The Agricultural Show; Monsieur Homais expounds; Emma and Rodolphe again; Duty and passion; The Counsellor's speech; Emma's memories; The prizegiving; The feast and the fireworks; Homais, reporter.

WELL, it came at last, the famous Agricultural Show. On the morning of the great day the inhabitants were all out on their doorsteps discussing the arrangements.

The front of the Town Hall had been festooned with ivy. In a field, a marquee had been put up for the luncheon, and in the middle of the Square, opposite the church, a maroon was to signal the arrival of the Prefect and salute the names of the successful competitors. The Buchy contingent of the National Guard (there was none at Yonville) had come over to join forces with the Fire Brigade, of which Binet was captain. On this occasion he was wearing an even higher collar than usual, and, imprisoned in his tunic as in a strait-jacket, his upper part was so rigid and motionless that the whole of his vital energy seemed to have descended into his two legs, which rose and fell in rhythmic cadence, with the precision of clockwork. There was much rivalry between the tax-collector and the Colonel, and to bring out the respective merits of their men, each of them manoeuvred his troop separately. Red epaulettes and black shoulder-straps passed and repassed alternately. It was never ending. You thought they had done at last when, lo and behold, they began all over again. Never before had there been such a display of pomp. Many of the townspeople had washed the outside of their houses overnight. Tricolour flags hung out through the half-open windows, and all the inns were packed to overflowing. In the glare of the dazzling sunlight, the starched caps, the gold crosses and coloured kerchiefs gleamed brighter than snow, and relieved, with their ever-shifting splashes of motley colour, the darker monotony of coats and smocks. As they dismounted from their horses, the farmers' wives took out the big pins with which they had gathered up the skirts of their dresses to keep them from getting dirty. Their husbands, however, to save their hats, kept their pocket-handkerchiefs around them, holding one corner between their teeth.

The crowd poured into the High Street from both ends of the village. They came surging in out of lanes and byways and houses, and every now and again a door-knocker would bang as a woman in cotton gloves hurried out to see the sights, and slammed the door behind her.

But what excited the greatest admiration were two tall poles covered with tiny lanterns, flanking a dais on which the big-wigs were to sit. But besides this, against each of the four columns of the Town Hall, were four masts, as they might be called, each bearing a little shield of green canvas embellished with legends in gold lettering. One was inscribed 'To Commerce', another 'To Agriculture', a third 'To Industry', and the fourth 'To the Fine Arts'.

But the jubilation that brightened all countenances seemed to cast a shadow of gloom over the visage of Madame Lefrancois, the landlady of the 'Lion d'Or'.

She stood glowering on her doorstep and muttering under her breath.

'What dunderheads!' she growled. 'What a parcel of dolts, with their dreary old canvas shed! Do they think the Prefect'll want to go and have his dinner in there, under a tent, like any mountebank? That's the sort of bunkum they call "pushing local interests". What did they want to go and get a man from Neufchatel to do the catering for then, if they think so much about local interests? And who's going to feed off the stuff, I should like to know? A parcel of farm louts and ragamuffins without any shoes to their feet

The apothecary passed by. He was wearing a black coat, nankeen trousers, beaver shoes and, as if wonders would never cease, a hat- a low-crowned hat!

'Your servant,' said he. 'Excuse me if I hurry along.'

And as the fat widow betrayed a desire to know where he was bound for, he added,

'It seems funny to you to see me out and about, doesn't it, seeing I'm always shut up in my laboratory like the old fellow's rat in his bit of cheese?'

'What cheese?' asked the landlady.

'Oh, nothing, nothing at all! I merely wanted to convey in a manner of speaking that I am more or less always boxed up at home. But today- well, today's an exception. One's bound-'

'Oh, you're going along there?' she said, in a contemptuous tone.

'Yes, of course I'm going. Don't you know I'm on the advisory committee?'

Mere Lefrancois surveyed him in silence for a few moments, and then said, with a smile,

'Oh, I see! But what's agriculture got to do with you? Do you know anything about it?'

'Certainly I do, because I am a pharmacist- that is to say, a chemist- and chemistry, Madame Lefrancois, being concerned with the reciprocal and molecular action of every natural body, it follows that agriculture is included in its domain, and, indeed, the composition of manures, the fermentation of liquids, the analysis of gases and the influence of miasmata- what, I put it to you, is all this, but chemistry pure and simple?'

The landlady made no answer, and Homais went on,

'Do you imagine that in order to know anything about agriculture a man must have tilled the soil and fattened poultry himself? Much more important is it to know about the composition of the substances involved, the various geological strata, atmospheric action, properties of soils, mineral waters, density and capillarity of the various bodies, and so on and so forth. And one should possess a thorough knowledge of the principles of hygiene, so as to direct and criticize the erection of buildings, the proper food for live stock and domestic servants. Furthermore, Madame Lefrancois, one must be acquainted with botany- one must be able to distinguish the various plants and to differentiate those which are wholesome from those which are harmful, the innutritious from the nutritive; to be able to say whether they should be taken up here and replanted there; to propagate some, to destroy others. In short, you've got to keep yourself up to date by reading pamphlets and public newspapers, and being always on the look-out for improvements.'

