“You are going？”
“I will come back.”
He went out only to give an order to thecoachman， with Monsieur Canivet， who did not care either to have Emma die underhis hands.
The chemist rejoined them on the Place. Hecould not by emperament keep away from celebrities， so he begged MonsieurLariviére to do him the signal honour of accepting somebreakfast.
He sent quickly to the “Lion d'Or” for somepigeons； to the outcher's for all the cutlets that wereto be had； to Tuvache for cream； and to Lestiboudois for eggs； ，and thedruggist himself aided in the preparations， while Madame Homais was saying asshe pulled together the strings of her jacket-
“You must excuse us， sir， for in this poorplace， when one hasn't been told the night before-”
“Wineglasses！”whispered Homais.
“If only we were in town， we could fall backupon stuffed trotters.”
“Be quiet！ Sit down， doctor！”
He thought fit， after the first fewmouthfuls， to give some details as to the catastrophe.
“We first had a feeling of siccity in thepharynx， then intolerable pains at the epigastrium， super purgation， coma.”
“But how did she poison herself？”
“I don't know，doctor， and I don't even know where she can haveprocured the arsenious acid.”
Justin， who was just bringing in a pile ofplates， began to tremble.
“What's the matter？” said the chemist.
At this question the young man dropped thewhole lot on the ground with a crash.
“Imbecile！” o'ied Homais， “awkward lout！ Block-head！confounded ass！”
But suddenly controlling himself-
“I wished， doctor， to make an analysis， andprimo I delicately introduced a tube-”
“You would have done better，” said the physician， “to introduce your fingersinto her throat.”
His colleague was silent， having just beforeprivately received a severe lecture about his emetic， so that this goodCanivet， so arrogant and so verbose at the time of the clubfoot， was to-dayvery modest. He smiled without ceasing in an approving manner.
Homais dilated in Amphytrionic pride， and theaffecting thought of Bovary vaguely contributed to his pleasure by a kind ofegotistic reflex upon himself. Then the presence of the doctor transported him.He displayed his erudition， cited pell-mell cantharides， upas， the manchineel，vipers.
“I have even read that various persons havefound themselves under toxicological symptoms， and， as it were， thunderstfickenby black-pudding that had been subjected to a too vehement fumigation. Atleast， this was stated in a very fine report drawn up by one of ourpharmaceutical chiefs， one of our masters， the illustrious Cadet de Gassicourt！”
Madame Homais reappeared， carrying one ofthose shaky machines that are heated with spirits of wine； for Homais liked tomake his coffee at table， having， moreover， torrefied it， pulverised it， andmixed it himself.
“Saccharum， doctor？”said he， offering the sugar.
Then he had all his children brought down，anxious to have the physician's opinion on their constitutions.
At last Monsieur Lariviére was about to leave， when Madame tomais asked for a consultationabout her husband. He was making his blood too thick by going to sleep everyevening after dinner.
“Oh， it isn't hisblood that's too thick，” saidthe physician.
And， smiling a little at his unnoticed joke，the doctor opened the door. But the chemist's shop wasfull of people； he had the greatest difficulty in getting rid of MonsieurTuvache， who feared his spouse would get inflammation of the lungs， because shewas in the habit of spitting on the ashes； then of Monsieur Binet， whosometimesexperienced sudden attacks of great hunger； and of Madame Caron， whosuffered from tinglings； of Lheureux， who had vertigo； of Lestiboudois， who hadrheumatism； and of Madame Lefrancois， who had heartburn. At last the threehorses started； and it was the general opinion that he had not shown himself atall obliging.
Public attention was distracted by theappearance of Monsieur Boumisien， who was going across the market with the holyoil.
Homais， as was due to his principles，compared priests to ravens attracted by the odour of death. The sight of anecclesiastic was personally disagreeable to him， for the cassock made him thinkof the shroud， and he detested the one from some fear of the other.
Nevertheless， not shrinking from what hecalled his mission， he returned to Bovary's in companywith Canivet whom Monsieur Lariviére， before leaving，had strongly urged to make this visit； and he would， but for his wife's objections， have taken his two sons with him， in order to accustomthem to great occasions； that this might be a lesson， an example， a solemnpicture， that should remain in their heads later on.
The room when they went in was full ofmournful solemnity. On the work-table， covered over with a white cloth， therewere five or six small balls of cotton in a silver dish， near a large crucifixbetween two lighted candles.
