The crowd was waiting against the wall, symmetrically enclosed between

the balustrades. At the corner of the neighbouring streets huge bills

repeated in quaint letters "Lucie de Lammermoor-Lagardy-Opera-etc." The

weather was fine, the people were hot, perspiration trickled amid the

curls, and handkerchiefs taken from pockets were mopping red foreheads;

and now and then a warm wind that blew from the river gently stirred the

border of the tick awnings hanging from the doors of the public-houses.

A little lower down, however, one was refreshed by a current of icy air

that smelt of tallow, leather, and oil. This was an exhalation from

the Rue des Charrettes, full of large black warehouses where they made

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casks.

For fear of seeming ridiculous, Emma before going in wished to have a

little stroll in the harbour, and Bovary prudently kept his tickets in

his hand, in the pocket of his trousers, which he pressed against his

stomach.

Her heart began to beat as soon as she reached the vestibule. She

involuntarily smiled with vanity on seeing the crowd rushing to the

right by the other corridor while she went up the staircase to the

reserved seats. She was as pleased as a child to push with her finger

the large tapestried door. She breathed in with all her might the

dusty smell of the lobbies, and when she was seated in her box she bent

forward with the air of a duchess.

The theatre was beginning to fill; opera-glasses were taken from their

cases, and the subscribers, catching sight of one another, were bowing.

They came to seek relaxation in the fine arts after the anxieties of

business; but "business" was not forgotten; they still talked cottons,

spirits of wine, or indigo. The heads of old men were to be seen,

inexpressive and peaceful, with their hair and complexions looking like

silver medals tarnished by steam of lead. The young beaux were strutting

about in the pit, showing in the opening of their waistcoats their pink

or applegreen cravats, and Madame Bovary from above admired them leaning

on their canes with golden knobs in the open palm of their yellow

gloves.

Now the lights of the orchestra were lit, the lustre, let down from the

ceiling, throwing by the glimmering of its facets a sudden gaiety over

the theatre; then the musicians came in one after the other; and

first there was the protracted hubbub of the basses grumbling, violins

squeaking, cornets trumpeting, flutes and flageolets fifing. But three

knocks were heard on the stage, a rolling of drums began, the brass

instruments played some chords, and the curtain rising, discovered a

country-scene.




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