
before
the
soiling
of
marriage
and
the
disillusions
of
adultery
,
she
could
have
anchored
her
life
upon
some
great
,
strong
heart
,
then
virtue
,
tenderness
,
voluptuousness
,
and
duty
blending
,
she
would
never
have
fallen
from
so
high
a
happiness
.
But
that
happiness
,
no
doubt
,
was
a
lie
invented
for
the
despair
of
all
desire
.
She
now
knew
the
smallness
of
the
passions
that
art
exaggerated
.
So
,
striving
to
divert
her
thoughts
,
Emma
determined
now
to
see
in
this
reproduction
of
her
sorrows
only
a
plastic
fantasy
,
well
enough
to
please
the
eye
,
and
she
even
smiled
internally
with
disdainful
pity
when
at
the
back
of
the
stage
under
the
velvet
hangings
a
man
appeared
in
a
black
cloak
.
His
large
Spanish
hat
fell
at
a
gesture
he
made
,
and
immediately
the
instruments
and
the
singers
began
the
sextet
.
Edgar
,
flashing
with
fury
,
dominated
all
the
others
with
his
clearer
voice
;
Ashton
hurled
homicidal
provocations
at
him
in
deep
notes
;
Lucie
uttered
her
shrill
plaint
,
Arthur
at
one
side
,
his
modulated
tones
in
the
middle
register
,
and
the
bass
of
the
minister
pealed
forth
like
an
organ
,
while
the
voices
of
the
women
repeating
his
words
took
them
up
in
chorus
delightfully
.
They
were
all
in
a
row
gesticulating
,
and
anger
,
vengeance
,
jealousy
,
terror
,
and
stupefaction
breathed
forth
at
once
from
their
half-opened
mouths
.
The
outraged
lover
brandished
his
naked
sword
;
his
guipure
ruffle
rose
with
jerks
to
the
movements
of
his
chest
,
and
he
walked
from
right
to
left
with
long
strides
,
clanking
against
the
boards
the
silver-gilt
spurs
of
his
soft
boots
,
widening
out
at
the
ankles
.
He
,
she
thought
must
have
an
inexhaustible
love
to
lavish
it
upon
the
crowd
with
such
effusion
.
All
her
small
fault-findings
faded
before
the
poetry
of
the
part
that
absorbed
her
;
and
,
drawn
towards
this
man
by
the
illusion
of
the
character
,
she
tried
to
imagine
to
herself
his
life
--
that
life
resonant
,
extraordinary
,
splendid
,
and
that
might
have
been
hers
if
fate
had
willed
it
.
They
would
have
known
one
another
,
loved
one
another
.
With
him
,
through
all
the
kingdoms
of
Europe
she
would
have
travelled
from
capital
to
capital
,
sharing
his
fatigues
and
his
pride
,
picking
up
the
flowers
thrown
to
him
,
herself
embroidering
his
costumes
.
Then
each
evening
,
at
the
back
of
a
box
,
behind
the
golden
trellis-work
she
would
have
drunk
in
eagerly
the
expansions
of
this
soul
that
would
have
sung
for
her
alone
;
from
the
stage
,
even
as
he
acted
,
he
would
have
looked
at
her
.
But
the
mad
idea
seized
her
that
he
was
looking
at
her
;
it
was
certain
.
She
longed
to
run
to
his
arms
,
to
take
refuge
in
his
strength
,
as
in
the
incarnation
of
love
itself
,
and
to
say
to
him
,
to
cry
out
,
"
Take
me
away
!
carry
me
with
you
!
let
us
go
!
Thine
,
thine
!
all
my
ardour
and
all
my
dreams
!
"
The
curtain
fell
.
The
smell
of
the
gas
mingled
with
that
of
the
breaths
,
the
waving
of
the
fans
,
made
the
air
more
suffocating
.
Emma
wanted
to
go
out
;
the
crowd
filled
the
corridors
,
and
she
fell
back
in
her
arm-chair
with
palpitations
that
choked
her
.
Charles
,
fearing
that
she
would
faint
,
ran
to
the
refreshment-room
to
get
a
glass
of
barley-water
.
He
had
great
difficulty
in
getting
back
to
his
seat
,
for
his
elbows
were
jerked
at
every
step
because
of
the
glass
he
held
in
his
hands
,
and
he
even
spilt
three-fourths
on
the
shoulders
of
a
Rouen
lady
in
short
sleeves
,
who
feeling
the
cold
liquid
running
down
to
her
loins
,
uttered
cries
like
a
peacock
,
as
if
she
were
being
assassinated
.
Her
husband
,
who
was
a
millowner
,
railed
at
the
clumsy
fellow
,
and
while
she
was
with
her
handkerchief
wiping
up
the
stains
from
her
handsome
cherry-coloured
taffeta
gown
,
he
angrily
muttered
about
indemnity
,
costs
,
reimbursement
.
At
last
Charles
reached
his
wife
,
saying
to
her
,
quite
out
of
breath
--
"
Ma
foi
!
I
thought
I
should
have
had
to
stay
there
.
There
is
such
a
crowd
--
SUCH
a
crowd
!
"
