madame bovary(包法利夫人)-第42部分

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〃That's　what　I　call　a　cock…fight。　I　beat　him；　did　you　see；　in　a
way！Now　take　my　advice。　Take　madame　to　the　theatre；　if　it　were
only　for　once　in　your　life；　to　enrage　one　of　these　ravens；　hang
it！　If　anyone　could　take　my　place；　I　would　accompany　you　myself。
Be　quick　about　it。　Lagardy　is　only　going　to　give　one　performance；
he's　engaged　to　go　to　England　at　a　high　salary。　From　what　I　hear；
he's　a　regular　dog；　he's　rolling　in　money；　he's　taking　three
mistresses　and　a　cook　along　with　him。　All　these　great　artists
burn　the　candle　at　both　ends；　they　require　a　dissolute　life；　that
suits　the　imagination　to　some　extent。　But　they　die　at　the
hospital；　because　they　haven't　the　sense　when　young　to　lay　by。
Well；　a　pleasant　dinner！　Goodbye　till　to…morrow。〃
The　idea　of　the　theatre　quickly　germinated　in　Bovary's　head；　for
he　at　once　communicated　it　to　his　wife；　who　at　first　refused；
alleging　the　fatigue；　the　worry；　the　expense；　but；　for　a　wonder；
Charles　did　not　give　in；　so　sure　was　he　that　this　recreation
would　be　good　for　her。　He　saw　nothing　to　prevent　it：　his　mother
had　sent　them　three　hundred　francs　which　he　had　no　longer
expected；　the　current　debts　were　not　very　large；　and　the　falling
in　of　Lheureux's　bills　was　still　so　far　off　that　there　was　no
need　to　think　about　them。　Besides；　imagining　that　she　was
refusing　from　delicacy；　he　insisted　the　more；　so　that　by　dint　of
worrying　her　she　at　last　made　up　her　mind；　and　the　next　day　at
eight　o'clock　they　set　out　in　the　〃Hirondelle。〃
The　druggist；　whom　nothing　whatever　kept　at　Yonville；　but　who
thought　himself　bound　not　to　budge　from　it；　sighed　as　he　saw　them
go。
〃Well；　a　pleasant　journey！〃　he　said　to　them；　〃happy　mortals　that
you　are！〃
Then　addressing　himself　to　Emma；　who　was　wearing　a　blue　silk　gown
with　four　flounces
〃You　are　as　lovely　as　a　Venus。　You'll　cut　a　figure　at　Rouen。〃
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　travellersa　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。
Chapter　Fifteen
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。　Then　her　remembrance　of　the　novel
helping　her　to　understand　the　libretto；　she　followed　the　story
phrase　by　phrase；　while　vague　thoughts　that　came　back　to　her
dispersed　at　once　again　with　the　bursts　of　music。　She　gave
herself　up　to　the　lullaby　of　the　melodies；　and　felt　all　her　being
vibrate　as　if　the　violin　bows　were　drawn　over　her　nerves。　She　had
not　eyes　enough　to　look　at　the　costumes；　the　scenery；　the　actors；
the　painted　trees　that　shook　when　anyone　walked；　and　the　velvet
caps；　cloaks；　swordsall　those　imaginary　things　that　floated
amid　the　harmony　as　in　the　atmosphere　of　another　world。　But　a
young　woman　stepped　forward；　throwing　a　purse　to　a　squire　in
green。　She　was　left　alone；　and　the　flute　was　heard　like　the
murmur　of　a　fountain　or　the　warbling　of　birds。　Lucie　attacked　her
cavatina　in　G　major　bravely。　She　plained　of　love；　she　longed　for
wings。　Emma；　too；　fleeing　from　life；　would　have　liked　to　fly　away
in　an　embrace。　Suddenly　Edgar…Lagardy　appeared。
He　had　that　splendid　pallor　that　gives　something　of　the　majesty
of　marble　to　the　ardent　races　of　the　South。　His　vigorous　form　was
tightly　clad　in　a　brown…coloured　doublet；　a　small　chiselled
poniard　hung　against　his　left　thigh；　and　he　cast　round　laughing
looks　showing　his　white　teeth。　They　said　that　a　Polish　princess
having　heard　him　sing　one　night　on　the　beach　at　Biarritz；　where
he　mended　boats；　had　fallen　in　love　with　him。　She　had　ruined
herself　for　him。　He　had　deserted　her　for　other　women；　and　this
sentimental　celebrity　did　not　fail　to　enhance　his　artistic
reputation。　The　diplomatic　mummer　took　care　always　to　slip　into
his　advertisements　some　poetic　phrase　on　the　fascination　of　his
person　and　the　susceptibility　of　his　soul。　A　fine　organ；
imperturbable　coolness；　more　temperament　than　intelligence；　more
power　of　emphasis　than　of　real　singing；　made　up　the　charm　of　this
admirable　charlatan　nature；　in　which　there　was　something　of　the
hairdresser　and　the　toreador。
》From　the　first　scene　he　evoked　enthusiasm。　He　pressed　Lucy　in　his
arms；　he　left　her；　he　came　back；　he　seemed　desperate；　he　had
outbursts　of　rage；　then　elegiac　gurglings　of　infinite　sweetness；
and　the　notes　escaped　from　his　bare　neck　full　of　sobs　and　kisses。
Emma　leant　forward　to　see　him；　clutching　the　velvet　of　the　box
with　her　nails。　She　was　filling　her　heart　with　these　melodious
lamentations　that　were　drawn　out　to　the　accompaniment　of　the
double…basses；　like　the　cries　of　the　drowning　in　the　tumult　of　a
tempest。　She　recognised　all　the　intoxication　and　the　anguish　that
had　almost　killed　her。　The　voice　of　a　prima　donna　seemed　to　her
to　be　but　echoes　of　her　conscience；　and　this　illusion　that
charmed　her　as　some　very　thing　of　her　own　life。　But　no　one　on
earth　had　loved　her　with　such　love。　He　had　not　wept　like　Edgar
that　last　moonlit　night　when　they　said；　〃To…morrow！　to…morrow！〃
The　theatre　rang　with　cheers；　they　recommenced　the　entire
movement；　the　lovers　spoke　of　the　flowers　on　their　tomb；　of　vows；
exile；　fate；　hopes；　and　when　they　uttered　the　final　adieu；　Emma
gave　a　sharp　cry　that　mingled　with　the　vibrations　of　the　last
chords。
〃But　why；〃　asked　Bovary；　〃does　that　gentleman　persecute　her？〃
〃No；　no！〃　she　answered；　〃he　is　her　lover！〃
〃Yet　he　vows　vengeance　on　her　family；　while　the　other　one　who
came　on　before　said；　'I　love　Lucie　and　she　loves　me！'　Besides；　he
went　off　with　her　father　arm　in　arm。　For　he　certainly　is　her
father；　isn't　hethe　ugly　little　man　with　a　cock's　feather　in
his　hat？〃
Despite　Emma's　explanations；　as　soon　as　the　recitative　duet　began
in　which　Gilbert　lays　bare　his　abominable　machinations　to　his
master　Ashton；　Charles；　seeing　the　false　troth…ring　that　is　to
deceive　Lucie；　thought　it　was　a　love…gift　sent　by　Edgar。　He
confessed；　moreover；　that　he　did　not　understand　the　story　because
of　the　music；　which　interfered　very　much　with　the　words。
〃What　does　it　matter？〃　said　Emma。　〃Do　be　quiet！〃
〃Yes；　but　you　know；〃　he　went　on；　l