by Gustave Flaubert
(1821-1880)
Dedication | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 |
Chapter 27
Three days in Rouen; Boating with Leon; Lovers' delights; A scarlet ribbon; The boatman's compliment; Emma's instructions; Why is she so anxious?
THEY were three full, exquisite, gorgeous days; a real honeymoon. They stayed down on the harbour at the Hotel de Boulogne, and there they lived, with blinds drawn, doors locked, the floor strewn with flowers, and iced drinks brought up the first thing in the morning.
Towards evening they would take a boat with a covered stern and go and dine on one of the islands.
It was about the time when you hear the strokes of mallets against the hulls of the vessels. Smoke from burning tar was rising up among the trees, and in the surface of the water, floated great oily patches undulating in the crimson of the setting sun like medallions of Florentine bronze.
They paddled along down between the rows of vessels made fast to their moorings, the slanting cables of which lightly grazed the keel of their boat.
The noises of the town grew fainter and fainter- the rattling of carts, the babel of voices, the yapping of dogs on the decks of the vessels. She untied her hat, and they stepped ashore on their island.
They went into a cabaret with great dark fishing-nets hung up at the door, and sat themselves down in the low-ceilinged room. They ate fried smelts and cherries and cream; and then went and sat on the grass. They kissed and caressed each other beneath the poplars, out of view; and, like two shipwrecked travellers, they would have liked to dwell for ever in that little spot which, in their present bliss, they considered the most magnificent place on earth. They had both seen trees before, and blue sky, and grass. It wasn't the first time they had heard the sound of flowing water and the music of the wind in the trees; but never had they really admired these things till now. It was as if Nature had not really existed before, or had only begun to robe herself in beauty since the appeasement of their desires.
When it was dark they started for home again. The boat kept close to the shores of the islets. They lay in the stern, hidden by the shade, and did not speak. The paddles clicked in the iron rowlocks and seemed to mark time in the silence like the beating of a metronome, whilst in their wake the water rippled ceaselessly against the stern.
And then the moon shone out, and forthwith they began to indulge in fine phrases, saying how melancholy yet how full of poetry and loveliness she was. Emma, indeed, broke out into song,
Dost thou remember, love, that night we sailed...
Her voice, musical but weak, died away upon the waters, and the breeze wafted away the trills, that Leon heard fleeting past him like the fluttering of little wings. She had her face towards him, leaning against the awning of the boat, into which, through an opening in the blind a flood of moonlight streamed. Her black dress, the skirt spread out like a fan, made her look slimmer and added to her height. Her head was raised, her hands were clasped, her eyes were gazing heavenward. Sometimes the shadow of the willows would hide her completely from view, then, suddenly, she would reappear like a vision, in the light of the moon.
Leon put his hand on a piece of scarlet ribbon lying in the bottom of the boat. The boatman took it and examined it.
'Ah,' he said at last, maybe it belongs to a party I took out a few days ago. They were a nice old rowdy lot- ladies and gents, with cakes, and bottles of champagne, and cornets, and I don't know what all. One of 'em I mind in particular. A fine, upstanding fellow he was, with a little moustache. And that amusing! They kept on saying, "Come on, tell us another... Adolphe... Dodolphe"... or whatever he was called.'
She shook from head to foot.
'What's the matter? Aren't you feeling well?' said Leon, drawing close.
'Oh, it's nothing! Only, the night air is a little chilly.'
'Sort of gent with plenty of lady friends, you bet,' added the old sailorman, by way of being agreeable to his fare.
Then he spat into his hands and resumed his oars.
However, everything comes to an end. It was a melancholy business saying good-bye. She told him to send his letters to Mere Rollet, and gave him such clear and practical instructions about the double envelope that he marvelled greatly at her knowledge of the tricks of the trade.
'So you are quite sure everything is all right?' she said, as she kissed him good-bye.
'Absolutely.... But,' he mused, as he walked back home alone, 'what on earth makes her so keen on this Power of Attorney, I wonder?'
Dedication | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 |
