Complete Works of Gustave Flaubert

by Gustave Flaubert

  "Be off, old woman! Good evening."

  When she had got up, she tore off the gold cross that hung round her neck, and flinging it at him, cried:

  "There, you ruffian!"

  Gorju went off, lashing the leaves of the trees with his switch.

  Madame Castillon ceased weeping. With fallen jaw and tear-dimmed eyes she stood motionless, petrified with despair; no longer a being, but a thing in ruins.

  What he had just chanced upon was for Pécuchet like the discovery of a new world — a world in which there were dazzling splendours, wild blossomings, oceans, tempests, treasures, and abysses of infinite depth. There was something about it that excited terror; but what of that? He dreamed of love, desired to feel it as she felt it, to inspire it as he inspired it.

  However, he execrated Gorju, and could hardly keep from giving information about him at the guard-house.

  Pécuchet was mortified by the slim waist, the regular curls, and the smooth beard of Madame Castillon's lover, as well as by the air of a conquering hero which the fellow assumed, while his own hair was pasted to his skull like a soaked wig, his torso wrapped in a greatcoat resembled a bolster, two of his front teeth were out, and his physiognomy had a harsh expression. He thought that Heaven had dealt unkindly with him, and felt that he was one of the disinherited; moreover, his friend no longer cared for him.

  Bouvard deserted him every evening. Since his wife was dead, there was nothing to prevent him from taking another, who, by this time, might be coddling him up and looking after his house. And now he was getting too old to think of it.

  But Bouvard examined himself in the glass. His cheeks had kept their colour; his hair curled just the same as of yore; not a tooth was loose; and, at the idea that he had still the power to please, he felt a return of youthfulness. Madame Bordin rose in his memory. She had made advances to him, first on the occasion of the burning of the stacks, next at the dinner which they gave, then in the museum at the recital, and lastly, without resenting any want of attention on his part, she had called three Sundays in succession. He paid her a return visit, and repeated it, making up his mind to woo and win her.

  Since the day when Pécuchet had watched the little servant-maid drawing water, he had frequently talked to her, and whether she was sweeping the corridor or spreading out the linen, or taking up the saucepans, he could never grow tired of looking at her — surprised himself at his emotions, as in the days of adolescence. He had fevers and languors on account of her, and he was stung by the picture left in his memory of Madame Castillon straining Gorju to her breast.

  He was about to clasp her in his arms

  He questioned Bouvard as to the way libertines set about seducing women.

  "They make them presents; they bring them to restaurants for supper."

  "Very good. But after that?"

  "Some of them pretend to faint, in order that you may carry them over to a sofa; others let their handkerchiefs fall on the ground. The best of them plainly make an appointment with you." And Bouvard launched forth into descriptions which inflamed Pécuchet's imagination, like engravings of voluptuous scenes.

  "The first rule is not to believe what they say. I have known those who, under the appearance of saints, were regular Messalinas. Above all, you must be bold."

  But boldness cannot be had to order.

  From day to day Pécuchet put off his determination, and besides he was intimidated by the presence of Germaine.

  Hoping that she would ask to have her wages paid, he exacted additional work from her, took notice every time she got tipsy, referred in a loud voice to her want of cleanliness, her quarrelsomeness, and did it all so effectively that she had to go.

  Then Pécuchet was free! With what impatience he waited for Bouvard to go out! What a throbbing of the heart he felt as soon as the door closed!

  Mélie was working at a round table near the window by the light of a candle; from time to time she broke the threads with her teeth, then she half-closed her eyes while adjusting it in the slit of the needle. At first he asked her what kind of men she liked. Was it, for instance, Bouvard's style?

  "Oh, no." She preferred thin men.

  He ventured to ask her if she ever had had any lovers.

  "Never."

  Then, drawing closer to her, he surveyed her piquant nose, her small mouth, her charmingly-rounded figure. He paid her some compliments, and exhorted her to prudence.

