The Red and the Black (15 page)

of adultery and all the ignominy which, in her opinion, this crime
carries in its wake, and when she came to think of the sweet pleasures
of living innocently with Julien, just as in the past, she found
herself engulfed in the horrible thought that Julien loved another
woman. She could still see him grow pale when he feared he had lost
his portrait of her, or would compromise her by letting it be seen.
For the first time, she had caught an expression of fear on a face so
calm and noble. He had never shown any sign of being moved like this
on her account or her children's. Her excess of grief reached the full
pitch of distress which the human mind is given to endure. Without
realizing it, M
^me
de Rênal cried out and woke her chambermaid. Suddenly she saw the brightness of a lamp by her bed and recognized Elisa.

'Are you the one he loves?' she exclaimed in her madness.

The chambermaid was astonished at the dreadful state of confusion she
found her mistress in, and luckily paid no attention to these strange
words. M
^me
de Rênal noticed how unguarded she had been:
'I'm feverish,' she said to her, 'and a bit delirious, I think. Stay
with me.' Fully wakened by the need to pretend, she felt less unhappy;
her reason regained the hold it had lost while she was half asleep.
To free herself from the chambermaid's fixed stare, she ordered her to
read from the newspaper; and it was to the drone of the girl's voice
reading a long article from the
Quotidienne
that M
^me
de Rênal made the virtuous resolve to treat Julien with exemplary coldness when she next saw him.

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In Paris you find elegant people; there may be people of character in the provinces.

SIEYÈS
^*

BY five o'clock the next morning, before M
^me
de Rênal appeared, Julien had obtained three days' leave from her
husband. Contrary to his expectations, Julien found himself wishing to
see her again; he kept thinking of her pretty hand. He went down into
the garden; she took her time to make an appearance. If Julien had
loved her, he would have glimpsed her behind the half-closed shutters
on the first floor, pressing her forehead against the glass. She was
watching him. At last, in spite of her resolve, she made up her mind
to go out into the garden. Her usual pallor had given way to a
heightened flush. This highly innocent woman was clearly agitated: a
feeling of constraint and even of anger destroyed the expression of
deep serenity, seemingly above all the vulgar concerns of life, which
gave her angelic face so much charm.

Julien hurried over to her, admiring the fine arms that could be
glimpsed through a shawl she had put on in haste. The cool of the
morning air seemed to heighten still more the colours of a complexion
which the night's turmoil had rendered all the more receptive to every
impression. Her beauty was unpretentious and touching, yet enhanced by
qualities of mind that are not found among the lower classes; and it
seemed to reveal to Julien a faculty of his own being that he had
never experienced before. Completely absorbed in admiring the charms
discovered by his avid gaze, Julien had no thoughts for the friendly
welcome he was expecting to receive. He was all the more astonished at
the show of icy coldness with which the lady tried to greet him, and
in which he even thought he detected the intention of putting him in
his place.

The smile of pleasure died on his lips: he remembered the rank he occupied in society, and especially in the eyes of a

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noble and rich heiress. In a moment, his face showed nothing but
aloofness and anger at himself. He felt violently resentful at having
delayed his departure for over an hour, only to be given such a
humiliating reception.

Only a fool,
he said to himself, gets angry with other people: a stone falls
because it's heavy. Won't I ever grow up? When on earth will I acquire
the good habit of letting these people have only so much of my soul
as their money has paid for? If I want their esteem and my own, I must
show them that it's only my poverty that enters into dealings with
their riches, but that my heart is a hundred miles away from their
insolence, in a sphere so high up that it's out of reach of their
petty marks of disdain or favour.

While these sentiments were crowding into the young tutor's mind, his
mobile features took on a fierce expression of suffering pride. M
^me
de Rênal was completely flustered by it. The cold look of virtue she
had wanted to greet him with gave way to an expression of
interest--one lit by surprise at the sudden change she had just
observed. The idle words which people exchange in the morning about
their health, or the beauty of the day, dried up for both of them at
once. Julien, whose judgement was not clouded by any passion, soon
found a way to show M
^me
de Rênal how little he considered
himself to be on terms of friendship with her; he said nothing to her
of the short journey he was about to embark on, took his leave and
left.