Emma， her chin sunken upon her breast， hadher eyes inordinately wide open， and her poor hands wandered over the sheetswith that hideous and soft movement of the dying， that seems as if they wantedalready to cover themselves with the shroud. Pale as a statue and with eyes redas fire， Charles， not weeping， stood opposite her at the foot of the bed， whilethe priest， bending one knee， was muttering words in a low voice.
She turned her face slowly， and seemed filledwith joy on seeing suddenly the violet stole， no doubt finding again， in themidst of a temporary lull in her pain， the lost voluptuousness of her firstmystical transports， with the visions of eternal beatitude that were beginning.
The priest rose to take the crucifix； thenshe stretched forward her neck as one who is athirst， and glueing her lips tothe body of the Man-God， she pressed upon it with all her expiring strength thefullest kiss of love that she had ever given. Then he recited the Misereaturand the lndulgentiam， dipped his right thumb in the oil， and began to giveextreme unction. First upon the eyes， that had so coveted all worldly pomp；then upon the nostrils， that had been greedy of the warm breeze and amorousodours； then upon the mouth， that had uttered lies， that had curled with prideand cried out in lewdness； then upon the hands that had delighted in sensualtouches； and finally upon the soles of the feet， so swift of yore， when she wasrunning to satisfy her desires， and that would now walk no more.
The curè wiped hisfingers， threw the bit of cotton dipped in oil into the fire， and came and satdown by the dying woman， to tell her that she must now blend her sufferingswith those of Jesus Christ and abandon herself to the divine mercy.
Finishing his exhortations， he tried to placein her hand a blessed candle， symbol of the celestial glory with which she wassoon to be surrounded. Emma， too weak， could not close her fingers， and thetaper， but for Monsieur Bournisien would have fallen to the ground.
However， she was not quite so pale， and herface had an expression of serenity as if the sacrament had cured her.
The priest did not fail to point this out； heeven explained to Bovary that the Lord sometimes prolonged the life of personswhen he thought it meet for their salvation； and Charles remembered the daywhen， so near death， she had received the communion. Perhaps there was no needto despair， he thought.
In fact， she looked around her slowly， as oneawakening from a dream； then in a distinct voice she asked for herlooking-glass， and remained some time bending over it， until the big tears fellfrom her eyes. Then she turned away her head with a sigh and fell back upon thepillows.
Her chest soon began panting rapidly； thewhole of her tongue protruded from her mouth； her eyes， as they rolled， grewpaler， like the two globes of a lamp that is going out， so that one might have thoughther already dead but for the fearful labouring of her ribs， shaken by violentbreathing， as if the soul were struggling to free itself. Fé1icité knelt down before the crucifix， andthe druggist himself slightly bent his knees， while Monsieur Canivet looked outvaguely at the Place. Bournisien had again begun to pray， his face bowedagainst the edge of the bed， his long black cassock trailing behind him in theroom. Charles was on the other side， on his knees， his arms outstretchedtowards Emma. He had taken her hands and pressed them， shuddering at every beatof her heart， as at the shaking of a falling ruin. As the death-rattle becamestronger the palest prayed faster； his prayers mingled with the stifled sobs ofBovary， and sometimes all seemed lost in the muffled murmur of the Latinsyllables that tolled like a passing bell.
Suddenly on the pavement was heard a loudnoise of clogs and the clattering of a stick； and a voice rose- a raucousvoice- that sang：
“Maids in the warmth of a summer day
Dream of love and of love always”
Emma raised herself like a galvanised corpse，her hair undone， her eyes fixed， staring.
“Where the sickle blades have been，
Nannette， gathering ears of com，
Passes bending down， my queen，
To the earth where they were born.”
“The blind man！” shecried. And Emma began to laugh， an atrocious， frantic， despairing laugh，thinking she saw the hideous face of the poor wretch that stood out against theeternal night like a menace.
“The wind is strong this summer day，
Her petticoat has flown away.”
She fell back upon the mattress in aconvulsion. They all drew near. She was dead.
Chapter 9
There is always after the death of anyone akind of stupefaction； so difficult is it to grasp this advent of nothingnessand to resign ourselves to believe in it. But still， when he saw that she didnot move， Charles threw himself upon her， crying-
“Farewell！ farewell！”
Homais and Canivet dragged him from the room.