  In bending over her he got a glimpse, under her corsage, of her white skin, from which emanated a warm odour that made his cheeks tingle. One evening he touched with his lips the wanton hairs at the back of her neck, and he felt shaken even to the marrow of his bones. Another time he kissed her on the chin, and had to restrain himself from putting his teeth in her flesh, so savoury was it. She returned his kiss. The apartment whirled round; he no longer saw anything.

  He made her a present of a pair of lady's boots, and often treated her to a glass of aniseed cordial.

  To save her trouble he rose early, chopped up the wood, lighted the fire, and was so attentive as to clean Bouvard's shoes.

  Mélie did not faint or let her handkerchief fall, and Pécuchet did not know what to do, his passion increasing through the fear of satisfying it.

  Bouvard was assiduously paying his addresses to Madame Bordin. She used to receive him rather cramped in her gown of shot silk, which creaked like a horse's harness, all the while fingering her long gold chain to keep herself in countenance.

  Their conversations turned on the people of Chavignolles or on "the dear departed," who had been an usher at Livarot.

  Then she inquired about Bouvard's past, curious to know something of his "youthful freaks," the way in which he had fallen heir to his fortune, and the interests by which he was bound to Pécuchet.

  He admired the appearance of her house, and when he came to dinner there was struck by the neatness with which it was served and the excellent fare placed on the table. A succession of dishes of the most savoury description, which intermingled at regular intervals with a bottle of old Pomard, brought them to the dessert, at which they remained a long time sipping their coffee; and, with dilating nostrils, Madame Bordin dipped into her saucer her thick lip, lightly shaded with a black down.

  One day she appeared in a low dress. Her shoulders fascinated Bouvard. As he sat in a little chair before her, he began to pass his hands along her arms. The widow seemed offended. He did not repeat this attention, but he pictured to himself those ample curves, so marvellously smooth and fine.

  Any evening when he felt dissatisfied with Mélie's cooking, it gave him pleasure to enter Madame Bordin's drawing-room. It was there he should have lived.

  The globe of the lamp, covered with a red shade, shed a tranquil light. She was seated close to the fire, and his foot touched the hem of her skirt.

  After a few opening words the conversation flagged.

  However, she kept gazing at him, with half-closed lids, in a languid fashion, but unbending withal.

  Bouvard could not stand it any longer, and, sinking on his knees to the floor, he stammered:

  "I love you! Marry me!"

  Madame Bordin drew a strong breath; then, with an ingenuous air, said he was jesting; no doubt he was trying to have a laugh at her expense — it was not fair. This declaration stunned her.

  Bouvard returned that she did not require anyone's consent. "What's to hinder you? Is it the trousseau? Our linen has the same mark, a B — we'll unite our capital letters!"

  The idea caught her fancy. But a more important matter prevented her from arriving at a decision before the end of the month. And Bouvard groaned.

  She had the politeness to accompany him to the gate, escorted by Marianne, who carried a lantern.

  The two friends kept their love affairs hidden from each other.

  Pécuchet counted on always cloaking his intrigue with the servant-maid. If Bouvard made any opposition to it, he could carry her off to other places, even though it were to Alg
eria, where living is not so dear. But he rarely indulged in such speculations, full as he was of his passion, without thinking of the consequences.

  Bouvard conceived the idea of converting the museum into the bridal chamber, unless Pécuchet objected, in which case he might take up his residence at his wife's house.

  One afternoon in the following week — it was in her garden; the buds were just opening, and between the clouds there were great blue spaces — she stopped to gather some violets, and said as she offered them to him:

  "Salute Madame Bouvard!"

  "What! Is it true?"

  "Perfectly true."

  He was about to clasp her in his arms. She kept him back. "What a man!" Then, growing serious, she warned him that she would shortly be asking him for a favour.

  "'Tis granted."

  They fixed the following Thursday for the formality of signing the marriage contract.

  Nobody should know anything about it up to the last moment.

