Madame Bovary - Page 211/262

Yet there was upon that brow covered with cold drops, on those quivering

lips, in those wild eyes, in the strain of those arms, something vague

and dreary that seemed to Leon to glide between them subtly as if to

separate them.

He did not dare to question her; but, seeing her so skilled, she must

have passed, he thought, through every experience of suffering and of

pleasure. What had once charmed now frightened him a little. Besides, he

rebelled against his absorption, daily more marked, by her personality.

He begrudged Emma this constant victory. He even strove not to love her;

then, when he heard the creaking of her boots, he turned coward, like

drunkards at the sight of strong drinks.

She did not fail, in truth, to lavish all sorts of attentions upon him,

from the delicacies of food to the coquettries of dress and languishing

looks. She brought roses to her breast from Yonville, which she threw

into his face; was anxious about his health, gave him advice as to his

conduct; and, in order the more surely to keep her hold on him, hoping

perhaps that heaven would take her part, she tied a medal of the

Virgin round his neck. She inquired like a virtuous mother about his

companions. She said to him-"Don't see them; don't go out; think only of ourselves; love me!"

She would have liked to be able to watch over his life; and the idea

occurred to her of having him followed in the streets. Near the hotel

there was always a kind of loafer who accosted travellers, and who would

not refuse. But her pride revolted at this.

"Bah! so much the worse. Let him deceive me! What does it matter to me?

As If I cared for him!"

One day, when they had parted early and she was returning alone along

the boulevard, she saw the walls of her convent; then she sat down on a

form in the shade of the elm-trees. How calm that time had been! How she

longed for the ineffable sentiments of love that she had tried to figure

to herself out of books! The first month of her marriage, her rides in

the wood, the viscount that waltzed, and Lagardy singing, all repassed

before her eyes. And Leon suddenly appeared to her as far off as the

others.

"Yet I love him," she said to herself.

No matter! She was not happy--she never had been. Whence came this

insufficiency in life--this instantaneous turning to decay of everything

on which she leant? But if there were somewhere a being strong and

beautiful, a valiant nature, full at once of exaltation and refinement,

a poet's heart in an angel's form, a lyre with sounding chords ringing

out elegiac epithalamia to heaven, why, perchance, should she not find

him? Ah! how impossible! Besides, nothing was worth the trouble of

seeking it; everything was a lie. Every smile hid a yawn of boredom,

every joy a curse, all pleasure satiety, and the sweetest kisses left

upon your lips only the unattainable desire for a greater delight.