“Restrain yourself！”
“Yes.” said he，struggling， “I'll be quiet. I'll not do anything. But leave me alone. I want to see her. She is mywife！”
And he wept.
“Cry，” said thechemist； “let nature take her course； that will solaceyou.”
Weaker than a child， Charles let himself beled downstairs into the sitting-room， and Monsieur Homais soon went home. Onthe Place he was accosted by the blind man， who， having dragged himself as faras Yonville， in the hope of getting the antiphlogistic pomade， was asking everypasser-by where the druggist lived.
“There now！ as if I hadn't got other fish to fry. Well， so much the worse； you must comelater on.”
And he entered the shop hurriedly.
He had to write two letters， to prepare asoothing potion for Bovary， to invent some lie that would conceal thepoisoning， and work it up into an article for the Fanal， without counting thepeople who were waiting to get the news from him； and when the Yonvillers hadall heard his story of the arsenic that she had mistaken for sugar in making avanilla cream. Homais once more returned to Bovary's.
He found him alone (Monsieur Canivet hadleft)， sitting in an arm-chair near the window， staring with an idiotic look atthe flags of the floor.
“Now，” said the chemist，“you ought yourself to fix the hour for the ceremony.”
“Why？ What ceremony？”Then， in a stammering， frightened voice，
“Oh， no！ not that. No！ I want to see herhere.”
Homais， to keep himself in countenance， tookup a water-bottle on the whatnot to water the geraniums.
“Ah！ thanks，” saidCharles； “you are good.”
But he did not finish， choking beneath thecrowd of memories that this action of the druggist recalled to him.
Then to distract him， Homais thought fit totalk a little horticulture： plants wanted humidity.Charles bowed his head insign of approbation.
“Besides， the fine days will soon be hereagain.”
“Ah！” said Bovary.
The druggist， at his wit's end， began softly to draw aside the small window-curtain.
“Hallo！ there'sMonsieur Tuvache passing.”
Charles repeated like a machine：
“Monsieur Tuvache passing！”
Homais did not dare to speak to him againabout the funeral arrangements； it was the priest who succeeded in reconcilinghim to them.
He shut himself up in his consulting-room，took a pen， and after sobbing for some time， wrote-
“I wish her to be buried in herwedding-dress， with white shoes， and a wreath. Her hair is to be spread outover her shoulders. Three coffins， one of oak， one of mahogany， one of lead.Let no one say anything to me. I shall have strength. Over all there is to beplaced a large piece of green velvet. This is my wish； see that it is done.”
The two men were much surprised at Bovary's romantic ideas. The chemist at once went to him and said-
“This velvet seems to me a superfetation.Besides， the expense-”
“What's that to you？” cried Charles. “Leave me！ You did not loveher. Go！”
The priest took him by the arm for a tum inthe garden. He discoursed on the vanity of earthly things. God was very great， wasvery good： one must submit to his decrees without a murmur； nay， must eventhank him.
Charles burst out into blasphemies： “I hate your God！”
“The spirit of rebellion is still upon you，” sighed the ecclesiastic.
Bovary was far away. He was walking with greatstrides along by the wall， near the espalier， and he ground his teeth； heraised to heaven looks of malediction， but not so much as a leaf stirred.
A fine rain was falling： Charles， whose chestwas bare， at last began to shiver； he went in and sat down in the kitchen.
At six o'clock anoise like a clatter of old iron was heard on the Place； it was the “Hirondelle” coming in， and he remained withhis forehead against the windowpane， watching all the passengers get out， oneafter the other. Félicité putdown a mattress for him in the drawing-room. He threw himself upon it and fellasleep.
Although a philosopher， Monsieur Homaisrespected the dead. So bearing no grudge to poor Charles， he came back again inthe evening to sit up with the body； bringing with him three volumes and apocket-book for taking notes.
Monsieur Bournisien was there， and two largecandles were burning at the head of the bed， that had been taken out of thealcove. The druggist， on whom the silence weighed， was not long before he beganformulating some regrets about this “unfortunate youngwoman.” And the priest replied that there was nothingto do now but pray for her.
“Yet，” Homais wenton， “one of two things； either she died in a state ofgrace (as the Church has it)， and then she has no need of our prayers； or elseshe departed impertinent (that is， I believe， the ecclesiastical expression)，and then-”
Bournisien interrupted him， replying testilythat it was none the less necessary to pray.