  "Agreed."

  And off he went, looking up towards the sky, nimble as a roebuck.

  Pécuchet on the morning of the same day said in his own mind that he would die if he did not obtain the favours of his little maid, and he followed her into the cellar, hoping the darkness would give him courage.

  She tried to go away several times, but he detained her in order to count the bottles, to choose laths, or to look into the bottoms of casks — and this occupied a considerable time.

  She stood facing him under the light that penetrated through an air-hole, with her eyes cast down, and the corner of her mouth slightly raised.

  "Do you love me?" said Pécuchet abruptly.

  "Yes, I do love you."

  "Well, then prove it to me."

  And throwing his left arm around her, he embraced her with ardour.

  "You're going to do me some harm."

  "No, my little angel. Don't be afraid."

  "If Monsieur Bouvard — — "

  "I'll tell him nothing. Make your mind easy."

  There was a heap of faggots behind them. She sank upon them, and hid her face under one arm; — and another man would have understood that she was no novice.

  Bouvard arrived soon for dinner.

  The meal passed in silence, each of them being afraid of betraying himself, while Mélie attended them with her usual impassiveness.

  Pécuchet turned away his eyes to avoid hers; and Bouvard, his gaze resting on the walls, pondered meanwhile on his projected improvements.

  Eight days after he came back in a towering rage.

  "The damned traitress!"

  "Who, pray?"

  "Madame Bordin."

  And he related how he had been so infatuated as to offer to make her his wife, but all had come to an end a quarter of an hour since at Marescot's office. She wished to have for her marriage portion the Ecalles meadow, which he could not dispose of, having partly retained it, like the farm, with the money of another person.

  "Exactly," said Pécuchet.

  "I had had the folly to promise her any favour she asked — and this was what she was after! I attribute her obstinacy to this; for if she loved me she would have given way to me."

  The widow, on the contrary, had attacked him in insulting language, and referred disparagingly to his physique, his big paunch.

  "My paunch! Just imagine for a moment!"

  Meanwhile Pécuchet had risen several times, and seemed to be in pain.

  Bouvard asked him what was the matter, and thereupon Pécuchet, having first taken the precaution to shut the door, explained in a hesitating manner that he was affected with a certain disease.

  "What! You?"

  "I — myself."

  "Oh, my poor fellow! And who is the cause of this?"

  Pécuchet became redder than before, and said in a still lower tone:

  "It can be only Mélie."

  Bouvard remained stupefied.

  The first thing to do was to send the young woman away.

  She protested with an air of candour.

  Pécuchet's case was, however, serious; but he was ashamed to consult a physician.

  Bouvard thought of applying to Barberou.

  They gave him particulars about the matter, in order that he might communicate with a doctor who would deal with the case by correspondence.

  Barberou set to work with zeal, believing it was Bouvard's own case, and calling him an old dotard, even though he congratulated him about it.

  "At my age!" said Pécuchet. "Is it not a melancholy thing? But why did she do this?"

  "You pleased her."

  "She ought to have given me warning."

  "Does passion reason?" And Bouvard renewed his complaints about Madame Bordin.

  Often had he surprised her before the Ecalles, in Marescot's company, having a gossip with Germaine. So many manœuvres for a little bit of land!

  "She is avaricious! That's the explanation."

  So they ruminated over their disappointments by the fireside in the breakfast parlour, Pécuchet swallowing his medicines and Bouvard puffing at his pipe; and they began a discussion about women.

  "Strange want! — or is it a want?" "They drive men to crime — to heroism as well as to brutishness." "Hell under a petticoat," "paradise in a kiss," "the turtle's warbling," "the serpent's windings," "the cat's claws," "the sea's treachery," "the moon's changeableness." They repeated all the commonplaces that have been uttered about the sex.

  It was the desire for women that had suspended their friendship. A feeling of remorse took possession of them. "No more women. Is not that so? Let us live without them!" And they embraced each other tenderly.