During the whole of this harangue, the landlady had been keeping her eyes fixed on the Cafe Francais.

'Would to heaven,' the chemist went on, 'that our farmers knew something about chemistry, or at all events that they would pay more attention to the teachings of Science. Now I myself recently wrote a pamphlet, a monograph more than seventy-two pages in length, entitled "Cider, its Manufacture and Effects; to which are added some entirely new observations on the subject". I sent it to the Agricultural Society at Rouen, and as a result I was elected a member of that body, section Agriculture, sub-section Pomology. Well, now, if my work had been given to the public-'

But the apothecary stopped, so thoroughly preoccupied did Madame Lefrancois seem with other matters.

'Just look at 'em over there. I can't understand it for the life of me. Did you see ever such a shanty?'

And with many shruggings of her shoulders, that stretched the stitches of her knitted blouse all awry, she pointed with both hands to her rival's tavern, whence there issued a great hubbub of people shouting and singing.

'Anyhow, it won't be for much longer,' she added. 'One more week'll see the end of it.'

Homais recoiled in amazement. She came down her three steps.

'What!' she said, speaking into his ear, 'didn't you know? They're going to take the lot this week. It's Lheureux that's having 'em sold up, lock, stock and barrel. He's sunk 'em with bills.'

'What an appalling catastrophe!' exclaimed the apothecary, who always had a supply of expressions appropriate to every imaginable situation.

The landlady began to tell him the whole story, which she herself had got from Theodore, Monsieur Guillaumin's servant, and, though she loathed Tellier, she blamed Lheureux, saying he was a sharper and a dirty dog.

'Look!' she exclaimed, there he is- over there, in the market. Look! he's bowing to Madame Bovary. Do look! She's got a green hat on. D'ye see her? She's leaning on Monsieur Boulanger's arm.'

'Madame Bovary!' exclaimed Homais. 'Oh, I must go over and say how d'ye do to her! She might like to have a seat in the enclosure, under the peristyle.'

And paying no further heed to Madame Lefrancois, who was trying to finish her story, the chemist made off with a smile on his lips, at a dashing stride, bowing right and left as he passed, taking up a great deal of space with the long tails of his black coat that floated out behind him in the wind.

Rodolphe saw him coming a long way off, and quickened his pace; but, Madame Bovary getting out of breath, he slowed up.

'I wanted to give the great man the slip; you know, the chemist fellow' he said to her with a laugh.

Emma gave him a nudge.

'What's she mean by that?' he wondered. And he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, as he continued to walk beside her.

Her features were calm, they betrayed nothing. The light was full on them, framed in the oval of her little bonnet with its pale green strings, like the leaves of rushes. Her eyes, with their long, curved lashes, were looking straight in front of her, and although they were wide open they seemed slightly obscured by her cheeks, rosy with the blood that was pulsating gently beneath her delicate skin, while the faintest pink suffused the division of her nostrils. Her head was a little on one side, and her slightly parted lips disclosed the pearly tips of her white teeth.

'She can't be fooling me!' thought Rodolphe.

As a matter of fact, Emma had only meant to tell him to mind what he was saying. Monsieur Lheureux was walking alongside them, and every now and again he would interject a remark as if he wanted to join in the conversation, such as,

'What a magnificent day it is!' 'Everybody's out of doors.' 'It's an east wind.'

Neither Madame Bovary nor Rodolphe gave him any encouragement, yet whenever he thought he saw the slightest opening he would sidle up with a 'Beg pardon?' and put his hand to his hat.

When they reached the blacksmith's house, Rodolphe, instead of going right on to the enclosure, suddenly turned down a side-path, dragging Emma with him.

'Good evening, Monsieur Lheureux,' he called out. 'See you later.'

'You did that very neatly!' said Emma, laughing.

'Why get mixed up with that crowd? And today of all days, when I have the luck to be with you-'

Emma blushed. He did not finish his sentence. Then he remarked on the fine weather, and said how nice it was to walk on the grass. A few moon daisies had sprung up.

'Here,' he said, 'are oracles enough for all the lovesick damsels in the place. Suppose I picked one of these. What do you think?'

'Are you in love?' she said, with a little cough.

'Ah! That's the question,' answered Rodolphe.

The ground began to fill up, and the goodwives kept jostling you with their big umbrellas, their baskets and their babies. You constantly had to be getting out of the way of strings of country wenches- servant-girls, who were wearing blue stockings, flat shoes and silver rings, and smelt of milk when you got close up to them. They came along hand in hand, spreading out over the whole length of the field, from the row of aspens right up to the marquee. But the judging was now going on, and the farmers, lined up one after another, were all crowding into a kind of arena fenced off by a long rope hung up on stakes.