“But，” objected thechemist， “since God knows all our needs， what can bethe good of prayer？”
“What！” cried theecclesiastical， “Why， aren'tyou a Christian？”
“Excuse me，” saidHomais； “I admire Christianity. To begin with， itenfranchised the slaves， introduced into the world a morality-”
“That isn't thequestion. All the texts-”
“Oh！ oh！ As to texts， look at history； it， isknown that all the texts have been falsified by the Jesuits.”
Charles came in， and advancing towards thebed， slowly drew the curtains.
Emma's head was tamedtowards her right shoulder， the comer of her mouth， which was open， seemed likea black hole at the lower part of her face； her two thumbs were bent into thepalms of her hands； a kind of white dust besprinkled her lashes， and her eyeswere beginning to disappear in that viscous pallor that looks like a thin web，as if spiders had spun it over. The sheet sunk in from her breast to her knees，and then rose at the tips of her toes， and it seemed to Charles that infinitemasses， an enormous load， were weighing upon her.
The church clock struck two. They could hearthe loud murmur of the river flowing in the darkness at the foot of theterrace. Monsieur Bournisien from time to time blew his nose noisily， andHomais' pen was scratching over the paper.
“Come， my good friend，” he said， “withdraw； this spectacle istearing you to pieces.”
Charles once gone， the chemist and the curdrecommenced their discussions.
“Read Voltaire，” saidthe one， “read D'Holbach， readthe Encyclopaedia！”
“Read the Letters of some Portuguese Jews，” said the other； “read The Meaning ofChristianity， by Nicolas， formerly a magistrate.”
They grew warm， they grew red， they bothtalked at once without listening to each other. Boumisien was scandalized atsuch audacity； Homais marvelled at such stupidity； and they were on the pointof insulting one another when Charles suddenly reappeared. A fascination drewhim. He was continually coming upstairs.
He stood opposite her， the better to see her，and he lost himself in a contemplation so deep that it was no longer painful.
He recalled stories of catalepsy， the marvelsof magnetism， and he said to himself that by willing it with all his force hemight perhaps succeed in reviving her. Once he even bent towards he， and criedin a low voice， “Emma！ Emma！”His strong breathing made the flames of the candles tremble against the wall.
At daybreak Madame Bovary senior arrived.Charles as he embraced her burst into another flood of tears. She tried， as thechemist had done， to make some remarks to him on the expenses of the funeral.He became so angry that she was silent， and he even commissioned her to go totown at once and buy what was necessary.
Charles remained alone the whole afternoon；they had taken Berthe to Madame Homais'； Félicité was in the room upstairs with MadameLefrancois.
In the evening he had some visitors. He rose，pressed their hands， unable to speak. Then they sat down near one another， andformed a large semicircle in front of the fire. With lowered faces， andswinging one leg crossed over the other knee， they uttered deep sighs atintervals； each one was inordinately bored， and yet none would be the first togo.
Homais， when he returned at nine o'clock (for the last two days only Homais seemed to have been on thePlace)， was laden with a stock of camphor， of benzine， and aromatic herbs. Healso carried a large jar full of chlorine water， to keep.off all miasmata. Justthen the servant， Madame Lefrancois， and Madame Bovary senior were busy aboutEmma， finishing dressing her， and they were drawing down the long stiff veilthat covered her to her satin shoes.
Félicité was sobbing-“Ah！ my poor mistress！ my poormistress！”
“Look at her，” saidthe landlady， sighing； “how pretty she still is！ Now，couldn't you swear she was going to get up in a minute？”
Then they bent over her to put on her wreath.They had to raise the head a little， and a rush of black liquid issued， as ifshe were vomiting， from her mouth.
“Oh， goodness！ The dress； take care！” cried Madame Lefrancois. “Now， just comeand help，” she said to the chemist. “Perhaps you're afraid？”
“I afraid？” repliedhe， shrugging his shoulders. “I dare say！ I've seen all sorts of things at the hospital when I was studyingpharmacy. We used to make punch in the dissecting room！ Nothingness does notterrify a philosopher； and， as I often say， I even intend to leave my body tothe hospitals， in order， later on， to serve science.”
The curé on hisarrival inquired how Monsieur Bovary was， and， on the reply of the druggist，went on-”The blow， you see， is still too recent.”
