Madame Bovary: A Play in Three Acts. Gustave Flaubert

for very long. My life is very different from theirs. What became of them, those whose coats filled the courtyard the day of the Fest of God, or for the distribution of prizes? They are rich, elegant and admired. Doubtless they love and are loved. For them the delicacy of luxury, of the happiness of dreams that are accomplished, the nobility of an idea. I imagine them, when they go to the theater in their box seats, under shining lights. They greet one another with a bow of their heads, with headbands gently bulging. Flowers hang from their necks. Pearls roll on their shoulders, They wave their fans. They smell their bouquets to hide their smiles, they—

      (in measure to her words the stage is lit up and the Beauties appear as they are described—then shadow invades Homais’ salon, except for the illuminated face of Emma.)

      THE BEAUTIES

      Emma!

      Emma, you are one of us! You are really worth as much as all those who live happily.

      Your waist is less thick, and your manners less plebian than duchesses.

      Listen to us, Emma.

      We are bringing you the dream, the great romantic dream.

      On it we have modeled our lives.

      On it, you can model yours.

      To live, one must dream one’s life.

      Choose among the images of yourself.

      Choose to be haughty and wild,

      Faithfull without love, and virtuous through pride.

      Savor the sensuality of being stronger than your desires.

      Aspire to the vertigo of sacrifice and isolation.

      Be the unreachable vine, heavy with grapes that none can press.

      And if your pride is not powerful enough,

      And if the need to love bursts in your breast,

      Go strengthen yourself in God,

      Go cast your love to God.

      In the cold shadow of gothic naves,

      Where tones do not echo in the silence,

      Rush to the rendezvous with your celestial fiancée!

      Passionate!—Be the lamp that consumes itself on vigil in the sanctuary.

      Languishing—be the sheep whose good shepherd takes it on his shoulders.

      Gorged with disgust for this world, and scorn for its inhabitants,

      Raise yourself ever higher.

      We are bringing you the liberating dream,

      Stretch out your hands, take it!

      (Abruptly, the voices are silent.)

      FELICITY’S VOICE

      Madame!

      (Suddenly the room of the Bovary’s appears.)

      CURTAIN