There were the beasts, their noses towards the rope, their rumps all shapes and sizes, in a long, irregular line. Somnolent pigs were nuzzling their snouts into the soil; calves were bellowing; sheep bleating. The cows reclined with their udders flopping on the grass, meditatively chewing the cud, blinking their heavy eyelids as the midges buzzed about them. Brawny, bare-armed carters were holding on to restive stallions that neighed and snorted with all their might in the direction of the mares. The latter stood quite still, stretching forth their necks and drooping manes, while their foals rested in their shadow or came up now and again to suck. And over the long, undulating surface of all this mass of bodies, a white mane blown by the wind would catch the eye, flashing like the crest of a wave, or a pair of horns, or the heads of men hurrying to and fro. Remote from the rest, outside the judging ground, about fifty yards off, was a big black bull, muzzled, with an iron ring through his nose. He stood as motionless as if he had been carved in bronze. A ragged little urchin was holding him by a rope.

Meanwhile the judges were advancing down the centre with ponderous steps, examining each animal, then holding a muttered conversation among themselves. One, who appeared to be of greater consideration than the others, kept jotting things down in a note-book. He was the chairman of the judging committee, Monsieur Derozerays de la Panville. As soon as he recognized Rodolphe he stepped briskly forward and said, with a pleasant smile,

'What, Monsieur Boulanger, leaving us in the lurch?'

Rodolphe protested that he was just coming.

'By Jove, not me!' he exclaimed when the chairman had gone on. 'Your company's better than his by a long chalk!'

Though he hadn't a good word for shows, Rodolphe, the better to see round this one, produced his blue card, and now and again pulled up in front of some fine specimen or other which, for all its 'points', left Madame Bovary cold. He noticed that, so he began laughing at the Yonville ladies and their dresses and made excuses for his own unconventional attire. It was composed of that mixture of the workaday and the elegant which the vulgar interpret as indicating that the wearer is a man apart, that he has been crossed in love or possesses the artistic temperament and therefore exhibits that contempt for convention which is as repellent to some as it is attractive to others. Thus his cambric shirt with elaborately pleated cuffs was all blown about by the wind in the opening of his grey ticking waistcoat, and his broad striped trousers, pulled up above the ankles, displayed a pair of nankeen boots with patent-leather welts, and the patent leather was so shiny you could see the grass in it; but he didn't mind kicking about horse dung with these fine boots of his, as he strolled along with one hand in his jacket pocket and his straw hat stuck on the side of his head.

'Besides,' he said, 'when you live in the country-'

'What's the good of anything?'

'Quite so,' answered Rodolphe. 'Not one of these worthies here knows when a coat is well cut and when it isn't.'

Then they remarked how humdrum things were in the country; how many lives were stunted there; how many dreams came to naught.

'And that,' said Rodolphe, 'is how it is I get the blues so.'

'You!' she broke in with amazement. 'Why, I thought you were ever so light-hearted!'

'Ah, yes, to all appearances I am. One has to wear a mask before the world. And yet how often, when I have looked on a cemetery by moonlight, have I not asked myself whether I shouldn't be better off lying there asleep with the rest of them.'

'But what about your friends? You don't think of them.'

'My friends? What friends? What friends have I got? Who cares twopence about me?'

And he almost seemed to hiss these last words through his teeth, viciously.

But now they had to let go of each other because of an enormous erection of chairs that a man was bringing along behind them. It was such a tremendous pile he was carrying that you could only see the points of his sabots and the extremities of his two arms stretched out as wide apart as they would go. The man was Lestiboudois, the sexton, who was carting round the church chairs among the crowd. With an unerring eye to the main chance, he had hit on this means of making a bit for himself out of the show; and the idea was a success, for he didn't know which customer to serve first. The villagers were hot and tired, and there was a run on these chairs, with their rush bottoms all smelling of incense and their backs grimy with candle grease. They rested upon them with something like religious veneration.

Madame Bovary again took Rodolphe's arm. He went on, as if talking to himself.

'Yes, I've missed such a lot of things! Always alone. If only I'd had an aim in life! If only I'd come across someone to love! Good heavens, how I would have put in every ounce of energy I'd got in me! There's nothing I wouldn't have overcome, nothing I wouldn't have smashed my way through.'

'And yet,' said Emma, 'it doesn't seem to me that you've got much to grumble at.'

'Ah! you think so?' said Rodolphe.

'Well, anyhow... you're free.'

She hesitated.

'And rich.'

'Don't laugh at me,' he answered.

She was just protesting that she was not laughing at him when the report of a gun was heard. Forthwith everyone started to rush off towards the village.

It was a false alarm. The Prefect was not in sight. The members of the judging committee were in a considerable quandary, not knowing whether to open the proceedings or to wait a little longer.

At last, at the far end of the Square, a big hired landau hove in sight, drawn by a pair of skinny horses. The coachman, in a white hat, was lashing them, first one and then the other. Binet only just had time to shout 'To arms!' and the Colonel to follow suit. There was a rush for the pile of muskets. They made a wild dash for it. One or two forgot their collars. But the official equipage seemed to divine this little hitch, and the two hacks, with their cruppers against the backing chain, trotted slowly up to the front of the Town Hall just as the National Guard and the Fire Brigade came along with drums beating, marching in step.

'Mark time!' roared Binet.

'Halt!' thundered the Colonel. 'Left turn!'

