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The Works

OF

GU STAVE
FLAUBERT

One Volume Edition




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Copyright, 1904, by

M. WALTER DUNNE

EDtered at Sutionera' Hall. Loadoo



UK'VERSilYl
LiBRAr^Y
lUN 11 7974



^ c^\j nw'OL f' ''



Printed in the United States of America



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CONTENTS



VOLUME I

MADAME BOVARY

Part I



I. THE NEW BOY

II. A GOOD PATIENT

11. A LONELY WIDOWER

rv. CONSOLATION

V. THE NEW MENAGE

VI. A maiden's YEARNINGS

VII. DISILLUSION

■'III. GLIMPSES OF THE WORLD

IX. IDLE DREAMS



Part II



I. A NEW FIELD

II. NEW FRIENDS

III. ADDED CARES

IV. SILENT HOMAGE

V. SMOTHERED FLAMES

VI. SPIRITUAL COUNSEL

VII. A woman's WHIMS

VIII. A VILLAGE FESTIVAL

IX. A WOODLAND IDYLL



1

7

12
16
19
?.l
25
29
35

42
4-9
53
60
63
68
76
82
96



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CONTENTS



X. lovers' vows

XI. AN EXPERIMENT AND A FAILURE

XII. PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT

XIII. DESERTED

XIV. RELIGIOUS FERVOR
XV. A NEW DELIGHT



102
108
116

125
131
138



VOLUME II

MADAME BOVARY

Part III

I. SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT

II. A POWER OF ATTORNEY

III. ANOTHER HONEYMOON

IV. LOVE WILL FIND A WAY
V. THE PURSUIT OF ART

VI. A lovers' quarrel

VII. THE BLOW FALLS

VIII. DESPERATION AND DEATH

IX. WOUNDED LOVE

X. THE END OF ALL

XI. SOUVENIRS OF SORROW



145

154
160
161
163
174
184
192
203
209
212



THE TRIAL

THE PUBLIC VS. M. GUSTAVE FLAUBERT

SPEECH OF THE PROSECUTING ATTORNEY M. ERNEST
PINARD

PLEA FOR THE DEFENSE BY M. SENARD



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219

219
235



CONTENTS

VOLUME III

THE DANCE OF DEATH

THE LEGEND OF SAINT JULIAN THE

HOSPITALLER



CHAPTER




PACK


1.


THE CURSE




287


II.


THE CRIME




294-


III.


THE REPARATION

A SIMPLE SOUL




301


I.


FELICITE




306


II.


THE HEROINE




307


JII.


DEATH




313


IV.


THE BIRD




321


V.


THE VISION

HERODIAS




327


I.


THE PALACE




329


II.


THE VOICE




336


III.


THE BANQUET

VOLUME IV




345




THE TEMPTATION OF SAINT ANTONY




I.


A HOLY SAINT




35S


II.


THE TEMPTATION OF LOVE AND POWER




362


III.


THE DISCIPLE, HILARION




374-


IV.


THE FIERY TRIAL




378


V.


ALL GODS, ALL RELIGIONS




403


VI.


THE MYSTERY OF SPACE




425


VII.


THE CHIMERA AND THE SPHINX


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428
le



CONTENTS



VOLUME V
SALAMMBO



CHAPTER

I. THE FEAST



II. AT SICCA

III. SALAMMBO

IV. BENEATH THE WALLS OF CARTHAGE
V. TANITH

VI. HANNO

VII. HAMILCAR BARCA

VIII. THE BATTLE OF THE MACARAS

IX. IN THE FIELD



PAGE

439

450
464
469
480
490
503
527
539



VOLUME VI
SALAMMBO



X. THE SERPENT

XI. IN THE TENT

XII. THE AQUEDUCT

XIII. MOLOCH

XIV. THE PASS OF THE HATCHET
XV. MATHO



551

559
571
584
607
631



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MADAME BOVARY



PART I

CHAPTER I
THE NEW BOY



We were in class when -die head-
master came in, followed by a "new
fellow," not wearing the school mii-
form, and a school servant carrying a
large desk. Those who had been asleep
woke up, and every one rose as if just
surprised at his work.

