ONE
We were in class w hen the head-master came in,
followed by a ?new fellow,? not wearing the school
uniform, and a school servant carrying a large desk. Those
who had be en 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-ma ster, he sai d to hi m i n a low
voice?
?Monsieur Roger, here is a pupil whom I recommend
to your car e; he?ll be in the second. If his work and
conduct are satisfactory, he will go into one of the upper
classes, a s becomes his ag e.?
The ?new fellow,? standing in the corner 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 cu t
square on his forehead like a villa ge chorister?s; he looked
reliable, but very ill at ease. Although he was not broad-
shouldered, his short school ja cket of green cloth with
black buttons must have been tight about the ar m-holes,
and showed at the opening of the cuffs red wrists
accu sto med to being bare. Hi s le gs, in blue stockings,
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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 s ermon, 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 ground so as to have our hand s
more free; we used from the door to toss them under the
form, so tha t they hi t a gainst the w all and mad e a lot of
dust: it was ?the thing.?
But, whethe r he had not no ticed the trick, or did not
dare to attempt it, the ?new fellow,? was still holding his
cap on his knees even af ter prayers were ov er. It was one
of those head-gears of composi te order, in which we can
find traces of the bearskin, s hako, billycock hat, sealskin
cap, and co tton night- cap; one of those poor things, in
fine, whose dumb ugliness has depths of expression, like
an imbecile?s face. Oval, stiffened with whalebone, it
began with three round knobs; the n came in succession
lozenges of velvet and rabbit-skin se parated by a red band;
after that a sort of bag that ended in a cardboard polygon
covered wit h complicated braiding, from which hung, at
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the end of a 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 be gan to
laugh. He stooped to pi ck 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 ground, 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 stammering 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 f ellow? then took a supreme resolution,
opened an inordinately large mouth, and shouted at the
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top of his voice as if calling someone in the word
?Charbovari.?
A hubbub b roke out, ro se in cresce ndo with b ursts of
shrill voices (they yelled, barked, stamped, repeated
?Charbovari! Charbovari?), then died away into single
notes, growing quieter o nly with great difficulty, and now
and again suddenly recommencing along the line of a form
whence rose here and there, lik e 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
succeeded in catching the name of ?Charles Bovary,?
having had it dictated to him, spelt out, and r e-read, at
once ordered the poor devil to go and sit d own 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 lines for all the class!? shouted in a
furious voice stopped, like the Quos ego*, a fresh
outburst. ?S ilence!? continued the master indignantly,
wiping his b row with hi s handkerchi ef, which he had just
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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.?
*A quotati on from the Aeneid signifying a threat.
**I am ridic ulous.
Quiet was restored. Heads bent o ver desks, and the
?new fellow? remained for two hours in an exemplary
attitude, although from time to ti me some p aper pellet
flipped from the tip of a pen came bang in his face. But he
wiped his face with one hand and continued motionless,
his eyes low ered.
In the evening, at preparation, he p ulled out hi s pens
from his desk, arranged his small belongings, and carefully
ruled his paper. We saw him wor king conscientiously,
looking up every word in the dictionary, and taking the
greatest pains. Thank s, no doubt, to the willingness he
showed, he had not to go down to the class be low. But
though he k new his rul es passably, he had little finish i n
composition. It was the cure of his v illage who had taught
him his first Latin; his p arents, from motives of economy ,
having sent him to school as late as possible.
His father, Monsieur C harles Denis Bartolome Bovary,
retired assistant-surgeon-major, compromised about 181 2
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in certain co nscription scandals, a nd f orced at thi s time to
leave the service, had taken advantage of his fine figure to
get hold of a dowry of sixty t housand francs that offered in
the person of a hosier?s daughter who had fallen in love
with hi s good looks. A fi ne man, a great talker, making hi s
spurs ring as he walked, wearin g whiskers that ran into hi s
moustache, his fingers always garnished with r ings and
dressed in loud colours, he had the dash of a mili tary man
with the easy go of a co mmercial traveller.
Once marri ed, he lived for three o r four years on his
wife?s fortune, dining well, ri sing late, smoking long
porcelain pipes, not coming in at night till after the
theatre, and haunti ng cafes. The father-in-law died,
leaving little; he was indignant at this, ?went i n for the
business,? lo st 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 cali co, 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 poultr y in his farmyard, and greased his hunting-
boots wi th the fat of his pigs, he was not long i n finding
out that he would do better to give up all speculation.
