Page 51 - madame-bovary

She wanted to get some personal profit out of things, and
she rejected as useless all that did not contribute to the im-
mediate desires of her heart, being of a temperament more
sentimental than artistic, looking for emotions, not land-
scapes.
At the convent there was an old maid who came for a
week each month to mend the linen. Patronized by the cler-
gy, because she belonged to an ancient family of noblemen
ruined by the Revolution, she dined in the refectory at the
table of the good sisters, and after the meal had a bit of chat
with them before going back to her work. The girls often
slipped out from the study to go and see her. She knew by
heart the love songs of the last century, and sang them in a
low voice as she stitched away.
She told stories, gave them news, went errands in the
town, and on the sly lent the big girls some novel, that she
always carried in the pockets of her apron, and of which the
good lady herself swallowed long chapters in the intervals
of her work. They were all love, lovers, sweethearts, perse-
cuted ladies fainting in lonely pavilions, postilions killed
at every stage, horses ridden to death on every page, som-
bre forests, heartaches, vows, sobs, tears and kisses, little
skiffs by moonlight, nightingales in shady groves, ‘gentle-
men’ brave as lions, gentle as lambs, virtuous as no one ever
was, always well dressed, and weeping like fountains. For
six months, then, Emma, at fifteen years of age, made her
hands dirty with books from old lending libraries.
Through Walter Scott, later on, she fell in love with his-
torical events, dreamed of old chests, guard-rooms and

0 Madame Bovary