The head-master made a sign to us to
sit down. Then, turning to the class-
master, he said to him in a low voice:

"Monsieur Roger, here is a pupil
whom I recommend to your care; he'll
be in the second. If his work and con-
duct are satisfactory, he will go into
one of the upper classes, as becomes
his age."

The "new fellow," standing in the
comer behind the door so that he could
hardly be seen, was a country lad of
about fifteen, and taller than any of
us. His hair was cut square on his fore-
head like a village chorister's; he looked
reliable, but very ill at ease. Although
he was not broad-shouldered, his short
school jacket of green cloth with black
buttons must have been tight about
the armholes, and showed at the open-
ing of the cuffs red wrists accustomed
to being bare. His legs, in blue stock-
ings, looked out from beneath yellow
trousers, drawn tight by braces. He
wore stout, ill-cleaned, hob-nailed boots.



We began repeating the lesson. He
listened with all his ears, as attentive
as if at a sermon, not daring even to
cross his legs or lean on his elbow; and
when at two o'clock the bell rang, the
master was obliged to tell him to fall
into line with the rest of us.

When we came back to work, we
were in the habit of throwing our caps
on the floor so as to have our hands
more free; we used from the door to
toss them under the form, so that they
hit against the wall and made a lot of
dust: it was "the thing."

But, whether he had not noticed the
trick, or did not dare to attempt it,
the "new fellow" was still holding his
cap on his knees even after prayers were
over. It was one of those head-gears
of composite order, in which we can
find traces of the bearskin, shako, billy-
cock hat, sealskin cap, and cotton night-
cap; one of those poor things, in fine,
whose dumb ugliness has depths of ex-
pression, like an imbecile's face. Oval,
stiffened with whalebone, it began with
three round knobs; then came in suc-
cession lozenges of velvet and rabbit-
skin separated by a red band; after that
a sort of bag that ended in a cardboard
polygon covered with complicated braid-
ing, from which hung, at the end of a



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WORKS OF GUSTAVE FLAUBERT



long, thin cord, small twisted gold
threads in the manner of a tassel. The
cap was new; its peak shone.

"Rise," said the master.

He stood up; his cap fell. The whole
class began to laugh. He stooped to
pick it up. A neighbor knocked it down
again with his elbow; he picked it up
once more.

"Get rid of your helmet," said the
master, who was a bit of a wag.

There was a burst of laughter from
the boys, which so thoroughly put the
poor lad out of countenance that he did
not know whether to keep his cap in
his hand, leave it on the floor, or put
it on his head. He sat down again and
placed it on his knee.

"Rise," repeated the master, "and
tell me your name."

The new boy articulated in a stam-
mering voice an unintelligible name.

"Again!"

The same sputtering of syllables was
heard, drowned by the tittering of the
class.

"Louder!" cried the master;
^louder!"

The "new fellow" then took a su-
preme resolution, opened an inordinately
large mouth, and shouted at the top of
his voice as if calling some one the
v;Drd, "Charbovari."

A hubbub broke out, rose in cres-
cendo with bursts of shrill voices (they
yelled, barked, stamped, repeated
"Charbovari! Charbovari!"), then died
away into single notes, growing quieter
only with great difi&culty, and now and
again suddenly recommencing along the
line of a form whence rose here and
there, like a damp cracker going off, a
stifled laugh.

However, amid a rain of impositions,



order was gradually re-established in
the class; and the master having suc-
ceeded in catching the name of
"Charles Bovary," having had it dic-
tated to him, spelt out, and re-read, at
once ordered the poor devil to go and
sit down on the punishment form at
the foot of the master's desk. He got
up, but before going hesitated.

"What are you looking for?" asked
the master.

"My c-a-p," timidly said the "new
fellow," casting troubled looks round
him.

