Chapter 1
Yonville-l'Abbaye (socalled from an old Capuchin Abbéy of which not even theruins remain) is a market-town twenty-four miles from Rouen， between the Abbéville and Beauvais roads， at the foot of a valley watered by theRieule， a little river that runs into the Andelle after turning threewater-mills near its mouth， where there are a few trout that the lads amusethemselves by fishing for on Sundays.
We leave the highroad at La Boissiere and keepstraight on to the top of the Leux hill， whence the valley is seen. The riverthat runs through it makes of it， as it were， two regions with distinctphysiognomies-all on the left is pasture land， all of the right arable. Themeadow stretches under a bulge of low hills to join at the back with thepasture land of the Bray country， while on the eastern side， the plain， gentlyrising， broadens out， showing as far as eye can follow its blond cornfields.The water， flowing by the grass， divides with a white line the colour of theroads and of the plains， and the country is like a great unfolded mantle with agreen velvet cape bordered with a fringe of silver.
Before us， on the verge of the horizon， liethe oaks of the forest of Argueil， with the steeps of the Saint-Jean hillsscarred from top to bottom with red irregular lines； they are rain tracks， andthese brick-tones standing out in narrow streaks against the grey colour of themountain are due to the quantity of iron springs that flow beyond in the neighboringcountry.
Here we are on the confines of Normandy，Picardy， and the Ile-de-France， a bastard land whose language is without accentand its landscape is without character. It is there that they make the worstNeufchatel cheeses of all the arrondissement； and， on the other hand， farmingis costly because so much manure is needed to enrich this friable soil full ofsand and flints.
Up to 1835 there was no practicable road forgetting to Yonville， but about this time a cross-road was made which joins thatof Abbéville to that of Amiens， and is occasionallyused by the Rouen wagoners on their way to Flanders. Yonville-l'Abbaye has remained stationary in spite of its “new outlet.” Instead of improving the soil，they persist in keeping up the pasture lands， however depreciated they may bein value， and the lazy borough， growing away from the plain， has naturallyspread riverwards. It is seem from afar sprawling along the banks like acowherd taking a siesta by the water-side.
At the foot of the hill beyond the bridgebegins a roadway， planted with yotmg aspens， that leads in a straight line tothe first houses in the place. These， fenced in by hedges， are in the middle ofcourtyards full of straggling buildings， wine-presses， cart-sheds anddistilleries scattered under thick trees， with ladders， poles， or scythes hungon to the branches. The thatched roofs， like fur caps drawn over eyes， reachdown over about a third of the low windows， whose coarse convex glasses haveknots in the middle like the bottoms of bottles. Against the plaster walldiagonally crossed by black joists， a meagre pear-tree sometimes leans and theground-floors have at their door a small swing-gate to keep out the chicks thatcome pilfering crumbs of bread steeped in cider on the threshold. But thecourtyards grow narrower， the houses closer together， and the fences disappear；a bundle of ferns swings under a window from the end of a broomstick； there isa blacksmith's forge and then a wheelwright's， with two or three new carts outside that partly block the way.Then across an open space appears a white house beyond a grass mound ornamentedby a Cupid， his finger on his lips； two brass vases are at each end of a flightof steps； scutcheons blaze upon the door. It is the notary's house， and the finest in the place.
The Church is on the other side of thestreet， twenty paces farther down， at the entrance of the square. The littlecemetery that surrounds it， closed in by a wall breast high， is so full ofgraves that the old stones， level with the ground， form a continuous pavement，on which the grass of itself has marked out regular green squares. The churchwas rebuilt during the last years of the reign of Charles X. The wooden roof isbeginning to rot from the top， and here and there has black hollows in its bluecolour. Over the door， where the organ should be， is a loft for the men， with aspiral staircase that reverberates under their wooden shoes.
The daylight coming through the plain glasswindows falls obliquely upon the pews ranged along the walls， which are adornedhere and there with a straw mat bearing beneath it the words in large letters， “Mr. So-and-so's pew.” Farther on， at a spot where the building narrows， the confessionalforms a pendant to a statuette of the Virgin， clothed in a satin robe， coifedwith a tulle veil sprinkled with silver stars， and with red cheeks， like anidol of the Sandwich Islands； and， finally， a copy of the “Holy Family， presented by the Minister of the Interior，” overlooking the high altar， between four candlesticks， closes inthe perspective. The choir stalls， of deal wood， have been left unpainted.