  There should be a reaction; and Bouvard, when Pécuchet was better, considered that a course of hydropathic treatment would be beneficial.

  Germaine, who had come back since the other servant's departure, carried the bathing-tub each morning into the corridor.

  The two worthies, naked as savages, poured over themselves big buckets of water; they then rushed back to their rooms. They were seen through the garden fence, and people were scandalised.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  New Diversions.

  Satisfied with their regimen, they desired to improve their constitutions by gymnastics; and taking up the Manual of Amoros, they went through its atlas. All those young lads squatting, lying back, standing, bending their legs, lifting weights, riding on beams, climbing ladders, cutting capers on trapezes — such a display of strength and agility excited their envy.

  However, they were saddened by the splendour of the gymnasium described in the preface; for they would never be able to get a vestibule for the equipages, a hippodrome for the races, a sweep of water for the swimming, or a "mountain of glory" — an artificial hillock over one hundred feet in height.

  A wooden vaulting-horse with the stuffing would have been expensive: they abandoned the idea. The linden tree, thrown down in the garden, might have been used as a horizontal pole; and, when they were skilful enough to go over it from one end to the other, in order to have a vertical one, they set up a beam of counter-espaliers. Pécuchet clambered to the top; Bouvard slipped off, always fell back, finally gave it up.

  The "orthosomatic sticks" pleased him better; that is to say, two broomsticks bound by two cords, the first of which passes under the armpits, and the second over the wrists; and for hours he would remain in this apparatus, with his chin raised, his chest extended, and his elbows close to his sides.

  For want of dumbbells, the wheelwright turned out four pieces of ash resembling sugar-loaves with necks of bottles at the ends. These should be carried to the right and to the left, to the front and to the back; but being too heavy they fell out of their hands, at the risk of bruising their legs. No matter! They set their hearts on Persian clubs, and even fearing lest they might break, they rubbed them every evening with wax and a piece of cloth.

  Then they looked out for ditches. When they found one suitable for their purpose, they rested a long
pole in the centre, sprang forward on the left foot, reached the opposite side, and then repeated the performance. The country being flat, they could be seen at a distance; and the villagers asked one another what were these extraordinary things skipping towards the horizon.

  When autumn arrived they went in for chamber gymnastics, which completely bored them. Why had they not the indoor apparatus or post-armchair invented in Louis XIV.'s time by the Abbé of St. Pierre? How was it made? Where could they get the information?

  Dumouchel did not deign to answer their letter on the subject.

  Then they erected in the bakehouse a brachial weighing-machine. Over two pulleys attached to the ceiling a rope was passed, holding a crossbeam at each end. As soon as they had caught hold of it one pushed against the ground with his toes, while the other lowered his arms to a level with the floor; the first by his weight would draw towards him the second, who, slackening his rope a little, would ascend in his turn. In less than five minutes their limbs were dripping with perspiration.

  In order to follow the prescriptions of the Manual, they tried to make themselves ambidextrous, even to the extent of depriving themselves for a time of the use of their right hands. They did more: Amoros points out certain snatches of verse which ought to be sung during the manœuvres, and Bouvard and Pécuchet, as they proceeded, kept repeating the hymn No. 9: "A king, a just king is a blessing on earth."

  When they beat their breast-bones: "Friends, the crown and the glory," etc.

  At the various steps of the race:

  "Let us catch the beast that cowers! Soon the swift stag shall be ours! Yes! the race shall soon be won, Come, run! come, run! come, run!"

  And, panting more than hounds, they cheered each other on with the sounds of their voices.

  One side of gymnastics excited their enthusiasm — its employment as a means of saving life. But they would have required children in order to learn how to carry them in sacks, and they begged the schoolmaster to furnish them with some. Petit objected that their families would be annoyed at it. They fell back on the succour of the wounded. One pretended to have swooned: the other rolled him away in a wheelbarrow with the utmost precaution.