The crowd came into the main street from bothends of the village. People poured in from the lanes， the alleys， the houses；and from time to time one heard knockers banging against doors closing behindwomen with their gloves， who were going out to see the fête. What was most admired were two long lamp-stands covered withlanterns， that flanked a platform on which the authorities were to sit. Besidesthis there were against the four columns of the town hall four kinds of poles，each bearing a small standard of greenish cloth， embellished with inionsin gold letters. On one was written， “To Commerce”； on the other， “To Agriculture”； on the third， “To Industry”； and on the fourth， “To the Fine Arts.”
But the jubilation that brightened all facesseemed to darken that of Madame Lefrancois， the innkeeper. Standing on herkitchen-steps she muttered to herself， “What rubbish！what rubbish！ With their canvas booth！ Do they think the prefect will be glad todine down there under a tent like a gipsy？ They call all this fussing doinggood to the place！ Then it wasn't worth while sendingto Neufchatdl for the keeper of a cookshop！ And for whom？ For cowherds！tatterdemalions！”
The druggist was passing. He had on afrock-coat， nankeen trousers， beaver shoes， and， for a wonder， a hat with a lowcrown.
“Your servant！ Excuse me， I am in a hurry.” And as the fat widow asked where he was going
“It seems odd to you， doesn't it， I who am always more cooped up in my laboratory than the man's rat in his cheese.”
“What cheese？” askedthe landlady.
“Oh， nothing！ nothing！” Homais continued. “I merely wished toconvey to you， Madame Lefrancois， that I usually live at home like a recluse.To-day， however， considering the circumstances， it is necessary-”
“Oh， you're goingdown there！” she said contemptuously.
“Yes， I am going，”replied the druggist， astonished. “Am I not a member ofthe consulting commission？”
Mére Lefrancoislooked at him for a few moments， and ended by saying with a smile-
“That's another pairof shoes！ But what does agriculture matter to you？ Do you understand anythingabout it？”
“Certainly I understand it， since I am adruggist-that is to say， a chemist. And the object of chemistry， MadameLefrancois， being the knowledge of the reciprocal and molecular action of allnatural bodies， it follows that agriculture is comprised within its domain.And， in fact， the composition of the manure， the fermentation of liquids， theanalyses of gases， and the influence of miasmata， what， I ask you， is all this，if it isn't chemistry， pure and simple？”
The landlady did not answer. Homais went on-
“Do you think that to be an agriculturist itis necessary to have tilled the earth or fattened fowls oneself？. It isnecessary rather to know the composition of the substances in question-thegeological strata， the atmospheric actions， the quality of the soil， theminerals， the waters， the density of the different bodies， their capillarity，and what not. And one must be master of all the principles of hygiene in orderto direct， criticize the construction of buildings， the feeding of animals， thediet of domestics. And， moreover， Madame Lefrancois， one must know botany， beable to distinguish between plants， you understand， which are the wholesome andthose that are deleterious， which are unproductive and which nutritive， if itis well to pull them up here and re-sow them there， to propagate some， destroyothers； in brief， one must keep pace with science by means of pamphlets andpublic papers， be always on the alert to find out improvements.”
The landlady never took her eyes off the “Cafe Francois” and the chemist went on-
“Would to God our agriculturists werechemists， or that at least they would pay more attention to the counsels of science.Thus lately I myself wrote a considerable tract， a memoir of over seventy-twopages， entitled， Cider， its Manufacture and its Effects， together with some NewReflections on the Subject， that I sent to the Agricultural Society of Rouen，and which even procured me the honour of being received among itsmembers-Section， Agriculture； Class， Pomological. Well， if my work had beengiven to the public-” But the druggist stopped， MadameLefrancois seemed so preoccupied.
“Just look at them！”she said. “It's pastcomprehension！ Such a cookshop as that！” And with ashrug of the shoulders that stretched out over her breast the stitches of herknitted bodice， she pointed with both hands at her rival's inn， whence songs were heard issuing. “Well，it won't last long，” she added.“It'll be over before a week.”
Homais drew back with stupefaction. She camedown three steps and whispered in his ear-
“What！ you didn'tknow it？ There is to be an execution in next week. It'sLheureux who is selling him out； he has killed him with bills.”