After presenting arms, when the clicking of the musket slides made a noise like a copper kettle tumbling downstairs, arms were grounded again!

At this point a gentleman attired in a short coat with silver braid was observed to step out of the carriage. Bald in front, he had a tuft of hair at the back of his head. His complexion was sallow and his expression exceedingly benign. His eyes were very big, with heavy lids. He had got them half closed, taking stock of the crowd. At the same time he raised his sharp-pointed nose and made a smile play on his sunken mouth. He recognized the Mayor by his scarf, and explained to him that Monsieur le Prefet had been unavoidably prevented from coming. He himself was one of the official staff, and he added a few apologies. Tuvache gushed as much as he could, the official said he was quite overcome. And there they stood, face to face, their foreheads nearly touching, with the members of the Committee all gathered round, the Town Council, the big-wigs, the National Guard and then the general public. The Government representative, holding his cocked hat to his breast, reiterated his greetings, while Tuvache, bent like a bow, smiled, stammered, fumbled about for the right word, Madame Bovary protested his loyalty to the monarchy and expatiated on the honour conferred upon Yonville.

Hippolyte, the lad from the inn, came to take the horses and, limping away with them with his club foot, led them into the courtyard of the 'Lion d'Or', where a crowd of folk had collected to view the carriage. The drums beat, the gunner thundered his salute and the 'authorities' one after another climbed up on to the dais and took their seats on the red Utrecht-velvet chairs lent for the occasion by Madame Tuvache.

All these people looked alike. Their fair, podgy faces, slightly tanned by the sun, were of the colour of cider, and their bushy whiskers fluffed out from tall, stiff collars supported by white cravats with broad bows. All the waistcoats were of velvet and double-breasted. Every watch bore at the end of a long riband some sort of oval carnelian seal, and every one rested his two hands on his two thighs, carefully stretching the fork of his trousers, the unsponged cloth of which shone more brightly than the leather of his heavy boots.

The ladies of the association were stationed at the back, among the pillars, while the general public faced them, standing up or seated on chairs. Lestiboudois, in fact, had brought there all the chairs he had shifted out of the field, and he kept running back to the church to fetch more, causing such confusion by his activities that the way to the steps leading up to the dais was exceedingly difficult to negotiate.

'In my opinion,' said Monsieur Lheureux (addressing the apothecary, who was passing along to get to his seat), 'they ought to have put up a couple of Venetian masts with some austere but rich material for a decoration. It would have had a charming effect.'

'Of course it would,' said Homais. 'But there you are, you see! The Mayor would do the whole thing off his own bat. He hasn't got much taste, poor old Tuvache. In fact, he's utterly devoid of what is called the artistic sense.'

Meantime Rodolphe, accompanied by Madame Bovary, had gone up on to the first floor of the Town Hall into the Council Chamber, and, as it was empty, he said it would be the very place from which to get a comfortable view of the proceedings. He fetched three of the stools that stood round the oval table underneath the royal bust, and bringing them close up to the window, they sat down side by side.

There was a certain amount of fussing about on the platform, a lot of whispering and preliminary discussion. At last the Counsellor rose. It had got round by this time that he was called Lieuvain, and his name was passed along the crowd, from one end to the other. When he had arranged a few papers and run his eye over them to adjust his vision he began,

'Gentlemen,

'May I first of all be permitted (before proceeding to deal with the matter that brings us together today, and I am sure my views will be shared by all of you)- may I be permitted, I say, to pay a tribute to the higher authorities, to the Government, to the monarch, to our well-beloved and sovereign lord the King, to whom no branch of public or private welfare is indifferent, and who directs with a sure and steady hand the chariot of State amid the ceaseless perils of a stormy sea, and who can make men respect Peace no less than War, Industry, Commerce, Agriculture and the Fine Arts?'

'I'd better get a bit farther back,' said Rodolphe.

'Why?' asked Emma.

At that moment the voice of the speaker rose to an extraordinary pitch of eloquence.

'Those times have passed, Gentlemen, when our public places were red with the blood of strife, when the landowner, the trader, aye, even the working man, composing himself for a night of peaceful slumber, trembled lest he should suddenly be awakened by the clanging of the tocsin, times when the most subversive of doctrines were openly directed at destroying the foundations-'

'You see, they might spot me from down below,' continued Rodolphe. 'I should be explaining matters for a good fortnight, and with the sort of reputation I've got-'

'Oh, you're making yourself out worse than you are,' said Emma.

'No, no; it's horrible, I tell you!'

'But, Gentlemen,' continued the orator, 'what if I banish these horrible pictures from my recollection and bring my gaze to bear on the present state of our beautiful country? What do I see? The Arts and Commerce flourish triumphantly on every side. Everywhere new lines of communication, like new arteries in the body politic, facilitate new connexions. In our great manufacturing centres work is once more in full swing; religion, now placed on a firmer basis, gladdens all our hearts; our harbours are thronged with shipping; confidence is being restored, and, behold, France breathes again.'

'And yet,' added Rodolphe, 'from the world's point of view, they may be right.'

'How do you mean?' she asked.

