er it. It writhed, with the sun's rays falling on it,
under the gnawing of so many mouths, in this intolerable stench--a
stench which was fierce and, as it were, devouring.

Yet wrinkles gathered on Bouvard's forehead, and his eyes filled with
tears.

Pecuchet said in a stoical fashion, "One day we shall be like that."

The idea of death had taken hold of them. They talked about it on their
way back.

After all, it has no existence. We pass away into the dew, into the
breeze, into the stars. We become part of the sap of trees, the
brilliance of precious stones, the plumage of birds. We give back to
Nature what she lent to each of us, and the nothingness before us is not
a bit more frightful than the nothingness behind us.

They tried to picture it to themselves under the form of an intense
night, a bottomless pit, a continual swoon. Anything would be better
than such an existence--monotonous, absurd, and hopeless.

They enumerated their unsatisfied wants. Bouvard had always wished for
horses, equipages, a big supply of Burgundy, and lovely women ready to
accommodate him in a splendid habitation. Pecuchet's ambition was
philosophical knowledge. Now, the vastest of problems, that which
contains all others, can be solved in one minute. When would it come,
then? "As well to make an end of it at once."

"Just as you like," said Bouvard.

And they investigated the question of suicide.

Where is the evil of casting aside a burden which is crushing you? and
of doing an act harmful to nobody? If it offended God, should we have
this power? It is not cowardice, though people say so, and to scoff at
human pride is a fine thing, even at the price of injury to oneself--the
thing that men regard most highly.

They deliberated as to the different kinds of death. Poison makes you
suffer. In order to cut your throat you require too much courage. In the
case of asphyxia, people often fail to effect their object.

Finally, Pecuchet carried up to the garret two ropes belonging to their
gymnastic apparatus. Then, having fastened them to the same cross-beam
of the roof, he let a slip-knot hang down from the end of each, and drew
two chairs underneath to reach the ropes.

This method was the one they selected.

They asked themselves what impression it would cause in the district,
what would become of their library, their papers, their collections. The
thought of death made them feel tenderly about themselves. However, they
did