“What a terrible catastrophe！” cried the druggist， who always found expressions in harmony withall imaginable circumstances. Then the landlady began telling him the storythat she had heard from Theodore， Monsieur Guillaumin'sservant， and although she detested Tellier， she blamed Lheureux. He was “a wheedler， a sneak.”
“There！” she said. “Look at him！ he is in the market； he is bowing to Madame Bovary， who's got on a green bonnet. Why， she's takingMonsieur Boulanger's arm.”
“Madame Bovary！”exclaimed Homais. “I must go at once and pay her myrespects. Perhaps she'll be very glad to have a seat inthe enclosure under the peristyle.” And， withoutheeding Madame Lefrancois， who was calling him back to tell him more about it，the druggist walked off rapidly with a smile on his lips， with straight knees，bowing copiously to right and left， and taking up much room with the largetails of his frock-coat that fluttered behind him in the wind.
Rodolphe， having caught sight of him fromafar， hurried on， but Madame Bovary lost her breath； so he walked more slowly，and， smiling at her， said in a rough tone-
“It's only to getaway from that fat fellow， you know， the druggist.” Shepressed his elbow.
“What's the meaningof that？” he asked himself. And he looked at her out ofthe comer of his eyes.
Her profile was so calm that one could guessnothing from it. It stood out in the light from the oval of her bonnet， withpale ribbons on it like the leaves of weeds. Her eyes with their long curvedlashes looked straight before her， and though wide open， they seemed slightlypuckered by the cheek-bones， because of the blood pulsing gently under thedelicate skin. A pink line ran along the partition between her nostrils. Herhead was bent upon her shoulder， and the pearl tips of her white teeth wereseen between her lips.
“Is she making fun of me？” thought Rodolphe.
Emma's gesture，however， had only been meant for a warning； for Monsieur Lheureux wasaccompanying them， and spoke now and again as if to enter into the conversation.
“What a superb day！ Everybody is out！ Thewind is east！”
And neither Madame Bovary nor Rodolpheanswered him， whilst at the slightest movement made by them he drew near，saying， “I beg your pardon！”and raised his hat.
When they reached the farrier's house， instead of following the road up to the fence， Rodolphesuddenly turned down a path， drawing with him Madame Bovary. He called out-
“Good evening， Monsieur Lheureux！ See youagain presently.”
“How you got rid of him！” she said， laughing.
“Why，” he went on， “allow oneself to be intruded upon by others？ And as today I have thehappiness of being with you-”
Emma blushed. He did not finish his sentence.Then he talked of the fine weather and of the pleasure of walking on the grass.A few daisies had sprung up again.
“Here are some pretty Easter daisies，” he said， “and enough of them to furnishoracles to all the amorous maids in the place.” Headded， “Shall I pick some？ What do you think？”
“Are you in love？”she asked， coughing a little.
“H'm， h'm！ who knows？” answered Rodolphe.
The meadow began to fill， and the housewiveshustled you with their great umbrellas， their baskets， and their babies. Onehad often to get out of the way of a long file of country folk， servant-maidswith blue stockings， flat shoes， silver rings， and who smelt of milk， when onepassed close to them. They walked along holding one another by the hand， andthus they spread over the whole field from the row of open trees to the banquettent. But this was the examination time， and the farmers one after the otherentered a kind of enclosure formed by a long cord supported on sticks.
The beasts were there， their noses towardsthe cord， and making a confused line with their unequal rumps. Drowsy pigs wereburrowing in the earth with their snouts， calves were bleating， lambs baaing；the cows， on knees folded in， were stretching their bellies on the grass，slowly chewing the cud， and blinking their heavy eyelids at the gnats thatbuzzed round them. Plough-men with bare arms were holding by the halterprancing stallions that neighed with dilated nostrils looking towards themares. These stood quietly， stretching out their heads and flowing manes， whiletheir foals rested in their shadow， or now and then came and sucked them. Andabove the long undulation of these crowded animals one saw some white manerising in the wind like a wave， or some sharp horns sticking out， and the headsof men running about. Apart， outside the enclosure， a hundred paces off， was alarge black bull， muzzled， with an iron ring in its nostrils， and who moved nomore than if he had been in bronze. A child in rags was holding him by a rope.
