New-York tribune., 1917-12-16
Madame Bovary Dreams of Paris

,v,,bou. skipping a word, all The accounts OF
Srst NIGHTS. races and sorSes; tcok an interes'
In the dSbut Of a singer; m tne opening Oh
80, ,.on sho knew the latest fashions, the
,ddrcsses Of the best tailors, tho stars OF the
Roia and the Opera. In Eugene sue sne
e,udied descriptions Of furniture; she read
Ralzac and George Sand, seeking in them
Imaginary satisfaction for her own desires
Even nj table she had her book by her, and
turned over the pages while Charles ate and
talked TO her. The memory Of the Viscoun'
alwavs returned as she read. Between him
and the imaginary personages she made com
parisons. But the circle Of which he was the
centre gradually widened round him, and the
aureole that he bore, fading from his form,
broadened out beyond, lighting up her other
dreams.
paris, more vague than the ocean, glim-
mered before Emma's eyes in an atmosphere
OF yermilion. The many lives that stirred
amid this tumlt were, however, divided INTO
parts, classed as distinct pictures. Emma
perceived only two or three that hid from her
all the rest, and in themselves represented all
humanity. The world Of ambassadors moved
over polished floors in drawing rooms lined
with mirrors, around oval tables covered with
velvet and gold -fringed cloths. There were
dresses with trains. deep mysteries, anguish
hidden beneath smiles Then came the So
eiety Of the duch,sses; all were pale; all got
up Mt A o'clock; the women, poor angels, wore
English point on their petticoats; and the
men, unapprecated geniuses under frlvo!-
Gus outward seeming, rode horses to death az
pleasure parties, spent the summer season at
Baden. and toward the forties married heir
esses. In the private rooms of restaurants,
where one sups after midnight by the light
of wax candles, laughed the motley crowd OF
men of letters, and actresses. They were
prodigal as kings, full of ideal, ambitious
fantastic frenzy This was an existence out
side that Of all others, between heaven and
earth, in the midst of storms, having some
thing of the sublime. For the rest OF the
world it was lost, with no particular place.
and as if non-existent. The nearer things
were, moreover, the more her thoughts turned
away from them. All her immediate sur
roundings. the wearisome country, the middle
class imbecies, the medocrity OF existence,
seemed TO her exceptional, a peculiar chance
that had caught hold Of her, while beyond
stretched as far as eye could see an immense
land of Joys and passions. She confused IN
her desire the sensuslities OF luxury with the
delights of the heart elegance OF manners
with deicacy Of sentiment Did not love, Ike
Indian plants, need a special soil, particu-
lar temperature? Sighs BY moonlight, long
embraces, tears flowing over yielded hands,
all the fevers of the flesh and languors of ten
derness could not be separated from the bal
comics of great castles full Of incidence, from
boudoirs with silken curtains and thick car
pets, we'll filled fowerstands, a bed on
raised dais, nor from the flashing Of precious
stones and the shoulder-knots of lveries.
Madame was in her room upstairs. She
wore an open dressing gown, that showed be-
tween the shawl fscings of her bodice a
pleated chemisette with three gold buttons
Her belt was corded girdle with great tas-
sells, and her small garnet-colored slippers
had a large knot Of ribbon that fell over her
instep. She lad bought herself blotting
book, writing case, penholder and envelopes,
although she had no one to write to; she
busted her what-not, looked at herself in the
glass, picked up a book and then, dreaming
between the lines, let it drop on her knees.
She onged to travel or to go back to her con-
vent. She wished at the same time to die and
to live in Paris"