The market， that is to say， a tiled roofsupported by some twenty posts， occupies of itself about half the public squareof Yonville. The town hall， constructed “from thedesigns of a Paris architect，” is a sort of Greektemple that forms the comer next to the chemist's shop.On the ground-floor are three Ionic columns and on the first floor asemicircular gallery， while the dome that crowns it is occupied by a Galliccock， resting one foot upon the “Charte” and holding in the other the scales of Justice.
But that which most attracts the eye isopposite the Lion d'Or inn， the chemist's shop of Monsieur Homais. In the evening especially its argand lampis lit up and the red and green jars that embellish his shop-front throw faracross the street their two streams of colour； then across them as if in Bengallights is seen the shadow of the chemist leaning over his desk. His house fromtop to bottom is placarded with inions written in large hand， round hand，printed hand： “Vichy， Seltzer， Barége waters， blood purifiers， Raspail patent medicine， Arabianracahout， Darcet lozenges， Regnault paste， tresses， baths， hygienic chocolate，” etc. And the signboard， which takes up all the breadth of the shop，bears in gold letters， “Homais， Chemist.” Then at the back of the shop， behind the great scales fixed to thecounter， the word “Laboratory”appears on a scroll above a glass door， which about half-way up once morerepeats “Homais” in goldletters on a black ground.
Beyond this there is nothing to see atYonville. The street (the only one) a gunshot in length and flanked by a fewshops on either side stops short at the turn of the highroad. If it is left onthe right hand and the foot of the Saint-Jean hills followed the cemetery issoon reached.
At the time of the cholera， in order toenlarge this， a piece of wall was pulled down， and three acres of land by itsside purchased； but all the new portion is almost tenantless； the tombs， asheretofore， continue to crowd together towards the gate. The keeper， who is atonce gravedigger and church beadle (thus making a double profit out of theparish corpses)， has taken advantage of the unused plot of ground to plantpotatoes there. From year to year， however， his small field grows smaller， andwhen there is an epidemic， he does not know whether to rejoice at the deaths orregret the burials.
“You live on the dead， Lestiboudois！” the curé at last said to him one day. Thisgrim remark made him reflect； it checked him for some time； but to this day hecarries on the cultivation of his little tubers， and even maintains stoutlythat they grow naturally.
Since the events about to be narrated，nothing in fact has changed at Yonville. The tin tricolour flag still swings atthe top of the church-steeple； the two chintz streamers still flutter in thewind from the linen-draper's； the chemist's fetuses， like lumps of white amadou， rot more and more in theirturbid alcohol， and above the big door of the inn the old golden lion， faded byrain， still shows passers-by its poodle mane.
On the evening when the Bovarys were toarrive at Yonville， Widow Lefrancois， the landlady of this inn， was so verybusy that she sweated great drops as she moved her saucepans. To-morrow wasmarket-day. The meat had to be cut beforehand， the fowls drawn， the soup andcoffee made. Moreover， she had the boarders' meal tosee to， and that of the doctor， his wife， and their servant； the billiard-roomwas echoing with bursts of laughter； three millers in a small parlour werecalling for brandy； the wood was blazing， the brazen pan was hissing， and onthe long kitchen table， amid the quarters of raw mutton， rose piles of platesthat rattled with the shaking of the block on which spinach was being chopped.From the poultry-yard was heard the screaming of the fowls whom the servant waschasing in order to wring their necks.
A man slightly marked with small-pox， ingreen leather slippers， and wearing a velvet cap with a gold tassel， waswarming his back at the chimney. His face expressed nothing butself-satisfaction， and he appeared to take life as calmly as the goldfinchsuspended over his head in its wicker cage： this was the chemist.
“Artémise！” shouted the landlady， “chop some wood， fillthe water bottles， bring some brandy， look sharp！ If only I knew what dessertto offer the guests you are expecting！ Good heavens！ Those furniture-movers arebeginning their racket in the billiard-room again； and their van has been leftbefore the front door！ The 'Hirondelle' might run into it when it draws up. Call Polyte and tell him to putit up. Only think， Monsieur Homais， that since morning they have had aboutfifteen games， and drunk eight jars of cider！ Why， they'll tear my cloth for me，” she went on，looking at them from a distance， her strainer in her hand.