Between the two lines the committee-men werewalking with heavy steps， examining each animal， then consulting one another ina low voice. One who seemed of more importance now and then took notes in abook as he walked along. This was the president of the jury， MonsieurDerozerays de la Panville. As soon as he recognised Rodolphe he came forwardquickly， and smiling amiably， said-
“What！ Monsieur Boulanger， you are desertingus？”
Rodolphe protested that he was just coming.But when the president had disappeared-
“Ma foi！” said he， “I shall not go. Your company is better than his.”
And while poking fun at the show， Rodolphe，to move about more easily， showed the gendarme his blue card， and even stoppednow and then in front of some fine beast， which Madame Bovary did not at alladmire. He noticed this， and began jeering at the Yonville ladies and theirdresses； then he apologised for the negligence of his own. He had thatincongruity of common and elegant in which the habitually vulgar think they seethe revelation of an eccentric existence， of the perturbations of sentiment，the tyrannies of art， and always a certain contempt for social conventions，that seduces or exasperates them. Thus his cambric shirt with plaited cuffs wasblown out by the wind in the opening of his waistcoat of grey ticking， and hisbroad-striped trousers disclosed at the ankle nankeen boots with patent leathergaiters. These were so polished that they reflected the grass. He trampled onhorses's dung with them， one hand in the pocket of hisjacket and his straw hat on one side.
“Besides，” added he， “when one lives in the country-”
“It's waste of time，” said Emma.
“That is true，”replied Rodolphe. “To think that not one of thesepeople is capable of understanding even the cut of a coat！”
Then they talked about provincial mediocrity，of the lives it crushed， the illusions lost there.
“And I too，” saidRodolphe， “am drifting into depression.”
“You！” she said inastonishment； “I thought you very light-hearted.”
“Ah！ yes. I seem so， because in the midst ofthe world I know how to wear the mask of a scoffer upon my face； and yet， howmany a time at the sight of a cemetery by moonlight have I not asked myselfwhether it were not better to join those sleeping there！”
“Oh！ and your friends？” she said. “You do not think of them.”
“My friends！ What friends？ Have I any？ Whocares for me？” And he accompanied the last words with akind of whistling of the lips.
But they were obliged to separate from eachother because of a great pile of chairs that a man was carrying behind them. Hewas so overladen with them that one could only see the tips of his wooden shoesand the ends of his two outstretched arms. It was Lestiboudois， thegravedigger， who was carrying the church chairs about amongst the people. Aliveto all that concerned his interests， he had hit upon this means of turning theshow to account； and his idea was succeeding， for he no longer knew which wayto turn. In fact， the villagers， who were hot， quarreled for these seats， whosestraw smelt of incense， and they leant against the thick backs， stained withthe wax of candles， with a certain veneration.
Madame Bovary again took Rodolphe's arm； he went on as if speaking to himself-
“Yes， I have missed so many things. Alwaysalone！ Ah！ if I had some aim in life， if I had met some love， if I had foundsomeone！ Oh， how I would have spent all the energy of which I am capable， surmountedeverything， overcome everything！”
“Yet it seems to me，”said Emma， “that you are not to be pitied.”
“Ah！ you think so？”said Rodolphe.
“For， after all，” shewent on， “you are free-” shehesitated， “rich-”
“Do not mock me，” hereplied.
And she protested that she was not mockinghim， when the report of a cannon resounded. Immediately all began hustling oneanother pell-mell towards the village.
It was a false alarm. The prefect seemed notto be coming， and the members of the jury felt much embarrassed， not knowing ifthey ought to begin the meeting or still wait.
At last at the end of the Place a large hiredlandau appeared， drawn by two thin horses， which a coachman in a white hat waswhipping lustily. Binet had only just time to shout， “Presentarms！” and the colonel to imitate him. All ran towardsthe enclosure； everyone pushed forward. A few even forgot their collars； butthe equipage of the prefect seemed to anticipate the crowd， and the two yokedjades， trapesing in their harness， came up at a little trot in front of theperistyle of the town hall at the very moment when the National Guard andfiremen deployed， beating drums and marking time.