For two hundred francs a year he managed to live on
the border o f the provinces of Caux and Picardy, in a kind
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of place hal f farm, half private house; and he re, soured,
eaten up with regret s, cursing his luck, j ealous of
everyone, he shut himself up at the age of forty-five, sick
of men, he said, and determined to live at peace.
His wife had adored him once on a ti me; she had bored
him with a thousand servilities that had only estranged him
the more. Lively once, expansive and affecti onate, in
growing older she had b ecome (af ter the fa shion of wine
that, exposed to air, turns to vinegar) ill-tempered,
grumbling, irritable. She had suffered so much withou t
complaint at first, until she had seem him going after all
the village drabs, and until 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 looki ng after business matters.
She called on the lawyers, the president, remembered
when bills fell due, got them renewed, and at home
ironed, sewed, washed, looked after the workmen, paid
the accounts, while he, trou bling himself about nothing,
eternally besotted in sleepy sulkiness, whence he only
roused himself to say disagreeabl e things to her, sat
smoking by the fire and s pitting into the cinders.
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When she had a child, it had to be sent out to nurse.
When he came home, the lad was spoilt as if he were a
prince. His mother stu ffed him with jam; his fath er let him
run about barefoot, and, playing the philosopher, even said
he might as well go about quite naked like the young of
animals. As opposed to the mat ernal ideas, he had a certain
virile idea of childhood on which he sought to mould hi s
son, wishing him to be broug ht up hardily, like a Spartan,
to give him a strong consti tutio n. He sent him to bed
without any fire, taught him to drink off large draughts of
rum and to jeer at religio us pr ocessions. But, peaceable by
nature, the lad answered only poorly to his notions. His
mother always kept him near her; s he cut out cardboard
for him, to ld him tales, entertained him with endless
monologues full of melancholy gaiety and charming
nonsense. In her life?s isolation she ce ntered on the child?s
head all her shattered, broken little vanities. She dreamed
of high station; she alr eady 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 hi m
two or three little songs. But to all this Mo nsieu r Bovary,
caring little for letters, said, ?It was not worth while.
Would they ever have the means to send hi m to a publi c
school, to buy him a practice, or start him in business?
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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 labourers, drov e away with clods of
earth the rav ens that were flyi ng abo ut. He ate blackberries
along the hedges, minded the gees e with a long switch,
went haymaking during harvest, ran about in the woods,
played hop-scotch unde r the church porch on rainy days,
and at great fetes begged the beadle to let him toll the
bells, that he might hang all his weight on the long rope
and feel himself borne upward by it in its swing .
Meanwhile he grew like an oak; he was strong on hand,
fresh of colour.
When he was twelve years old his mother had her own
way; he began lessons. The cure took him in hand; but the
lessons were so short and irregular that they could not be
of mu ch use. They were given at spare mome nts in the
sacristy, stan ding up, hu rrie dly, between a baptism and a
burial; or else the cure, if he had not to go out, sent for his
pupil after the Angelus*. They went up to his room and
settled down; the flies and moths fluttered round the
candle. It was close, the child fell a sleep, and t he good
man, beginning to doze with hi s hands on hi s stomach,
was soon snoring with his mouth wide open. On other
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occasions, w hen Monsie ur le Cure, on his way back after
administering the viati cum to some sick perso n in the
neighbourhood, caught sight of Charles playing about the
fields, he called him, lectured him for a quarter 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 t he ?young
man? had a very good memory.
*A devotion said at mor ning, noon, and evening, at the
sound of a bell. Here, the evening prayer.
Charles could not go on like this. Madame Bovary
took strong steps. Asha med, 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, where his father took him
towards the end of October, at the time of the St. Romai n
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 w ell in the dormitory,
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and ate well in the refectory. He had in loco parentis* a
wholesale ironmonger in the Rue Ganterie, who took
him out once a month on Sund ays after his shop was shut,
sent him for a walk on the quay to look at the b oats, 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-b ooks, or read an old v olume of
?Anarchasis? that was knockin g abou t the study. When he
went for walks he talked to the serva nt, who, like himself,
came from the country.
*In place of a parent.