'Why!' said he, 'don't you know that there are some people who are always in a turmoil; people who must be dreaming or doing, turn and turn about, people in whom the loftiest of passions are followed by frenzied self-indulgence, who fling themselves into the wildest extravagances.'

Whereupon she gazed at him as one gazes on a traveller who has journeyed through strange and far-off lands.

'We women, poor souls! haven't even that distraction,' she said.

'A melancholy distraction, for you don't get any happiness out of it.'

'But does one ever find happiness?'

'Yes, some day or other,' he replied.

'And that is what you have realized,' said the speaker. 'You agriculturists, you who labour on the soil, you peaceful pioneers in a great enterprise of civilization, you men of progress and steadfast probity- you have come to know that political upheavals are even more redoubtable than atmospheric disturbances-'

'Yes,' said Rodolphe, 'you fall in with it some day. It comes all of a sudden, when you have given up hope. Then the heavens seem to open and it is as though you heard a voice crying, "Behold it has come!" You feel somehow that you must give up your whole life to that one person, give up everything, sacrifice everything. You don't try to reason; you just go to each other, instinctively. You've seen one another in your dreams' (here he looked at Emma). 'And there in front of you is the long-sought treasure; it shines, it sparkles before your eyes. Nevertheless, you are still in doubt, you dare not believe it; you are dazzled, as if you had just stepped out of the darkness into the light.'

And as he said this, Rodolphe had recourse to gesture. He passed his hand over his face like a man seized with dizziness, then he let it fall on Emma's, who took hers away. But still the orator read on,

'And who, Gentlemen, would be astonished thereat? Only he who was so blind, so steeped in the prejudices of another age, as to misinterpret the spirit of our agricultural classes. Where, indeed, shall we seek for a livelier spirit of patriotism than in our country districts, where shall we hope to find a completer devotion to the common weal, where, in a word, shall we seek for a more enlightened intelligence than in the country? And when I speak of intelligence, Gentlemen, I am not alluding to that superficial veneer, the empty adornment of an indolent dilettantism, but of that intelligence, at once balanced and profound, whose paramount aim it is to apply its energies to useful ends, thus contributing to the welfare of each, to the general amelioration of the people as a whole, and to the maintenance of the State, the fruit of respect for the law and of the punctual performance of our duty.'

'Ah, there he goes again!' said Rodolphe. '"Duty, duty"- always gassing about duty! I'm sick to death of the word! A parcel of old women, a lot of psalm-droning old duffers- that's what they are; for ever going about prating of "Duty, duty!" And what is duty, when all's said and done, but to appreciate what is great, to cherish what is beautiful and not to bow down to every little social convention, with all the humiliations they involve?'

'Yes, but- but-' said Madame Bovary hesitatingly. 'Don't you think-?'

'No! Why inveigh against the passions? Are they not the one beautiful thing there is on earth, the source of all heroism, enthusiasm, poetry, music, art, everything?'

'Yes, but one must observe the laws of society more or less, and obey its moral code.'

'Ah! but there are two codes,' he replied. 'The lesser one, the conventional, the man-made code, which is always chopping and changing, making a great noise and fuss just like that band of nincompoops you see over there. But the other, the eternal, is all around us and above, like the countryside that encompasses us and the blue heavens that give us light.'

Monsieur Lieuvain, having wiped his mouth with his pocket-handkerchief, began anew.

'And what need have I, Gentlemen, to demonstrate to you, of all people, the beneficent uses of agriculture? Who is it that supplies our needs; who provides us with sustenance? Who but the farmer? The farmer, Gentlemen, who, sowing with laborious hand the fertile furrows of the country, brings forth the corn, which, being ground, is made into powder by means of ingenious machinery, issues therefrom under the name of flour, and from there transported to our cities is promptly delivered at the baker's, who makes it into food for rich and poor. Again, is it not the farmer who fattens for our raiment his numerous flocks in the pasturelands? For how should we provide ourselves with clothes and sustenance without the farmer? And, Gentlemen, need we go so far afield for our examples? Who has not oftentimes reflected on all the momentous things that come to us from that homely creature, the ornament of our poultry yards, that provides us at once with soft pillows for our beds, with succulent flesh for the table, as well as with eggs? But I should never end were I to enumerate one after another all the different products which the earth, duly cultivated, lavishes like a generous mother upon her children. Here it is the vine, here the apple-tree for cider, there colza, yonder cheeses and flax. Gentlemen, let us not forget flax, which has made such great strides of late years and to which I would especially invite your attention.'

He had no need to invite it, for all the mouths of the multitude were gaping wide, as if to drink in his words. Tuvache, by his side, listened to him with staring eyes. Monsieur Derozerays from time to time softly closed his eyelids, and a little farther on, the chemist, with his son Napoleon between his knees, put his hand behind his ear in order not to lose a syllable. The chins of the other members of the jury moved slowly up and down over their waistcoats in sign of approbation. The firemen, at the foot of the platform, rested on their bayonets, and Binet, motionless, stood with out-turned elbows, the point of his sabre in the air. Perhaps he could hear, but certainly he could not see, because of the peak of his helmet that came right down on to his nose. His lieutenant, the younger son of Monsieur Tuvache, had an even bigger one, for his was enormous and wobbled on his head, and from it peeped out a corner of his cotton handkerchief. He smiled beneath it with perfectly cherubic sweetness, and his little pale face, all running with sweat, wore a beatified expression of blissful sleepiness.

