I’ve read just under half of Madame Bovary and most of it is a portrait of an extremely dissatisfied woman. In this post let’s look at 1) why she’s dissatisfied, 2) is that dissatisfaction justified? Do I feel sorry for her? 3) where the story is going in the second half of the novel.
Briefly, A farmer’s daughter, a young woman called Emma married a young man who was the village doctor. Emma became Madame Bovary. Very soon after the wedding, she decided she made a mistake and she was not happy with her husband or her life. Why?
Why is she dissatisfied?
To start, it’s because of the novels she reads! So after Catherine Morland in Northanger Abby, here’s another woman who’s badly affected by reading novels.
What kind of novels does she read?
They were about love, lovers, loving, martyred maidens swooning in secluded lodges, postilions slain every other mile, horses ridden to death on every page, dark forests, aching hearts, promising, sobbing, kisses and tears, little boats by moonlight, nightingales in the grove, gentlemen brave as lions, tender as lambs, virtuous as a dream, always well dressed, and weeping pints.
What kind of people does she admire?
Emma saw an old man who dropped food down his front and was too old to hear or speak, an image far from glorious, but, this man…
so they said, had been the lover of Marie Antoinette… He had led a tumultuous life of debauchery and duelling, of wagers made and women abducted, had squandered his fortune and terrified his whole family… again and again Emma’s eyes kept coming back to this old man with the sagging lips, as though to something wonderfully majestic. He had lived at court and slept in the bed of a queen!
What kind of world does she want to live in?
Because of the influence of Walter Scott’s novels:
she would have liked to live in some old manor-house, like those chatelaines in their long corsages, under their trefoiled Gothic arches, spending their days, elbows on the parapet and chin in hand, looking out far across the fields for the white-plumed rider galloping towards her on his black horse.
She loved the beautiful world outside – like the engravings on books of landscapes of England, Scotland, Turkey, Greece and Italy, anywhere but the French countryside
What kind of life does she actually live?
Her life with Charles didn’t fulfill any of these fancies: she waved goodbye to her husband every morning as he went to work, played piano, did sketches and went for a walk along a countryside path. But the country life was so boring, she soon stopped playing piano, drawing, running the house, even reading and got seriously depressed.
Charles was not a hero in her novels:
Charles’s conversation was as flat as any pavement, everyone’s ideas trudging along it in their weekday clothes, rousing no emotion, no laughter, no reverie. When he was living in Rouen, he said, he had never ventured to the theatre to see the company from Paris. He couldn’t swim, or fence or shoot, and he wasn’t able to explain, one day, a riding term which she had come across in a novel.
A man, surely, ought to know everything, ought to excel in a host of activities, ought to initiate you in the energies of passion, the refinements of life, all its mysteries. But this man knew nothing, taught nothing, desired nothing.
From Madame Bovary’s point of view, Charles had no hobby, no witty words, no ambition. He was not elegant or stylish, he was not careful with his appearance; he had unsophisticated habits, and grew fat and ugly.
Why is she dissatisfied?
She wanted glamour, drama, and passion. Her ideal love was thrilling, romantic and sensational. She dreamt a life in the city, in Paris where there were noisy streets and buzzing theatres and ballrooms, with a handsome, witty, distinguished, attractive man. She wanted a perfect hero in a perfect setting, and to become the heroine of a sentimental novel.
But her life was nothing like the novels. The more she looked at Charles, the more she grew cold towards him. she couldn’t believe or accept how different the reality was.
Do I feel sorry for her?
It’s a dull and repetitive life, same people, same view, same routine day after day with no prospect of any changes. She has no friends; she wanders up and down the house with no one to speak to all day long. She has no employment. Madame Bovary senior very wisely points out Emma’s illness is the result of “stuffing her head with nonsense” – reading novels – “and leading a life of idleness”.
Those are exactly the two things Johnson prescribes to fight depression: be not idle, be not solitary.
Whereas she’s both idle and solitary. She has nothing to occupy her mind, nothing honourable like helping the poor to keep her mind and body busy and to give her any sense of satisfaction; she has no one to share the bitter thoughts; she has nothing but daydreams to dwell on. Little wonder she is going mad.
So yes on one hand, I do feel sorry for her. But on the other hand, I want to say to her, stop blaming it all on others and on fate. Open your eyes and see how fortunate you are. You have a kind, hardworking, respectable husband who adores you; you have a safe home, secure income and a decent lifestyle; you are young and healthy, with every hour of every day to make use of. Count your blessings. Think more of others in the village and less about yourself.
Where is the story going?
Madame Bovary is having her second affair and I don’t know if this will be the last. I look forward to seeing three things in the second half of the story:
How she gets herself there – a dazzling life in Paris with a charming man. And what kind of price she has to pay.
How the relationship between husband and wife is like, especially when the husband finds out about the affairs? Will Charles remain faithful and take her back when she’s ruined and despised? Or will he abandon her as a punishment? Having said that, will she come to ruin at all? Or will she actually prosper, all her dreams come true, maybe she’ll become the mistress of an aristocrat and be the centre of attention in Paris?
Lastly, how will Flaubert deal with an immoral woman? What kind of ending will he give her? I can’t wait to find out.
A Day of Small Things 