By dint of hard work he kept always about the middle
of the class; once even he got a certificate i n natural
history. But at the end of hi s third year his parents
withdrew him from the school to make him study
medicine, convinced that he c ould even take his degree 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, g ot hi m furni ture, table
and two chairs, sent home for an old cherry-tree bedstead,
and bought besides a small ca st-iron stove with the supply
of wood that was to warm the poor child.
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Then at the end of a week she departed, after a
thousand inj unctions 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 ana tomy, lectures o n path ology, lectures
on physiology, lectures on pharmacy, lectures on botany
and clinical medicine, 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 f illed with magnificent darkness.
He understood nothing of it all; it was all very well to
listen? he did not follow. Still he worked; he had bound
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, with
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 lectur es, to the operation-room, to the
hospital, and return to his hom e at the other end of the
town. In the evening, aft er the poor dinner of hi s
landlord, he went back to hi s room and set to w ork again
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in his wet cl othes, which smoke d as he sat in front of the
hot stove.
On the fine summer ev enings , at the time wh en the
close streets are empty, when the servants are playing
shuttle-cock at the doors, he opened his wi ndow and
leaned out. The river, t hat makes of this quarter of Rouen
a wretched little Venice, flowed beneath him, between the
bridges and the railings, yello w, violet, or blue. Working
men, kneeling on the banks, wa shed their bare arms in the
water. On poles projecting from the attics, skeins of
cotton were drying in the air. Opposite, beyond the roots
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 breathe in the sweet
odours of the country which did not reach him.
He grew thin, his figure became taller, his face took a
saddened look that made it nearly interesting. Naturally,
through indifference, he aband oned all the resolutions 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 th e habit of going to the
public-house, and had a passi on for dominoes. To shut
himself up e very evenin g in the dirty public room, to push
about on marble tables the small sheep bones with black
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dots, seeme d 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 pleasu res; and when he entered, he
put his hand on the door-handle with a joy al most sensual .
Then many things hidde n withi n him came out; he learnt
couplets by heart and sa ng them to his boo n co mpanion s,
became enthusiastic about B eranger, learnt how to make
punch, and, finally, how to make love.
Thanks to these pr eparatory labours, he failed
completely i n his exa minati on for an ordinary degree. He
was expected home the same nigh t to celebrate his success.
He started on foot, stopp ed at the beginning of the village,
sent for his mother, and told her all. She exc used him,
threw the blame of hi s failure on the inju sti ce of the
examiners, encouraged him a little, and took upon herself
to set matters straight. It was only five years later tha t
Monsieur Bovary knew the trut h; it was old then, and he
accepted it. Moreover, he c ould n ot believe that a man
born of him could be a fool.
So Charles set to work again and crammed for his
examination, ceaselessly learning all the old questions by
heart. He passed pretty well. What a happy day for his
mother! They gave a gra nd dinner.
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Where should he go to pra ctice? To Tostes, where
there was only one old doctor. For a long time Madame
Bovary had been on the look-out for his death, and the
old fellow had barely been packed off when Charles was
installed, op posite his pla ce, as his successor.
But it was not everything to have brought up a son, to
have had him taught medicine, and discovered Tostes,
where he could practice it; he must have a wife. She
found hi m one?the widow of a b ailiff at Dieppe?who
was forty-fi ve and had an income of twelve hundred
francs. Though she was ugly, as dry as a bone , her face
with as many pimples as the sprin g has bud s, Madame
Dubuc h ad no lack of suitors. To a ttain her end s Mad ame
Bovary had to oust the m all, and she even succeeded in
very cleverly baffling the intrigues of a port -butcher
backed up by the priests.
Charles had seen in marriage the advent of an easier
life, thinking he would be more free to do as he liked with
himself and his money. But his wife was master; he had to
say this a nd not say that in compa ny, to fast every Friday,
dress as she liked, harass at her bidding those patients who
did not pay. She opened his letter, watched his comings
and goings, and listened at the partition-wall when
women came to consult him in his su rgery.
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She must have her chocolate every morning, attentions
without end . She constantly compl ained of her nerves, her
chest, her liver. The noise of footsteps made her ill; when
people left her, solitude became o dious to her; if they
came back, it was doubtless to see her die. When Charles
returned in the evening, she stretche d forth two long thin
arms from beneath the sheets, put them round his neck,
and having made him si t down on the edge of the bed,
began to talk to him of her troubles: he was neglecting
her, he loved another. She had been warned she would be
unhappy; and she end ed by asking him for a dose of
medicine and a little more love.
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