The Square, right back to the houses, was crowded with people. You could see people leaning on their elbows at every window, others standing at their doors, and Justin, outside the chemist's shop-front, seemed quite plunged in amazement at the spectacle. In spite of the silence, Monsieur Lieuvain's voice was lost in the air. It reached you in fragmentary phrases, interrupted here and there by the scraping of chairs in the crowd; then you suddenly heard the long bellowing of an ox just behind you, or the bleating of the lambs, answering one another at the street corners. In fact the cowherds and shepherds had driven their beasts thus far, and from time to time they began lowing and bleating, while with their tongues they tore down some scrap of foliage that hung about their mouths.

Rodolphe had drawn nearer to Emma, and said to her in a low voice, speaking rapidly,

'Does not this conspiracy of Society revolt you? Is there a single sentiment it does not condemn? The noblest instincts, the purest sympathies are persecuted, slandered, and if at length two ill-starred souls do meet, all is so organized that they cannot unite. Yet they will make the attempt, they will flutter their wings, they will call upon each other. Oh, no matter! Sooner or later- in six months, ten years- they will come together, they will love; for Fate has decreed it and they are born one for the other.'

His arms were folded across his knees, and thus, lifting his face towards Emma, close by her, he gazed fixedly at her. She noticed in his eyes small golden lines radiating from his black pupils, she even smelt the perfume of the pomade that made his hair glossy. Then a feeling of languor came over her; she recalled the Vicomte who had waltzed with her at la Vaubyessard, and his beard exhaled, like this hair, an odour of lemon and vanilla, and mechanically she half closed her eyes the better to breathe it in. But in making this movement, as she leant back in her chair, she saw in the distance, right on the line of the horizon, the old diligence the 'Hirondelle', that was slowly descending the hill of Leux, dragging after it a long plume of dust. It was in this yellow carriage that Leon had so often come back to her, and by that road yonder that he had gone for ever. She fancied she saw him opposite at his window; then all grew confused: clouds passed before her, it seemed to her that she was again turning in the waltz beneath the light of the lustres on the arm of the Vicomte, and that Leon was not far away, that he was coming; and yet all this time she was conscious of the scent of Rodolphe's head by her side. This sweetness of sensation pierced through her old desires, and these, like grains of sand caught in a gust of wind, eddied to and fro in the subtle breath of the perfume which invaded her soul. She opened wide her nostrils several times to drink in the freshness of the ivy that entwined the pillars. She took off her gloves, she wiped her hands, then fanned her face with her handkerchief, while athwart the throbbing of her temples she heard the murmur of the crowd and the voice of the Counsellor intoning his phrases.

'Continue, persevere,' he said; 'listen neither to the suggestion of routine nor to the over-hasty counsels of a rash empiricism. Apply yourselves, above all, to the amelioration of the soil, to good manures, to the development of the equine, bovine, ovine and porcine races. Let these shows be to you pacific arenas where the victor, in departing, will hold forth a hand to the vanquished and will fraternize with him in the hope of better success. And you, venerable servitors, lowly domestics, to whose patient toil no Government has hitherto afforded recognition, come and receive the guerdon of your silent merit, and be convinced that from this time forth your country will not lose sight of you, that she will encourage and protect you, that she will satisfy your just demands and alleviate, so far as in her lies, the burden of your painful sacrifices.'

At this point Monsieur Lieuvain sat down. Monsieur Derozerays rose, and began another harangue. His was perhaps somewhat less ornate than the Counsellor's, but it had the advantage of being more to the point, more specialized, and it struck a loftier note. For example, there were fewer eulogistic references to the Government; but more attention was bestowed on religion and agriculture. The bond between them was made clear, and the manner in which they had always contributed to the progress of civilization. Rodolphe and Madame Bovary were discussing dreams, presentiments, magnetism. Going back to the very beginning when society was in its infancy, the speaker described those rude ages when mankind subsisted on acorns in the depths of the forest. He passed on to the time when, ceasing to cover their nakedness with the skins of wild animals, they attired themselves in cloth, ploughed the furrow and planted the vine. Was this a benefit to the race, or did not the drawbacks of the discovery outweigh its advantages? From magnetism Rodolphe had gradually passed on to the subject of affinities, and while the chairman was touching upon Cincinnatus and his plough, Diocletian planting his cabbages, and the Emperors of China hallowing the coming year by the sowing of seed, the young man was telling the young woman that these irresistible attractions derived their cause from some previous state of existence.

'Take ourselves, for example,' he went on, 'how did we get to know each other? What chance brought it about? Doubtless across the sundering tract between us, like two rivers whose waters are fated to meet ere they reach the sea, our destiny impelled us one towards the other.'