“That wouldn't bemuch of a loss，” replied Monsieur Homais. “You would buy another.”
“Another billiard-table！” exclaimed the widow.
“Since that one is coming to pieces， MadameLefrancois. I tell you again you are doing yourself harm， much harm！ Andbesides， players now want narrow pockets and heavy cues. Hazards aren't played now； everything is changed！ One must keep pace with thetimes！ Just look at Tellier！”
The hostess reddened with vexation. Thechemist went on-
“You may say what you like； his table isbetter than yours； and if one were to think， for example， of getting up apatriotic pool for Poland or the sufferers from the Lyons floods-”
“It isn't beggarslike him that'll frighten us，”interrupted the landlady， shrugging her fat shoulders. “Come， come， Monsieur Homais； as long as the 'Lion d'Or' existspeople will come to it. We've feathered our nest； whileone of these days you'll find the 'Caf é Francais'closed with a big placard on the shutters. Change my billiard-table！” she went on， speaking to herself， “thetable that comes in so handy for folding the washing， and on which， in thehunting season， I-have slept six visitors！ But that dawdler， Hivert， doesn't come！”
“Are you waiting for him for your gentlemen's dinner？”
“Wait for him！ And what about Monsieur Binet？As the clock strikes six you'll see him come in， for hehasn't his equal under the sun for punctuality. He mustalways have his seat in the small parlour. He'd ratherdie than dine anywhere else. And so squeamish as he is， and so particular aboutthe cider！ Not like Monsieur Léon； he sometimes comesat seven， or even half-past， and he doesn't so much aslook at what he eats. Such a nice young man！ Never speaks a rough word！”
“Well， you see， there's a great difference between an educated man and an old carabineerwho is now a tax-collector.”
Six o'clock struck.Binet came in.
He wore a blue frock-coat falling in astraight line round his thin body， and his leather cap， with its lappetsknotted over the top of his head with string， showed under the turned-up peak abald forehead， flattened by the constant wearing of a helmet. He wore a blackcloth waistcoat， a hair collar， grey trousers， and， all the year round，well-blacked boots， that had two parallel swellings due to the sticking out ofhis big-toes. Not a hair stood out from the regular line of fair whiskers，which， encircling his jaws， framed， after the fashion of a garden border， hislong， wan face， whose eyes were small and the nose hooked. Clever at all gamesof cards， a good hunter， and writing a fine hand， he had at home a lathe， andamused himself by turning napkin rings， with which he filled up his house， withthe jealousy of an artist and the egotism of a bourgeois.
He went to the small parlour， but the threemillers had to be got out first， and during the whole time necessary for layingthe cloth， Binet remained silent in his place near the stove. Then he shut thedoor and took off his cap in his usual way.
“It isn't with sayingcivil things that he'll wear out his tongue，” said the chemist， as soon as he was along with the landlady.
“He never talks more，” she replied. “Last week two travelers inthe cloth line were here-such clever chaps who told such jokes in the evening，that I fairly cried with laughing； and he stood there like a dab fish and neversaid a word.”
“Yes，” observed thechemist； “no imagination， no sallies， nothing thatmakes the society-man.”
“Yet they say he has parts，” objected the landlady.
“Parts！” repliedMonsieur Homais； “he， parts！ In his own line it ispossible，” he added in a calmer tone. And he went on-
“Ah！ That a merchant， who has largeconnections， a jurisconsult， a doctor， a chemist， should be thus absent-minded，that they should become whimsical or even peevish， I can understand； such casesare cited in history. But at least it is because they are thinking ofsomething. Myself， for example， how often has it happened to me to look on thebureau for my pen to write a label， and to find， after all， that I had put itbehind my ear！”
Madame Lefrancois just then went to the doorto see if the “Hirondelle” werenot coming. She started. A man dressed in black suddenly came into the kitchen.By the last gleam of the twilight one could see that his face was rubicund andhis form athletic.