"Five hundred verses for all the
class!"' shouted in a furious voice,
stopped, like the Quos ego, a fresh out-
burst. "Silence!" continued the master
indignantly, wiping his brow with his
handkerchief, which he had just taken
from his cap. "As to you, 'new boy,'
you will conjugate 'ridiculus sum'
twenty times." Then, in a gentler tone.
"Come, you'll find your cap again; it
hasn't been stolen."

Quiet was restored. Heads bent over
desks, and the "new fellow" remained
for two hours in an exemplary attitude,
although from time to time some paper
pellet flipped from the tip of a pen
came bang in his face. But he wiped his
face with one hand and continued mo-
tionless, his eyes lowered.

In the evening, at preparation, he
pulled out his pens from his desk, ar-
ranged his small belongings, and care-
fully ruled his paper. We saw him work-
ing conscientiously, looking out every
word in the dictionary, and taking the
greatest pains. Thanks, no doubt, to the
willingness he showed, he had not to go
down to the class below. But though he
knew his rules passably, he had little
finish in composition. It was the curf?



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MADAME BOVARY



of his village who had taught him his
first Latin; his parents, from motives of
economy, having sent him to school as
late as possible.

His father, Monsieur Charles Denis
Bartolome Bovary, retired assistant-
surgeon-major, compromised about 1812
in certain conscription scandals, and
forced at that time to leave the serv-
ice, had then taken advantage of his
fine figure to get hold of a dowry of
sixty thousand francs that offered in the
person of a hosier's daughter who had
fallen in love with his good looks. A
fine man, a great talker, making his
spurs ring as he walked, wearing whis-
kers that ran into his moustache, his
fingers always garnished with rings, and
dressed in loud colors, he had the dash
of a military man with the easy air
of a commercial traveller. Once mar-
ried, he lived for three or four years
on his wife's fortune, dining well, rising
late, smoking long porcelain pipes, not
coming in at night till after the theater,
and haunting cafes. The father-in-law
died, leaving little; he was indignant at
this, "went in for the business," lost
some money in it, then retired to the
country, where he thought he would
make money. But, as he knew no more
about farming than calico, as he rode
his horses instead of sending them to
plough, drank his cider in bottle instead
of selling it in cask, ate the finest poul-
try in. his farm-yard, and greased his
hunting-boots with the fat of his pigs,
he was not long in finding out that he
would do better to give up all specu-
lation.

For two hundred francs a year he
managed to live on the border of the
provinces of Caux and Picardy, in a
kind of place half farm, half private



house; and here, soured, eaten up with
regrets, cursing his luck, jealous of every
one, he shut himself up at the age of
forty-five, sick of men, he said, and
determined to live in peace.

His wife had adored him once on a
time; she had bored him with a thou-
sand servilities that had only estranged
him the more. Lively once, e]q>ansive
and affectionate, in growing older she
had become (after the fashion of wine
that, exposed to air, turns to vinegar)
ill-tempered, grumbling, irritable. She
had suffered so much without omiplaint
at first, when she had seen him going
after all the village drabs, and wben a
score of bad houses sent him back to
her at night, weary, stinking drunk. Then
her pride revolted. After that she was
silent, burying her anger in a dumb
stoicism that she maintained till her
death. She was constantly going about
looking after business matters. She
called on the lawyers, the president, re-
membered when bills fdl iaSy. got them
renewed, and at home, ironed, sewed,
washed, looked after the workmen, paid
the accounts, while he, trouMing him-
self about nothing, eternally besotted m
sleepy sulkiness, whence he only roused
himself to say disagreeable things to
her, sat smoking by the fire and spitting
into the cinders.

