Chapter Four
The guests arrived early in carriages, in one-horse chaises,
two-wheeled cars, old open gigs, waggonettes with leather hoods,
and the young people from the nearer villages in carts, in which
they stood up in rows, holding on to the sides so as not to fall,
going at a trot and well shaken up. Some came from a distance of
thirty miles, from Goderville, from Normanville, and from Cany.
All the relatives of both families had been invited, quarrels
between friends arranged, acquaintances long since lost sight of
written to.
From time to time one heard the crack of a whip behind the hedge;
then the gates opened, a chaise entered. Galloping up to the foot
of the steps, it stopped short and emptied its load. They got
down from all sides, rubbing knees and stretching arms. The
ladies, wearing bonnets, had on dresses in the town fashion, gold
watch chains, pelerines with the ends tucked into belts, or
little coloured fichus fastened down behind with a pin, and that
left the back of the neck bare. The lads, dressed like their
papas, seemed uncomfortable in their new clothes (many that day
hand-sewed their first pair of boots), and by their sides,
speaking never a work, wearing the white dress of their first
communion lengthened for the occasion were some big girls of
fourteen or sixteen, cousins or elder sisters no doubt, rubicund,
bewildered, their hair greasy with rose pomade, and very much
afraid of dirtying their gloves. As there were not enough
stable-boys to unharness all the carriages, the gentlemen turned
up their sleeves and set about it themselves. According to their
different social positions they wore tail-coats, overcoats,
shooting jackets, cutaway-coats; fine tail-coats, redolent of
family respectability, that only came out of the wardrobe on
state occasions; overcoats with long tails flapping in the wind
and round capes and pockets like sacks; shooting jackets of
coarse cloth, generally worn with a cap with a brass-bound peak;
very short cutaway-coats with two small buttons in the back,
close together like a pair of eyes, and the tails of which seemed
cut out of one piece by a carpenter's hatchet. Some, too (but
these, you may be sure, would sit at the bottom of the table),
wore their best blouses--that is to say, with collars turned down
to the shoulders, the back gathered into small plaits and the
waist fastened very low down with a worked belt.
And the shirts stood out from the chests like cuirasses! Everyone
had just had his hair cut; ears stood out from the heads; they
had been close-shaved; a few, even, who had had to get up before
daybreak, and not been able to see to shave, had diagonal gashes
under their noses or cuts the size of a three-franc piece along
the jaws, which the fresh air en route had enflamed, so that the
great white beaming faces were mottled here and there with red
dabs.
The mairie was a mile and a half from the farm, and they went
thither on foot, returning in the same way after the ceremony in
the church. The procession, first united like one long coloured
scarf that undulated across the fields, along the narrow path
winding amid the green corn, soon lengthened out, and broke up
into different groups that loitered to talk. The fiddler walked
in front with his violin, gay with ribbons at its pegs. Then came
the married pair, the relations, the friends, all following
pell-mell; the children stayed behind amusing themselves plucking
the bell-flowers from oat-ears, or playing amongst themselves
unseen. Emma's dress, too long, trailed a little on the ground;
from time to time she stopped to pull it up, and then delicately,
with her gloved hands, she picked off the coarse grass and the
thistledowns, while Charles, empty handed, waited till she had
finished. Old Rouault, with a new silk hat and the cuffs of his
black coat covering his hands up to the nails, gave his arm to
Madame Bovary senior. As to Monsieur Bovary senior, who, heartily
despising all these folk, had come simply in a frock-coat of
military cut with one row of buttons--he was passing compliments
of the bar to a fair young peasant. She bowed, blushed, and did
not know what to say. The other wedding guests talked of their
business or played tricks behind each other's backs, egging one
another on in advance to be jolly. Those who listened could
always catch the squeaking of the fiddler, who went on playing
across the fields. When he saw that the rest were far behind he
stopped to take breath, slowly rosined his bow, so that the
strings should sound more shrilly, then set off again, by turns
lowering and raising his neck, the better to mark time for
himself. The noise of the instrument drove away the little birds
from afar.
The table was laid under the cart-shed. On it were four sirloins,
six chicken fricassees, stewed veal, three legs of mutton, and in
the middle a fine roast suckling pig, flanked by four
chitterlings with sorrel. At the corners were decanters of
brandy. Sweet bottled-cider frothed round the corks, and all the
glasses had been filled to the brim with wine beforehand. Large
dishes of yellow cream, that trembled with the least shake of the
table, had designed on their smooth surface the initials of the
newly wedded pair in nonpareil arabesques. A confectioner of
Yvetot had been intrusted with the tarts and sweets. As he had
only just set up on the place, he had taken a lot of trouble, and
at dessert he himself brought in a set dish that evoked loud
cries of wonderment. To begin with, at its base there was a
square of blue cardboard, representing a temple with porticoes,
colonnades, and stucco statuettes all round, and in the niches
constellations of gilt paper stars; then on the second stage was
a dungeon of Savoy cake, surrounded by many fortifications in
candied angelica, almonds, raisins, and quarters of oranges; and
finally, on the upper platform a green field with rocks set in
lakes of jam, nutshell boats, and a small Cupid balancing himself
in a chocolate swing whose two uprights ended in real roses for
balls at the top.