“What can I do for you， Monsieur le Curé？” asked the landlady， as she reached downfrom the chimney one of the copper candlesticks placed with their candles in arow. “Will you take something？ A thimbleful of cassis？A glass of wine？”
The priest declined very politely. He hadcome for his umbrella， that he had forgotten the other day at the Ememontconvent， and after asking Madame Lefrancois to have it sent to him at thepresbytery in the evening， he left for the church， from which the Angelus wasringing.
When the chemist no longer heard the noise ofhis boots along the square， he thought the priest'sbehaviour just now very unbecoming. This refusal to take any refreshment seemedto him the most odious hypocrisy； all priests tippled on the sly， and weretrying to bring back the days of the tithe.
The landlady took up the defence of her curé.
“Besides， he could double up four men likeyou over his knee. Last year he helped our people to bring in the straw； he can'ied as many as six trusses at once， he is so strong.”
“Bravo！” said thechemist. “Now just. send your daughters to confess tofellows which such a temperament！ I， if I were the Government， I'd have the priests bled once a month. Yes， Madame Lefrancois， everymonth-a good phlebotomy， in the interests of the police and morals.”
“Be quiet， Monsieur Homais. You are aninfidel； you've no religion.”
The chemist answered： “I have a religion， my religion， and I even have more than all theseothers with their mummeries and their juggling. I adore God， on the contrary. Ibelieve in the Supreme Being， in a Creator， whatever he may be. I care littlewho has placed us here below to fulfil our duties as citizens and fathers offamilies； but I don't need to go to church to kisssilver plates， and fatten， out of my pocket， a lot of good-for-nothings wholive better than we do. For one can know Him as well in a wood， in a field， oreven contemplating the eternal vault like the ancients. My God！ Mine is the Godof Socrates， of Franklin， of Voltaire， and of Béranger！I am for the profession of faith of the 'SavoyardVicar，' and the immortal principles of '89！ And I can't admit of an old boy of a Godwho takes walks in his garden with a cane in his hand， who lodges his friendsin the belly of whales， dies uttering a cry， and rises again at the end ofthree days； things absurd in themselves， and completely opposed， moreover， toall physical laws， which prove to us， by the way， that priests have alwayswallowed in turpid ignorance， in which they would fain engulf the people withthem.”
He ceased， looking round for an audience， forin his bubbling over the chemist had for a moment fancied himself in the midstof the town council. But the landlady no longer heeded him； she was listeningto a distant rolling. One could distinguish the noise of a carriage mingledwith the clattering of loose horseshoes that beat against the ground， and atlast the “Hirondelle” stoppedat the door.
It was a yellow box on two large wheels，that， reaching to the tilt， prevented travelers from seeing the road anddirtied their shoulders. The small panes of the narrow windows rattled in theirsashes when the coach was closed， and retained here and there patches of mudamid the old layers of dust， that not even storms of rain had altogether washedaway. It was drawn by three horses， the first a leader， and when it camedown-hill its bottom jolted against the ground.
Some of the inhabitants of Yonville came outinto the square； they all spoke at once， asking for news， for explanations， forhampers. Hivert did not know whom to answer. It was he who did the errands ofthe place in town. He went to the shops and brought back rolls of leather forthe shoemaker， old iron for the farrier， a barrel of herrings for his mistress，caps from the milliner's， locks from the hair-dresser's and all along the road on his return journey he distributed hisparcels， which he threw， standing upright on his seat and shouting at the topof his voice， over the enclosures of the yards.
An accident had delayed him. Madame Bovary's greyhound had run across the field. They had whistled for him aquarter of an hour； Hivert had even gone back a mile and a half expecting everymoment to catch sight of her； but it had been necessary to go on. Emma hadwept， grown angry； she had accused Charles of this misfortune. MonsieurLheureux， a draper， who happened to be in the coach with her， had tried toconsole her by a number of examples of lost dogs recognizing their masters atthe end of long years. One， he said had been told of， who had come back toParis from Constantinople. Another had gone one hundred and fifty miles in astraight line， and swum four rivers； and his own father had possessed a poodle，which， after twelve years of absence， had all of a sudden jumped on his back inthe street as he was going to dine in town.
Chapter 2
Emma got out first， then Fé1icité， Monsieur Lheureux， and a nurse， andthey had to wake up Charles in his corner， where he had slept soundly sincenight set in.