He seized her hand. She did not withdraw it.

'For the best all-round crops in the show!' shouted the Chairman.

'For example, just now, when I came to your house-'

'Monsieur Bizet of Quincampoix.'

'Did I know that I should be with you here?'

'Seventy francs!'

'Scores of times I made up my mind to go away, and I sought you- I stayed.'

'Manure!'

'Even as I shall remain tonight, tomorrow, day after day, all my life long.'

'To Monsieur Caron, of Argueil, a gold medal.'

'For I have never fallen in with anyone so completely charming.'

'To Monsieur Bain, of Givry-Saint-Martin!'

'So I shall ever bear with me the memory of you.'

'For a merino ram.'

'But you will forget all about me; I shall just have passed like a shadow.'

'To Monsieur Belot, of Notre-Dame-'

'But no, it's not so, is it? I shall be a little in your thoughts, in your life sometimes, shan't I?'

'Best pig in the show! Prize divided between Messieurs Leherisse and Cullembourg, sixty francs each!'

Rodolphe pressed her hand, and felt it all warm and fluttering, like a captive dove eager to resume its flight; but whether it was that she tried to release it or whether she was responding to the pressure, she made a movement with her fingers.

'Oh, thanks, thanks!' he cried. 'You do not repel me. How sweet you are! You know that I am yours. Ah, suffer me but to see you, to gaze upon you!'

A gust of wind came in through the windows and rumpled the table-cloth, and down below in the Square the wings of the peasant women's bonnets flapped up and down, fluttering like white butterflies on the wing.

'Oil cake!' continued the President. He began to quicken the pace.

'Flemish manure- cultivation of hemp- drainage, long tenancies- domestic service.'

Rodolphe was not talking now. They sat and looked at each other. Their lips were dry and tremulous with desire. Softly yielding, making no further effort to resist, their fingers intertwined.

'Catherine Nicaise Elisabeth Leroux of Sassetot-la-Guerriere, for fifty-four years' service on the same farm, a silver medal, value twenty-five francs.'

'Catherine Leroux, where is Catherine Leroux?' called out the official again. She did not appear; and a great deal of whispering went on.

'Up you go!'

'No.'

'To the left!'

'Don't be afraid.'

'How stupid she is!'

'Come, now, is she here or is she not?' cried Tuvache.

'Yes- there she is, over there!'

'Well, then, tell her to come up.'

All eyes were bent on the platform and a little old woman who seemed to be shrivelling up in her poverty-stricken clothes was seen making her way towards it. On her feet she wore a pair of big wooden clogs, and a blue apron tied about her waist. Her wizened face, encased in a rimless bonnet, had more wrinkles on it than a withered apple, and from the sleeves of her red bodice extended a pair of long, knotted hands. The dust of the barns, the soda of the wash-tub, and the grease of the fleeces had so encrusted, chapped and hardened them that though they had been well rinsed in clean water, they still looked dirty. Because she had worked so long and so hard, they remained half-open, as though of themselves to bear humble witness to all the hardships they had undergone. A touch of hieratic rigidity in her features lent a sort of grandeur to her expression. The look of that pale countenance was softened by no shade of melancholy or emotion. All her life she had been used to animals, and she had grown as placid and as mute as they. It was the first time in her life she had found herself in the midst of such a crowd, and inwardly scared at the flags, the drums, the black-coated gentlemen and the official's cross of honour, she stood stock still, not knowing whether to advance or run away, or why the people kept shoving her forward, and why the judges were beaming at her. So there she stood, facing these complacent gentry, this demi-century of servitude.

'Approach, venerable Catherine Nicaise Elisabeth Leroux,' said the official, who had taken the list of prize-winners from the chairman.

And looking alternately at the paper and at the aged grandam, he said, in a fatherly sort of way,

'Come along, then, come along!'

'Are you deaf?' said Tuvache, nearly leaping out of his chair; and he started shouting in her ear,

'Fifty-four years in the same service. A silver medal! Twenty-five francs! It's for you!'

When she had got her medal, she looked at it long and carefully, and then a smile of beatitude overspread her features, and as she turned to depart, she was heard to mutter,

'I shall give it to our 'cure' down home, so as he can say some masses for me.'

'What fanaticism!' exclaimed the chemist, leaning across to the notary.

The proceedings were over, the crowd broke up, and now that the speechmaking was done, everyone resumed his station in life and things once more became normal: masters bullied their servants, and the servants belaboured the animals, indolent conquerors that lounged unhurriedly back to their stalls with a green crown between their horns.

Meanwhile the National Guards had gone upstairs to the first floor of the Town Hall with buns impaled on their bayonets, and the battalion drummer, who was carrying a basketful of bottles.

Madame Bovary took Rodolphe's arm, and he saw her back to her house. They said good-bye at her front door, after which he went and strolled about in the meadow, waiting till it was time for the banquet.

