Page 440 - madame-bovary

The serpent-player was blowing with all his might. Mon-
sieur Bournisien, in full vestments, was singing in a shrill
voice. He bowed before the tabernacle, raising his hands,
stretched out his arms. Lestiboudois went about the church
with his whalebone stick. The bier stood near the lectern,
between four rows of candles. Charles felt inclined to get up
and put them out.
Yet he tried to stir himself to a feeling of devotion, to
throw himself into the hope of a future life in which he
should see her again. He imagined to himself she had
gone on a long journey, far away, for along time. But when
he thought of her lying there, and that all was over, that
they would lay her in the earth, he was seized with a fierce,
gloomy, despairful rage. At times he thought he felt nothing
more, and he enjoyed this lull in his pain, whilst at the same
time he reproached himself for being a wretch.
The sharp noise of an iron-ferruled stick was heard on
the stones, striking them at irregular intervals. It came
from the end of the church, and stopped short at the lower
aisles. A man in a coarse brown jacket knelt down painfully.
It was Hippolyte, the stable-boy at the ‘Lion d’Or.’ He had
put on his new leg.
One of the choristers went round the nave making a col-
lection, and the coppers chinked one after the other on the
silver plate.
‘Oh, make haste! I am in pain!’ cried Bovary, angrily
throwing him a five-franc piece. The churchman thanked
him with a deep bow.
They sang, they knelt, they stood up; it was endless! He