Homais introduced himself； he offered hishomages to madame and his respects to monsieur； said he was charmed to havebeen able to render them some slight service， and added with a cordial air thathe had ventured to invite himself， his wife being away.
When Madame Bovary was in the kitchen shewent up to the chimney. With the tips of her fingers she caught her dress atthe knee， and having thus pulled it up to her ankle， held out her foot in itsblack boot to the fire above the revolving leg of mutton. The flame lit up thewhole of her， penetrating with a crude light the woof of her gowns， the finepores of her fair skin， and even her eyelids， which she blinked now and again.A great red glow passed over her with the blowing of the wind through thehalf-open door. On the other side of the chimney a young man with fair hairwatched her silently.
As he was a good deal bored at Yonville，where he was a clerk at the notary's， MonsieurGuillaumin， Monsieur Léon Dupuis (it was he who was thesecond habitué of the “Lion d'Or”) frequently put back his dinner-hour inhope that some traveler might come to the inn， with whom he could chat in theevening. On the days when his work was done early， he had， for want ofsomething else to do， to come punctually， and endure from soup to cheese a tête-à-tête withBinet. It was therefore with delight that he accepted the landlady's suggestion that he should dine in company with the newcomers， andthey passed into the large parlour where Madame Lefrancois， for the purpose ofshowing off， had had the table laid for four.
Homais asked to be allowed to keep on hisskull-cap， for fear of coryza； then， turning to his neighbour-
“Madame is no doubt a little fatigued； onegets jolted so abominably in our 'Hirondelle，”
“That is true，”replied Emma； “but moving about always amuses me. Ilike change of place.”
“It is so tedious，”sighed the clerk， “to be always riveted to the sameplaces.”
“If you were like me，” said Charles， “constantly obliged to be inthe saddle”-
“But，” Léon went on， addressing himself to Madame Bovary， “nothing， it seems to me， is more pleasant-when one can，” he added.
“Moreover，” said thedruggist， “the practice of medicine is not very hardwork in our part of the world， for the state of our roads allows us the use ofgigs， and generally， as the farmers are prosperous， they pay pretty well. Wehave， medically speaking， besides the ordinary cases of enteritis， bronchitis，bilious affections， etc， now and then a few intermittent fevers atharvest-time； but on the whole， little of a serious nature， nothing special tonote， unless it be a great deal of scrofula， due， no doubt， to the deplorablehygienic conditions of our peasant dwellings. Ah！ you will find many prejudicesto combat， Monsieur Bovary， much obstinacy of routine， with which all theefforts of your science will daily come into collision； for people still haverecourse to novenas， to relics， to the priest， rather than come straight to thedoctor or the chemist. The climate， however， is not， truth to tell， bad， and weeven have a few nonagenarians in our parish. The thermometer (I have made someobservations) falls in winter to 4 degrees Centigrade at the outside， which givesus 24 degrees Réaumur as the maximum， or otherwise 54degrees Fahrenheit (English scale)， not more. And， as a matter of fact， we aresheltered from the north winds by the forest of Argueil on the one side， fromthe west winds by the St. Jean range on the other； and this heat， moreover，which， on account of the aqueous vapours given off by the river and theconsiderable number of cattle in the fields， which， as you know， exhale muchammonia， that is to say， nitrogen， hydrogen and oxygen (no， nitrogen and hydrogenalone)， and which sucking up into itself the humus from the ground， mixingtogether all those different emanations， unites them into a stack， so to say，and combining with the electricity diffused through the atmosphere， when thereis any， might in the long run， as in tropical countries， engender insalubriousmiasmata-this heat， I say， finds itself perfectly tempered on the side whenceit comes， or rather whence it should come-that is to say， the southern side-bythe south-eastern winds， which， having cooled themselves passing over theSeine， reach us sometimes all at once like breezes from Russia.”
“At any rate， you have some walks in theneighbourhood？” continued Madame Bovary， speaking tothe young man.
“Oh， very few，” heanswered. “There is a place they call La Pature， on the top of the hill， on the edge of the forest. Sometimes， on Sundays， I go andstay there with a book， watching the sunset.”
“I think there is nothing so admirable assunsets，” she resumed； “butespecially by the side of the sea.”
“Oh， I adore the sea！” said Monsieur Léon.