Until night they ate. When any of them were too tired of sitting,
they went out for a stroll in the yard, or for a game with corks
in the granary, and then returned to table. Some towards the
finish went to sleep and snored. But with the coffee everyone
woke up. Then they began songs, showed off tricks, raised heavy
weights, performed feats with their fingers, then tried lifting
carts on their shoulders, made broad jokes, kissed the women. At
night when they left, the horses, stuffed up to the nostrils with
oats, could hardly be got into the shafts; they kicked, reared,
the harness broke, their masters laughed or swore; and all night
in the light of the moon along country roads there were runaway
carts at full gallop plunging into the ditches, jumping over yard
after yard of stones, clambering up the hills, with women leaning
out from the tilt to catch hold of the reins.
Those who stayed at the Bertaux spent the night drinking in the
kitchen. The children had fallen asleep under the seats.
The bride had begged her father to be spared the usual marriage
pleasantries. However, a fishmonger, one of their cousins (who
had even brought a pair of soles for his wedding present), began
to squirt water from his mouth through the keyhole, when old
Rouault came up just in time to stop him, and explain to him that
the distinguished position of his son-in-law would not allow of
such liberties. The cousin all the same did not give in to these
reasons readily. In his heart he accused old Rouault of being
proud, and he joined four or five other guests in a corner, who
having, through mere chance, been several times running served
with the worst helps of meat, also were of opinion they had been
badly used, and were whispering about their host, and with
covered hints hoping he would ruin himself.
Madame Bovary, senior, had not opened her mouth all day. She had
been consulted neither as to the dress of her daughter-in-law nor
as to the arrangement of the feast; she went to bed early. Her
husband, instead of following her, sent to Saint-Victor for some
cigars, and smoked till daybreak, drinking kirsch-punch, a
mixture unknown to the company. This added greatly to the
consideration in which he was held.
Charles, who was not of a facetious turn, did not shine at the
wedding. He answered feebly to the puns, doubles entendres*,
compliments, and chaff that it was felt a duty to let off at him
as soon as the soup appeared.
*Double meanings.
The next day, on the other hand, he seemed another man. It was he
who might rather have been taken for the virgin of the evening
before, whilst the bride gave no sign that revealed anything. The
shrewdest did not know what to make of it, and they looked at her
when she passed near them with an unbounded concentration of
mind. But Charles concealed nothing. He called her "my wife",
tutoyed* her, asked for her of everyone, looked for her
everywhere, and often he dragged her into the yards, where he
could be seen from far between the trees, putting his arm around
her waist, and walking half-bending over her, ruffling the
chemisette of her bodice with his head.
*Used the familiar form of address.
Two days after the wedding the married pair left. Charles, on
account of his patients, could not be away longer. Old Rouault
had them driven back in his cart, and himself accompanied them as
far as Vassonville. Here he embraced his daughter for the last
time, got down, and went his way. When he had gone about a
hundred paces he stopped, and as he saw the cart disappearing,
its wheels turning in the dust, he gave a deep sigh. Then he
remembered his wedding, the old times, the first pregnancy of his
wife; he, too, had been very happy the day when he had taken her
from her father to his home, and had carried her off on a
pillion, trotting through the snow, for it was near
Christmas-time, and the country was all white. She held him by
one arm, her basket hanging from the other; the wind blew the
long lace of her Cauchois headdress so that it sometimes flapped
across his mouth, and when he turned his head he saw near him, on
his shoulder, her little rosy face, smiling silently under the
gold bands of her cap. To warm her hands she put them from time
to time in his breast. How long ago it all was! Their son would
have been thirty by now. Then he looked back and saw nothing on
the road. He felt dreary as an empty house; and tender memories
mingling with the sad thoughts in his brain, addled by the fumes
of the feast, he felt inclined for a moment to take a turn
towards the church. As he was afraid, however, that this sight
would make him yet more sad, he went right away home.
Monsieur and Madame Charles arrived at Tostes about six o'clock.
The neighbors came to the windows to see their doctor's new wife.
The old servant presented herself, curtsied to her, apologised
for not having dinner ready, and suggested that madame, in the
meantime, should look over her house.
