Sentimental Education, or The History of a young man Vol 2 E-Book

Gustave Flaubert

• Herausgeber: Gustave Flaubert
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Sentimental Education is considered the most influential of the nineteenth century novel he describes the life of a young man (Federic Moreau), and his love for an older woman during the revolution of 1848 and the founding of the Second French Empire.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

CHAPTER XI. A DINNER AND A DUEL

CHAPTER XII. - LITTLE LOUISE GROWS UP

CHAPTER XIII. - ROSANETTE AS A LOVELY TURK

CHAPTER XIV. - THE BARRICADE

CHAPTER XV. - “HOW HAPPY COULD I BE WITH EITHER”

CHAPTER XVI. - UNPLEASANT NEWS FROM ROSANETTE

CHAPTER XVII. - A STRANGE BETROTHAL

CHAPTER XVIII. - AN AUCTION

CHAPTER XIX. - A BITTER-SWEET REUNION

CHAPTER XX. - “WAIT TILL YOU COME TO FORTY YEAR”

SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION

OR, THE HISTORY OF A YOUNG MAN

VOL 2

by

GUSTAVE FLAUBERT

First digital edition 2018 by Maria Ruggieri

CHAPTER XI. A DINNER AND A DUEL

Frederick passed the whole of the next day in brooding over his anger and humiliation. He reproached himself for not having given a slap in the face to Cisy. As for the Maréchale, he swore not to see her again. Others as good-looking could be easily found; and, as money would be required in order to possess these women, he would speculate on the Bourse with the purchase-money of his farm. He would get rich; he would crush the Maréchale and everyone else with his luxury. When the evening had come, he was surprised at not having thought of Madame Arnoux.

“So much the better. What’s the good of it?”

Two days after, at eight o’clock, Pellerin came to pay him a visit. He began by expressing his admiration of the furniture and talking in a wheedling tone. Then, abruptly:

“You were at the races on Sunday?”

“Yes, alas!”

Thereupon the painter decried the anatomy of English horses, and praised the horses of Gericourt and the horses of the Parthenon.

“Rosanette was with you?”

And he artfully proceeded to speak in flattering terms about her.

Frederick’s freezing manner put him a little out of countenance.

He did not know how to bring about the question of her portrait. His first idea had been to do a portrait in the style of Titian. But gradually the varied colouring of his model had bewitched him; he had gone on boldly with the work, heaping up paste on paste and light on light. Rosanette, in the beginning, was enchanted. Her appointments with Delmar had interrupted the sittings, and left Pellerin all the time to get bedazzled. Then, as his admiration began to subside, he asked himself whether the picture might not be on a larger scale. He had gone to have another look at the Titians, realised how the great artist had filled in his portraits with such finish, and saw wherein his own shortcomings lay; and then he began to go over the outlines again in the most simple fashion. Afterthat, he sought, by scraping them off, to lose there, to mingle there, all the tones of the head and those of the background; and the face had assumed consistency and the shades vigour, the whole work had a look of greater firmness. At length the Maréchale came back again. She even indulged in some hostile criticisms. The painter naturally persevered in his own course. After getting into a violent passion at her silliness, he said to himself that, after all, perhaps she was right. Then began the era of doubts, twinges of reflection which brought about cramps in the stomach, insomnia, feverishness and disgust with himself. He had the courage to make some retouchings, but without much heart, and with a feeling that his work was bad.

He complained merely of having been refused a place in the Salon; then he reproached Frederick for not having come to see the Maréchale’s portrait.

“What do I care about the Maréchale?”

Such an expression of unconcern emboldened the artist.

“Would you believe that this brute has no interest in the thing any longer?”

What he did not mention was that he had asked her for a thousand crowns. Now the Maréchale did not give herself much bother about ascertaining who was going to pay, and, preferring to screw money out of Arnoux for things of a more urgent character, had not even spoken to him on the subject.

“Well, and Arnoux?”

She had thrown it over on him. The ex-picture-dealer wished to have nothing to do with the portrait.

“He maintains that it belongs to Rosanette.”

“In fact, it is hers.”

“How is that?‘Tis she that sent me to you”, was Pellerin’s answer.