“Present！” shoutedBinet.
“Halt！” shouted thecolonel. “Left about， march.”
And after presenting arms， during which theclang of the band， letting loose， rang out like a brass kettle rollingdownstairs， all the guns were lowered. Then was seen stepping down from thecarriage a gentleman in a short coat with silver braiding， with bald brow， andwearing a tuft of hair at the back of his head， of a sallow complexion and themost benign appearance. His eyes， very large and covered by heavy lids， werehalf-closed to look at the crowd， while at the same time he raised his sharpnose， and forced a smile upon his sunken mouth. He recognised the mayor by hisscarf， and explained to him that the prefect was not able to come. He himselfwas a councillor at the prefecture； then he added a few apologies. MonsieurTuvache answered them with compliments； the other confessed hlmselt nervous；and they remained thus， face to face， their foreheads almost touching， with themembers of the jury all round， the municipal council， the notable personages，the National Guard and the crowd. The councillor pressing his little cocked hatto his breast repeated his bows， while Tuvache， bent like a bow， also smiled，stammered， tried to say something， protested his devotion to the monarchy andthe honour that was being done to Yonville.
Hippolyte， the groom from the inn， took thehead of the horses from the coachman， and， limping along with his club-foot，led them to the door of the “Lion d'Or”， where a number of peasants collected tolook at the carriage. The drum beat， the howitzer thundered， and the gentlemenone by one mounted the platform， where they sat down in red Utrecht velvetarm-chairs that had been lent by Madame Tuvache.
All these people looked alike. Their fairflabby faces， somewhat tanned by the sun， were the colour of sweet cider， andtheir puffy whiskers emerged from stiff collars， kept up by white cravats withbroad bows. All the waist-coats were of velvet， double-breasted； all thewatches had， at the end of a long ribbon， an oval cornelian seal； everyonerested his two hands on his thighs， carefully stretching the stride of their trousers，whose unsponged glossy cloth shone more brilliantly than the leather of theirheavy boots.
The ladies of the company stood at the backunder the vestibule between the pillars while the common herd was opposite，standing up or sitting on chairs. As a matter of fact， Lestiboudois had broughtthither all those that he had moved from the field， and he even kept runningback every minute to fetch others from the church. He caused such confusionwith this piece of business that one had great difficulty in getting to thesmall steps of the platform.
“I think，” saidMonsieur Lheureux to the chemist， who was passing to his place， “that they ought to have put up two Venetian masts with somethingrather severe and rich for ornaments； it would have been a very pretty effect.”
“To be sure，” repliedHomais； “but what can you expect？ The mayor tookeverything on his own shoulders. He hasn't much taste.Poor Tuvache！ and he is even completely destitute of what is called the geniusof art.”
Rodolphe， meanwhile， with Madame Bovary， hadgone up to the first floor of the town hall， to the “council-room，” and， as it was empty， he declared that they could enjoy the sightthere more comfortably. He fetched three stools from the round table under thebust of the monarch， and having carried them to one of the windows， they satdown by each other.
There was commotion on the platform， longwhisperings， much parleying. At last the councillor got up. They knew now thathis name was Lieuvain， and in the crowd the name was passed from one to theother. After he had collated a few pages， and bent over them to see better， hebegan-
“Gentlemen！ May I be permitted first of all(before addressing you on the object of our meeting to-day， and this sentimentwill， I am sure， be shared by you all)， may I be permitted， I say， to pay atribute to the higher administration， to the govemment to the monarch， gentlemen， our sovereign， to that beloved king， to whom no branch of public orprivate prosperity is a matter of indifference， and who directs with a hand atonce so firm and wise the chariot of the state amid the incessant perils of astormy sea， knowing， moreover， how to make peace respected as well as war，industry， commerce， agriculture， and the fine arts？”
“I ought，” saidRodolphe， “to get back a little further.”
“Why？” said Emma.