When she had a child, ft had to be
sent out to nurse. When he came home,
the lad was spoiled as if he were a
prince. His mother stuffed Mm with
jam ; his father let him run about bare-
foot, and, playing the philosopher, even
said he might as weD go about quite
naked like the young of animals. As
opposed to the maternal ideas, he had
a certain virile idea of childhood on
which he sought to mould his son, wiaili*



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WORKS OF GUSTAVE FLAUBERT



ing him to be brought up hardily, like a
Spartan, to give him a strong constitu-
tion. He sent him to bed without any
fire, taught him to drink off large
draughts of rum, and to jeer at religious
processions. But, peaceable by nature,
the lad answered only poorly to his no-
tions. His mother always kept him near
her; she cut out cardboard for him, told
him tales, entertained him with endless
monologues full of melancholy gaiety
and charming nonsense. In her life's iso-
lation she centered on the child's head
all her shattered, broken little vanities.
She dreamed of high station; she al-
ready saw him, tall, handsome, clever,
settled as an engineer or in the law.
She taught him to read, and even on an
old piano she had taught him two or
three little songs. But to all this Mon-
sieur Bovary, caring little for letters,
said: "It is not worth while. Shall we
ever have the means to send him to a
public school, to buy him a practice, or
to start him in business? Besides, with
cheek a. man always gets on in the
world." Madame Bovary bit her lips,
and the child knocked about the village.

He went after the laborers, drove
away with clods of earth the ravens
that were flying about. He ate black-
berries along the hedges, minded the
geese with a long switch, went haymak-
ing during harvest, ran about in the
woods, played hop-scotch imder the
church porch on rainy days, and at great
f^tes begged the beadle to let him toll
the bells, that he might hang all his
weight on the long rope and feel him-
self borne upward by it in its swing.
Meanwhile he grew like an oak; he
was strong of hand, fresh of color.

When he was twelve years old his
mother had her own way; he began



his lessons. The cur£ took him in hand;
but the lessons were so short and ir-
regular that they could not be of much
use. They were given at spare moments
in the sacristy, standing up, hurriedly,
between a baptism and a burial; or
else the cur6, if he had not to go out,
sent for his pupil after the Angelas.
They went up to his room and settled
down; the flies and moths fluttered
round the candle. It was close, the child
fell asleep and the good man, beginning
to doze with his hands on his stomach,
was soon snoring with his mouth wide
open. On other occasions, when Mon-
sieur le Cur6, on his way back after
administering the viaticum to some sick
person in the neighborhood, caught
sight of Charles playing about the fields,
he called him, lectured him for a quar-
ter of an hour, and took advantage of
the occasion to make him conjugate
his verb at the foot of a tree. The rain
interrupted them or an acquaintance
passed. All the same he was always
pleased with him, and even said the
"young man" had a very good memory.

Charles could not go on like this.
Madame Bovary took strong steps.
Ashamed, or rather tired out. Monsieur
Bovary gave in without a struggle, and
they waited one year longer, so that the
lad should take his first communion.

Six months more passed, and the year
after Charles was finally sent to school
at Rouen, whither his father took him
towards the end of October, at the time
of the St. Romain fair.

It would now be impossible for any
of us to remember anything about him.
He was a youth of even temperament,
who played in playtime, worked in
school-hours, was attentive in class,
slept well in the dormitory, and ate well



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MADAME BOVARY



in the refectory. He had in loco parentis
a wholesale ironmonger in the Rue Gan-
terie, who took him out once a month
on Sundays after his shop was shut,
sent him for a walk on the quay to
look at the boats, and then brought him
back to college at seven o'clock before
supper. Every Thursday evening he
wrote a long letter to his mother with
red ink and three wafers; then he went
over his history note^books, or read an
old volume of "Anarchasis" that was
knocking about the study. When we
went for walks he talked to the servant
who, like himself, came from the coun-
try.

By dint of hard work he kept always
about the middle of the class; once
even he got a certificate in natural his-
tory. But at the end of his third year
his parents withdrew him from the
school to make him study medicine, con-
vinced that he could even take his de-
gree by himself.

His mother chose a room for him
on the fourth floor of a dyer's she
knew, overlooking the Eau-de-Robec.
She made arrangements for his board,
got him furniture, a table and two
chairs, sent home for an old cherry-
tree bedstead, and bought besides a
small cast-iron stove with the supply of
wood that was to warm the poor child.
Then at the end of a week she departed,
after a thousand injunctions to be good,
now that he was going to be left to
himself.

