Sentimental Education (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) by Gustave Flaubert Read Free Book Online Page A

the waves, or a boat without sails in which a man sat fishing. Then the wandering haze cleared off; the sun appeared; the hill which ran along the course of the Seine to the right dropped from view little by little, and another rose up closer on the opposite bank.
    The hill was crowned with trees, which surrounded low-built houses, covered with roofs in the Italian style. They had sloping gardens divided by new walls, iron railings, lawns, green-houses, and vases of geraniums, at regular intervals on the terraces with balustrades to lean on. More than one spectator longed, on beholding those attractive residences which looked so peaceful, to be the owner of one of them, and to dwell there till the end of his days with a good billiard-table, a sailboat, and a woman or some other dream. The agreeable novelty of a journey by water made such outpourings natural. Already the practical jokers on board were beginning their gags. Many began to sing. Gaiety prevailed, and glasses were being filled.
    Frédéric was thinking about the room which he would live in there, about an idea for a play about subjects for paintings about future love affairs. He found that the happiness that he deserved by virtue of his sensitive soul was slow in coming. He recited some melancholy verses. He walked with rapid steps along the deck. He went on till he reached the end where the bell was; and, in the centre of a group of passengers and sailors, he saw a gentleman whispering sweet nothings to a country-woman, while fingering the gold cross which she wore over her bosom. He was a jovial fellow of forty with frizzy hair. His stocky frame was encased in a jacket of black velvet, two emeralds sparkled in his fine linen shirt, and his wide, white trousers fell over odd-looking red boots of Russian leather set off with blue designs.
    Frédéric’s presence did not bother him. He turned round and glanced several times at the young man giving him conspiratorial winks. He next offered cigars to all who were standing around him. But getting tired, no doubt, of their company, he moved away from them and took a seat further up. Frédéric followed him.
    The conversation, at first, centered around various kinds of tobacco, then quite naturally it glided into a discussion about women. The gentleman in the red boots gave the young man advice; he expounded theories, told anecdotes, quoted himself as an example, all in a paternal tone, with a shameless wickedness that was amusing.
    He was a Republican. He had travelled; knew all about the theatre, restaurants, and newspapers, and knew all the theatrical celebrities, whom he called by their Christian names. Frederic told him confidentially about his projects; and the elder man took an encouraging view of them.
    But he stopped talking to take a look at the funnel, then he went mumbling rapidly through a long calculation in order to ascertain “how much each stroke of the piston at so many times per minute would come to,” etc., and having come up with the number, he spoke about the scenery, which he admired immensely. Then he proclaimed his delight at having escaped from business.
    Frédéric regarded him with a certain amount of respect, and politely expressed his desire to know his name. The stranger, without a moment’s hesitation, replied:
    “Jacques Arnoux, proprietor of LArt Industriel, Boulevard Montmartre.”
    A servant with gold-braid on his cap came up and said:
    “Would Monsieur please go below? Mademoiselle is crying.”
    LArt Industriel was a hybrid establishment, wherein the functions of an art-journal and a paintings dealer were combined. Frédéric had seen this title several times in the bookseller’s window in his native part of the country, on big leaflets, on which the name of Jacques Arnoux displayed itself prominently.
    The sun’s rays fell perpendicularly, shedding a glittering light on the iron bands around the masts, the plates of the rails, and the surface of the water, which, at the