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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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- Стр. 20/303
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She
thought
,
sometimes
,
that
,
after
all
,
this
was
the
happiest
time
of
her
life
--
the
honeymoon
,
as
people
called
it
.
To
taste
the
full
sweetness
of
it
,
it
would
have
been
necessary
doubtless
to
fly
to
those
lands
with
sonorous
names
where
the
days
after
marriage
are
full
of
laziness
most
suave
.
In
post
chaises
behind
blue
silken
curtains
to
ride
slowly
up
steep
road
,
listening
to
the
song
of
the
postilion
re-echoed
by
the
mountains
,
along
with
the
bells
of
goats
and
the
muffled
sound
of
a
waterfall
;
at
sunset
on
the
shores
of
gulfs
to
breathe
in
the
perfume
of
lemon
trees
;
then
in
the
evening
on
the
villa-terraces
above
,
hand
in
hand
to
look
at
the
stars
,
making
plans
for
the
future
.
It
seemed
to
her
that
certain
places
on
earth
must
bring
happiness
,
as
a
plant
peculiar
to
the
soil
,
and
that
can
not
thrive
elsewhere
.
Why
could
not
she
lean
over
balconies
in
Swiss
chalets
,
or
enshrine
her
melancholy
in
a
Scotch
cottage
,
with
a
husband
dressed
in
a
black
velvet
coat
with
long
tails
,
and
thin
shoes
,
a
pointed
hat
and
frills
?
Perhaps
she
would
have
liked
to
confide
all
these
things
to
someone
.
But
how
tell
an
undefinable
uneasiness
,
variable
as
the
clouds
,
unstable
as
the
winds
?
Words
failed
her
--
the
opportunity
,
the
courage
.
If
Charles
had
but
wished
it
,
if
he
had
guessed
it
,
if
his
look
had
but
once
met
her
thought
,
it
seemed
to
her
that
a
sudden
plenty
would
have
gone
out
from
her
heart
,
as
the
fruit
falls
from
a
tree
when
shaken
by
a
hand
.
But
as
the
intimacy
of
their
life
became
deeper
,
the
greater
became
the
gulf
that
separated
her
from
him
.
Charles
's
conversation
was
commonplace
as
a
street
pavement
,
and
everyone
's
ideas
trooped
through
it
in
their
everyday
garb
,
without
exciting
emotion
,
laughter
,
or
thought
.
He
had
never
had
the
curiosity
,
he
said
,
while
he
lived
at
Rouen
,
to
go
to
the
theatre
to
see
the
actors
from
Paris
.
He
could
neither
swim
,
nor
fence
,
nor
shoot
,
and
one
day
he
could
not
explain
some
term
of
horsemanship
to
her
that
she
had
come
across
in
a
novel
.
A
man
,
on
the
contrary
,
should
he
not
know
everything
,
excel
in
manifold
activities
,
initiate
you
into
the
energies
of
passion
,
the
refinements
of
life
,
all
mysteries
?
But
this
one
taught
nothing
,
knew
nothing
,
wished
nothing
.
He
thought
her
happy
;
and
she
resented
this
easy
calm
,
this
serene
heaviness
,
the
very
happiness
she
gave
him
.
Sometimes
she
would
draw
;
and
it
was
great
amusement
to
Charles
to
stand
there
bolt
upright
and
watch
her
bend
over
her
cardboard
,
with
eyes
half-closed
the
better
to
see
her
work
,
or
rolling
,
between
her
fingers
,
little
bread-pellets
.
As
to
the
piano
,
the
more
quickly
her
fingers
glided
over
it
the
more
he
wondered
.
She
struck
the
notes
with
aplomb
,
and
ran
from
top
to
bottom
of
the
keyboard
without
a
break
.
Thus
shaken
up
,
the
old
instrument
,
whose
strings
buzzed
,
could
be
heard
at
the
other
end
of
the
village
when
the
window
was
open
,
and
often
the
bailiff
's
clerk
,
passing
along
the
highroad
bare-headed
and
in
list
slippers
,
stopped
to
listen
,
his
sheet
of
paper
in
his
hand
.
Emma
,
on
the
other
hand
,
knew
how
to
look
after
her
house
.
She
sent
the
patients
'
accounts
in
well-phrased
letters
that
had
no
suggestion
of
a
bill
.
When
they
had
a
neighbour
to
dinner
on
Sundays
,
she
managed
to
have
some
tasty
dish
--
piled
up
pyramids
of
greengages
on
vine
leaves
,
served
up
preserves
turned
out
into
plates
--
and
even
spoke
of
buying
finger-glasses
for
dessert
.
From
all
this
much
consideration
was
extended
to
Bovary
.
Charles
finished
by
rising
in
his
own
esteem
for
possessing
such
a
wife
.
He
showed
with
pride
in
the
sitting
room
two
small
pencil
sketched
by
her
that
he
had
had
framed
in
very
large
frames
,
and
hung
up
against
the
wallpaper
by
long
green
cords
.
People
returning
from
mass
saw
him
at
his
door
in
his
wool-work
slippers
.
He
came
home
late
--
at
ten
o'clock
,
at
midnight
sometimes
.
Then
he
asked
for
something
to
eat
,
and
as
the
servant
had
gone
to
bed
,
Emma
waited
on
him
.
He
took
off
his
coat
to
dine
more
at
his
ease
.
He
told
her
,
one
after
the
other
,
the
people
he
had
met
,
the
villages
where
he
had
been
,
the
prescriptions
ha
had
written
,
and
,
well
pleased
with
himself
,
he
finished
the
remainder
of
the
boiled
beef
and
onions
,
picked
pieces
off
the
cheese
,
munched
an
apple
,
emptied
his
water-bottle
,
and
then
went
to
bed
,
and
lay
on
his
back
and
snored
.
As
he
had
been
for
a
time
accustomed
to
wear
nightcaps
,
his
handkerchief
would
not
keep
down
over
his
ears
,
so
that
his
hair
in
the
morning
was
all
tumbled
pell-mell
about
his
face
and
whitened
with
the
feathers
of
the
pillow
,
whose
strings
came
untied
during
the
night
.