The syllabus that he read on the
notice-board stunned him: lectures on
anatomy, lectures on pathology, lectures
on physiology, lectures on pharmacy,
lectures on botany and clinical medi-
cine, and therapeutics, without counting
hygiene and materia medica — ^all names



of whose etymologies he was ignorant,
and that were to him as so many doors
to sanctuaries filled with magnificent
darkness.

He imderstood nothing of it all; it
was all very well to listen — ^he did not
follow. Still he worked; he had boimd
note-books, he attended all the courses,
never missed a single lecture. He did
his little daily task like a mill-horse,
who goes round and round with his eyes
bandaged, not knowing what work he is
doing.

To spare him expense his mother sent
him every week by the carrier a piece of
veal baked in the oven, on which he
lunched when he came back from the
hospital, while he sat kicking his feet
against the wall. After this he had to
run off to lectures, to the operation-
room, to the hospital, and return to his
home at the other end of the town. In
the evening, after the poor dinner of
his landlord, he went back to his room
and set to work again in his wet clothes,
that smoked as he sat in front of the
hot stove.

On the fine summer evenings, at the
time when the close streets are empty,
when the servants are playing shuttle-
cock at the doors, he opened his window
and leaned out. The river, that makes
of this quarter of Rouen a wretched
little Venice, flowed beneath him, be-
tween the bridges and the railings, yel-
low, violet, or blue. Working men, kneel-
ing on the banks, washed their bare
arms in the water. On poles projecting
from the attics, skeins of cotton were
drying in the air. Opposite, beyond the
roofs, spread the pure heaven with the
red sun setting. How pleasant it must
be at home! How fresh under the beech-
tree! And he expanded his nostrils to



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breathe in the sweet odors of the coun-
try which did not reach him.

He grew thin, his figure became taller,
his face took a saddened look that made
it almost interesting. Naturally, through
indifference, he abandoned all the reso-
lutions he had made. Once he missed
a lecture; the next day all the lectures;
and, enjoying his idleness, little by little
he gave up work altogether. He got into
the habit of going to the public-house,
and had a passion for dominoes. To shut
himself up every evening in the dirty
public room, to push about on marble
tables the small sheep-bones with black
dots, seemed to him a fine proof of his
freedom, which raised him in his own
esteem. It was beginning to see life, the
sweetness of stolen pleasures ; and when
he entered, he put his hand on the door-
handle with a joy almost sensual. Then
many things hidden within him come
out; he learnt couplets by heart and
sang them to his boon companions, be-
came enthusiastic about Beranger, learnt
how to make punch, and, finally, how to
make love.

Thanks to these preparatory labors,
he failed completely in his examination
for an ordinary degree. He was expected
home the same night to celebrate his
success. He started on foot, stopped at
the beginning of the village, sent for his
mother, and told her all. She excused
him, threw the blame of his failure on
the injustice of the examiners, encour-
aged him a little, and took upon herself
to set matters straight. It was only five
years later that Monsieur Bovary knew
the truth; it was old then, and he ac-
cepted it. Moreover, he could not be-
lieve that a man bom of him could be
a fool.

So Charles set to work again and



crammed for his examination, ceaseless-
ly learning all the old questions by
heart. He passed pretty well. What a
happy day for his mother! They gave
a grand dinner.

Where should he go to practice? To
Tostes, where there was only one old
doctor. For a long time Madame Bo-
vary had been on the look-out for his
death, and the old fellow had barely
been packed off when Charles was in-
stalled, opposite his place, as his suc-
cessor.

But it was not everything to have
brought up a son, to have had him
taught medicine, and discovered Tostes,
where he could practise it; he must have
a wife. She foimd him one — ^the widow
of a bailiff at Dieppe, who was forty-
five and had an income of twelve hun-
dred francs. Though she was ugly, as
dry as a bone, her face with as many
pimples as the spring has buds, Madame
Dubuc had no lack of suitors. To attain
her ends Madame* Bovary had to oust
them all, and she even succeeded in
very cleverly baffling the intrigues of
a pork-butcher backed up by the
priests.

Charles had seen in marriage the ad-
vent of an easier life, thinking he would
be more free to do as he liked with



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