by klonopin » Tue Jul 22, 2014 12:34 am
And even as he poked fun at the fair, Rodolphe showed the policeman his blue card so that they could walk about more freely, and he even stopped now and then in front of some handsome specimen, which Madame Bovary did no much admire. He noticed this and then began to make jokes about the ladies of Yonsville and the way they dressed; then he asked her forgiveness for the carelessness of his own appearance. It was that incoherent mix of the ordinary and the elegant that common people generally take for evidence of an eccentric lifestyle, chaotic passions, the tyrannical dictates of art, and always a certain contempt for social conventions, which either charms or exasperates them. Thus, the breast of his cambric shirt, with its pleated cuffs, swelled as the wind caught it in the opening of his vest of gray twill, and his broad-striped trousers revealed at the ankles his low nankeen boots, vamped in patent leather. They were so highly polished they mirrored the grass; and in them he was trampling the horse dung underfoot, one hand in his jacket pocket and his straw hat tipped to the side.
"Besides," he added, "when you live in the country..."
"It's all a waste of effort," said Emma.
"True!" replied Rodolphe. "Just imagine-- not one of these good people is capable of understanding even the cut of a coat!"
Then they talked about the mediocrity of provincial life, how stifling it was, how fatal to one's illusions.
"And so I myself," said Rodolphe, "sink into such melancholy..."
"You!" she broke in, surprised. "But I thought you were very happy."
"I've missed out on so many things! I've been so alone! Ah! If only I'd had some goal in life, if I'd known some affection, if I'd found someone... Oh, I would have expended all the energy I possess, I would have surmounted everything, conquered everything!"
"Yet it seems to me," sand Emma, "that you're scarcely to be pitied."
"Oh? You think so?" said Rodolphe.
"Because... well...," she went on, "you're free."
She hesitated:
"You're rich."