Then Homais congratulated him on not beingexposed， like other people， to the loss of a beloved companion； whence therefollowed a discussion on the celibacy of priests.
“For，” said thechemist， “it is unnatural that a man should do withoutwomen！ There have been crimes-”
“But， good heaven！”cried the ecclesiastic， “how do you expect anindividual who is married to keep the secrets of the confessional， for example？”
Homais fell foul of the confessional.Boumisien defended it； he enlarged on the acts of restitution that it broughtabout. He cited various anecdotes about thieves who had suddenly become honest.Military men on approaching the tribunal of penitence had felt the scales fallfrom their eyes. At Fribourg there was a minister -
His companion was asleep. Then he feltsomewhat stifled by the over-heavy atmosphere of the room.； he opened thewindow； this awoke the chemist.
“Come， take a pinch of snuff，” he said to him. “Take it； it'll relieve you.”
A continual barking was heard in thedistance. “Do you hear that dog howling？” said the chemist.
“They smell the dead，” replied the priest. “It's like bees； they leave their hives on the decease of any person.”
Homais made no remark upon these prejudices，for he had again dropped asleep. Monsieur Bournisien， stronger than he， went onmoving his lips gently for some time， then insensibly his chin sank down， helet fall his big black boot， and began to snore.
They sat opposite one another， withprotruding stomachs， puffed-up faces， and frowning looks， after so muchdisagreement uniting at last in the same human weakness， and they moved no morethan the corpse by their side， that seemed to be sleeping.
Charles coming in did not wake them. It wasthe last time； he came to bid her farewell.
The aromatic herbs were still smoking， andspirals of bluish vapour blended at the window-sash with the fog that wascoming in. There were few stars， and the night was warm. The wax of the candlesfell in great drops upon the sheets of the bed. Charles watched them burn，tiring his eyes against the glare of their yellow flame.
The watering on the satin gown shimmeredwhite as moonlight. Emma was lost beneath it； and it seemed to him that，spreading beyond her own self， she blended confusedly with everything aroundher-the silence， the night， the passing wind， the damp odours rising from theground.
Then suddenly he saw her in the garden atTostes， on a bench against the thorn hedge， or else at Rouen in the streets， onthe threshold of their house， in the yard at Bertaux. He again heard thelaughter of the happy boys beneath the apple-trees： the room was filled withthe perfume of her hair； and her dress rustled in his arms with a noise likeelectricity. The dress was still the same.
For a long while he thus recalled all hislost joys， her attitudes， her movements， the sound of her voice. Upon one fitof despair followed another， and even others， inexhaustible as the waves of anoverflowing sea.
A terrible curiosity seized him. Slowly， withthe tips of his fingers， palpitating， he lifted her veil. But he uttered a cryof horror that awoke the other two.
They dragged him down into the sitting-room.Then Fé1icité came up to saythat he wanted some of her hair.
“Cut some off，”replied the druggist.
And as she did not dare to， he himself steppedforward， scissors in hand. He trembled so that he pierced the skin of thetemple in several places. At last， stiffening himself against emotion， Homaisgave two or three great cuts at random that left white patches amongst thatbeautiful black hair.
The chemist and the curé plunged anew into their occupations， not without sleeping from timeto time， of which they accused each other reciprocally at each fresh awakening.Then Monsieur Bournisien sprinkled the room with holy water and Homais threw alittle chlorine water on the floor.
Félicité had taken care to put on the chest of drawers， for each of them， abottle of brandy， some cheese， and a large roll. And the druggist， who couldnot hold out any longer， about four in the morning sighed-
“My word！ I should like to take somesustenance.”
The priest did not need any persuading； hewent out to go and say mass， came back， and then they ate and hobnobbed，giggling a little without knowing why， stimulated by that vague gaiety thatcomes upon us after times of sadness， and at the last glass the priest said tothe druggist， as he clapped him on the shoulder-
“We shall end by understanding one another.”
In the passage downstairs they met theundertaker's men， who were coming in. Then Charles fortwo hours had to suffer the torture of hearing the hammer resound against thewood. Next day they lowered her into her oak coffin， that was fitted into theother two； but as the bier was too large， they had to fill up the gaps with thewool of a mattress. At last， when the three lids had been planed down， nailed，soldered， it was placed outside in front of the door； the house was thrownopen， and the people of Yonville began to flock round.
Old Rouault arrived， and fainted on the Placewhen he saw the black cloth！