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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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- Стр. 293/303
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One
of
the
choristers
went
round
the
nave
making
a
collection
,
and
the
coppers
chinked
one
after
the
other
on
the
silver
plate
.
"
Oh
,
make
haste
!
I
am
in
pain
!
"
cried
Bovary
,
angrily
throwing
him
a
five-franc
piece
.
The
churchman
thanked
him
with
a
deep
bow
.
They
sang
,
they
knelt
,
they
stood
up
;
it
was
endless
!
He
remembered
that
once
,
in
the
early
times
,
they
had
been
to
mass
together
,
and
they
had
sat
down
on
the
other
side
,
on
the
right
,
by
the
wall
.
The
bell
began
again
.
There
was
a
great
moving
of
chairs
;
the
bearers
slipped
their
three
staves
under
the
coffin
,
and
everyone
left
the
church
.
Then
Justin
appeared
at
the
door
of
the
shop
.
He
suddenly
went
in
again
,
pale
,
staggering
.
People
were
at
the
windows
to
see
the
procession
pass
.
Charles
at
the
head
walked
erect
.
He
affected
a
brave
air
,
and
saluted
with
a
nod
those
who
,
coming
out
from
the
lanes
or
from
their
doors
,
stood
amidst
the
crowd
.
The
six
men
,
three
on
either
side
,
walked
slowly
,
panting
a
little
.
The
priests
,
the
choristers
,
and
the
two
choirboys
recited
the
De
profundis
,
and
their
voices
echoed
over
the
fields
,
rising
and
falling
with
their
undulations
.
Sometimes
they
disappeared
in
the
windings
of
the
path
;
but
the
great
silver
cross
rose
always
before
the
trees
.
The
women
followed
in
black
cloaks
with
turned-down
hoods
;
each
of
them
carried
in
her
hands
a
large
lighted
candle
,
and
Charles
felt
himself
growing
weaker
at
this
continual
repetition
of
prayers
and
torches
,
beneath
this
oppressive
odour
of
wax
and
of
cassocks
.
A
fresh
breeze
was
blowing
;
the
rye
and
colza
were
sprouting
,
little
dewdrops
trembled
at
the
roadsides
and
on
the
hawthorn
hedges
.
All
sorts
of
joyous
sounds
filled
the
air
;
the
jolting
of
a
cart
rolling
afar
off
in
the
ruts
,
the
crowing
of
a
cock
,
repeated
again
and
again
,
or
the
gambling
of
a
foal
running
away
under
the
apple-trees
:
The
pure
sky
was
fretted
with
rosy
clouds
;
a
bluish
haze
rested
upon
the
cots
covered
with
iris
.
Charles
as
he
passed
recognised
each
courtyard
.
He
remembered
mornings
like
this
,
when
,
after
visiting
some
patient
,
he
came
out
from
one
and
returned
to
her
.
The
black
cloth
bestrewn
with
white
beads
blew
up
from
time
to
time
,
laying
bare
the
coffin
.
The
tired
bearers
walked
more
slowly
,
and
it
advanced
with
constant
jerks
,
like
a
boat
that
pitches
with
every
wave
.
They
reached
the
cemetery
.
The
men
went
right
down
to
a
place
in
the
grass
where
a
grave
was
dug
.
They
ranged
themselves
all
round
;
and
while
the
priest
spoke
,
the
red
soil
thrown
up
at
the
sides
kept
noiselessly
slipping
down
at
the
corners
.