But at this moment the voice of thecouncillor rose to an extraordinary pitch. He declaimed-
“This is no longer the time， gentlemen， whencivil discord ensanguined our public places， when the landlord， the business-man，the working-man himself， falling asleep at night， lying down to peaceful sleep，trembled lest he should be awakened suddenly by the noise of incendiarytocsins， when the most subversive doctrines audaciously sapped foundations.”
“Well， someone down there might see me，” Rodolphe resumed， “then I should have toinvent excuses for a fortnight； and with my bad reputation-”
“Oh， you are slandering yourself，” said Emma.
“No！ It is dreadful， I assure you.”
“But， gentlemen，”continued the councillor， “if， banishing from my memorythe remembrance of these sad pictures， I carry my eyes back to the actualsituation of our dear country， what do I see there？ Everywhere commerce and thearts are flourishing； everywhere new means of communication， like so many new arteriesin the body of the state， establish within it new relations. Our greatindustrial centres have recovered all their activity； religion， moreconsolidated， smiles in all hearts； our ports are full， confidence is bornagain， and France breathes once more！”
“Besides，” addedRodolphe， “perhaps from the world's point of view they are right.”
“How so？” she asked.
“What！” said he. “Do you not know that there are souls constantly tormented？ They needby turns to dream and to act， the purest passions and the most turbulent joys，and thus they fling themselves into all sorts of fantasies， of follies.”
Then she looked at him as one looks at atraveller who has voyaged over strange lands， and went on-
“We have not even this distraction， we poorwomen！”
“A sad distraction， for happiness isn't found in it.”
“But is it ever found？” she asked.
“Yes； one day it comes，” he answered.
“And this is what you have understood，” said the councillor.
“You， farmers， agricultural labourers！ youpacific pioneers of a work that belongs wholly to civilization！ you， men ofprogress and morality， you have understood， I say， that political storms areeven more redoubtable than atmospheric disturbances！”
“It comes one day，”repeated Rodolphe， “one day suddenly， and when one isdespairing of it. Then the horizon expands； it is as if a voice cried， 'It is here！' You feel the need of confidingthe whole of your life， of giving everything， sacrificing everything to thisbeing. There is no need for explanations； they understand one another. Theyhave seen each other in dreams！” (And he looked ather.) “In fine， here it is， this treasure so soughtafter， here before you. It glitters， it flashes； yet one still doubts， one doesnot believe it； one remains dazzled， as if one went out iron darkness intolight.”
And as he ended Rodolphe suited the action tothe word. He passed his hand over his face， like a man seized with giddiness.Then he let it fall on Emma's. She took hers away.
“And who would be surprised at it， gentlemen？He only who is so blind， so plunged (I do not fear to say it)， so plunged inthe prejudices of another age as still to misunderstand the spirit ofagricultural populations. Where， indeed， is to be found more patriotism than inthe country， greater devotion to the public welfare， more intelligence， in aword？ And， gentlemen， I do not mean that superficial intelligence， vainornament of idle minds， but rather that profound and balanced intelligence thatapplies itself above all else to useful objects， thus contributing to the goodof all， to the common amelioration and to the support of the state， born ofrespect for law and the practice of duty-”
“Ah！ again！” saidRodolphe. “Always 'duty.' I am sick of the word. They are a lot of old blockheads in flannelvests and of old women with foot-warmers and rosaries who constantly drone intoour ears 'Duty， duty！' Ah！ byJove！ one's duty is to feel what is great， cherish thebeautiful， and not accept all the conventions of society with the ignominy thatit imposes upon us.”
“Yet-yet-” objectedMadame Bovary.
“No， no！ Why cry out against the passions？Are they not the one beautiful thing on the earth， the source of heroism， ofenthusiasm， of poetry， music， the arts， of everything， in a word？”
“But one must，” saidEmma， “to some extent bow to the opinion of the worldand accept its moral code.”
“Ah！ but there are two，” he replied. “The small， the conventional，that of men， that which constantly changes， that brays out so loudly， thatmakes such a commotion here below， of the earth earthly， like the mass ofimbeciles you see down there. But the other， the eternal， that is about us andabove， like the landscape that surrounds us， and the blue heavens that give uslight.”
Monsieur Lieuvain had just wiped his mouthwith a pocket-handkerchief. He continued-