The feast was long, noisy and badly served. It was such a squash that you could hardly move your elbows, and the narrow planks that served as seats nearly gave way under the weight of the guests. They ate abundantly. Everyone took good care to have his share. Sweat was running down their faces, and a sort of whitish steam, like the mist that rises from a river of an autumn morning, floated between the hanging lamps. Rodolphe, leaning back against the canvas of the tent, was thinking so deeply of Emma that he heard nothing. Behind him on the grass the servants were piling up the dirty plates; his neighbours spoke, but he did not answer them; they filled up his glass, but silence reigned in his mind, despite the ever-growing clamour. He pondered on what she had said and on the shape of her lips. Her face shone as in a magic mirror in the badges of the shakos; the folds of her gown hung droopingly on the walls, and days of love stretched out in an endless line down the long vistas of the future.

He saw her again in the evening during the firework display; but she was with her husband, Madame Homais and the chemist, who was in great trouble about the danger of fire from rocket stumps, and he kept on leaving the party to go and tell Binet what ought to be done about it.

The stock of fireworks, which had been consigned to Monsieur Tuvache, had, by excess of caution, been put down in his cellar, and so the powder had got damp and would not light, and the principal set-piece, which was to depict a dragon biting off his tail, was a complete fiasco. Every now and again they would let off a paltry Roman candle, and a great murmur of applause would rise up from the gaping crowd, mingled with the screams of women who were being mauled about in the intervals of darkness. Emma silently nestled against Charles's shoulder; then, raising her chin, she followed the glowing streak of the rockets in the darkness of the sky. Rodolphe stood and gazed at her by the light of the glowing fairy-lamps. One by one they burnt to the socket. The stars came out. Then, a little later, a few drops of rain began to fall. She tied her lace scarf over her head.

At this juncture the great man's carriage drove out from the inn. The coachman was tipsy, and all of a sudden he dropped off into a doze, and above the hood, between the two lamps, as the carriage receded into the distance, you could see his body swaying from side to side with the motion of the springs.

'There's no doubt,' said the apothecary, 'that drunkenness ought to be severely dealt with. I should like to see a special weekly list hung up outside the Town Hall, giving the names of everyone who had been found the worse for liquor during that period. Looked at from the statistical point of view, such a list would afford a reliable record which, in case of need... But excuse me.' And away he rushed again to speak to the Captain. The Captain was just going indoors to have another look at his lathe.

'Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea,' said Homais, 'if you sent one of your men, or if you went yourself-'

'Oh, shut up!' said the tax-collector. 'Everything's all right.'

'Nothing to worry about,' said the apothecary, as he rejoined his friends. 'Monsieur Binet has assured me he has seen to everything. There's no danger from the sparks, and the pumps are full. Let's go home and sleep.'

'My word, I could do with it!' exclaimed Madame Homais, who was yawning pretty conspicuously. 'Well, anyhow, we had lovely weather for our show.'

'Yes,' echoed Rodolphe in a low voice, looking tenderly at Emma, 'lovely indeed!'

They bowed to one another and went their ways.

Two days afterwards there was a grand article about the show in the 'Fanal de Rouen'. Homais had dashed it off, in great style, the very next day.

'What was the reason of all these decorations,' he asked, 'these flowers, the garlands? Whither were all these people thronging, like the billows of a raging sea, beneath a tropical sun pouring down its rays in torrents upon our heads?'

Then he went on to speak of the condition of the peasantry. Doubtless the Government was doing a great deal, but it was not enough. 'Take heart,' he cried to it encouragingly, 'endless reforms are called for; let us bring them to pass!' Then, touching on the Government official's arrival, he did not omit to bring in the 'soldier-like bearing of our volunteers,' 'our winsome village beauties,' nor 'the bald-headed old men who were there, venerable patriarchs, some of them remnants of our deathless legions, whose hearts still beat high at the rolling of the drums.' He mentioned himself first among the members of the committee, and reminded his readers in a note that Monsieur Homais, pharmacist, had contributed a monograph on Cider to the archives of the Agricultural Society. When he came to the Prize Distribution he depicted the delight of the successful competitors in language that was positively dithyrambic. 'Fathers embraced their sons, brothers their brothers, husbands their wives. Many a one displayed with pride the medal he had won and, doubtless, when he got home to his worthy help meet, he hung it up, with tears in his eyes, on the wall of his humble abode.

'About six o'clock a banquet was held in one of Monsieur Liegeard's fields, at which all the chief people who had taken part in the fete were present. The completest harmony reigned throughout the proceedings. Several toasts were drunk. Monsieur Lieuvain proposed 'The King'; Monsieur Tuvache, 'The Prefect'; Monsieur Derozerays, 'Agriculture'; Monsieur Homais, 'Industry and the Fine Arts, those glorious twin sisters'; Monsieur Leplichey, 'Coming Improvements'.

'At night a brilliant display of fireworks suddenly lit up the empyrean. It might have been a veritable kaleidoscope, or a scene out of an opera, and in a moment our quiet little district might have believed itself spirited away to the magic region of some Arabian Night.

'It is worthy of record that no sort of hitch marred the complete harmony of this family gathering.'

And he added:

'The only thing to be noted was the absence of the clergy. But doubtless the Church has its own views about progress. Well, 'Messieurs les Jesuites', you must go your own way!'

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