As she watched him go, aghast
at the sullen disdain she could read in his expression which had been
so amiable the previous evening, her eldest son ran up from the bottom
of the garden and said as he kissed her:

'We've got a holiday: Mr Julien is off on a journey.'

At these words M
^me
de Rênal felt a deathly chill come over her: she was unhappy through
her virtue, and more unhappy still through her weakness.

This new turn of events absorbed all her imagination; she was carried
far beyond the wise resolves which had come to her during the
terrible night she had just gone through. It was no longer matter of
resisting so charming a lover, but of losing him for ever.

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She had to appear at lunch. To crown her misery, M. de Rênal and M
^me
Derville talked of nothing but Julien's departure. The mayor of
Verrières had noticed something out of the ordinary in the firmness
with which he had requested his leave.

'This little peasant has no doubt got an offer from someone else in
his pocket. But this someone, even if it were M. Valenod, must be a
bit downcast at the sum of six hundred francs which the annual outlay
now amounts to. Yesterday, in Verrières, the person will have asked
for three days' grace to think it over; and this morning, so as not to
have to give me an answer, the little gentleman ups and leaves for
the mountains. To be obliged to reckon with a wretched workman who
plays at being impertinent, what a pass we've come to!'

Since my husband, who's unaware how deeply he has wounded Julien,
thinks he's going to leave us, what am I to believe myself? wondered M
^me
de Rênal. Ah! it's all settled!

So that she could at least shed tears in peace, and not have to answer M
^me
Derville's questions, she said she had a terrible headache and went to bed.

'That's women for you,' said M. de Rênal again, 'there's always
something wrong with these complicated machines.' And he went off with
a sneer.

While M
^me
de
Rênal was suffering the cruellest effects of the terrible passion
which chance had brought upon her, Julien was journeying cheerfully
through the loveliest vistas which mountain landscapes can afford. He
had to cross the high ridge north of Vergy. The path he was following
climbed gradually through great beechwoods, cutting countless zigzags
on the face of the high mountain which marks out the valley of the
Doubs to the north. The traveller's gaze soon passed over the lower
slopes which flank the course of the Doubs on the south side, and
penetrated as far as the fertile plains of Burgundy and the
Beaujolais. Insensitive as this ambitious young man was to such
beauty, he could not help stopping from time to time to contemplate so
vast and impressive a view.

At
length he reached the summit of the high mountain which you have to
pass by on this cross-country trail in order to reach the lonely
valley where his friend Fouqué the young timber merchant lived. Julien
was in no hurry to see him, or

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for that matter any other fellow human. Hidden like a bird of prey
among the bare rocks which crown the high mountain, he could spy from
afar any man who might happen to draw near him. He discovered a small
grotto in the almost vertical face of one of the crags. He made for it
and was soon installed in this retreat. Here, he said to himself with
delight shining in his eyes, no man can do me any harm. He had the
idea of indulging in the pleasure of writing down his thoughts, a most
dangerous undertaking for him anywhere else. A square stone slab
did duty as a desk. His pen flew back and forth: he was oblivious of
his surroundings. At last he noticed that the sun was setting behind
the distant hills of the Beaujolais.

Why don't I spend the night here? he said to himself; I've got some bread and
I'm free!
The sound of these grand words filled him with jubilation; his
hypocrisy prevented him from being free even in Fouqué's house. With
his head resting on his hands, Julien sat in the grotto feeling
happier than ever in his life before, stirred by his fancies and the
happiness which freedom brought. Without paying particular attention
to it, he saw all the rays of the sunset fade away one by one. In the
midst of this great darkness his imagination was lost in the
contemplation of what he fancied he would one day find in Paris. There
was first of all a woman of far greater beauty and more refined wit
than he had ever encountered in the provinces. He was passionately in
love, and was loved in his turn. If he left her side for a brief
moment, it was to go and win glory, and earn even greater love from
her.

Even if one were to credit him
with Julien's imagination, a young man brought up amid the sorry
truths of Parisian society would have been awakened at this point in
his romance by a chilling sense of irony; the great deeds would have
vanished along with the hope of accomplishing them, giving way to the
well-known maxim: If you leave your mistress, you run the risk, alas!
of being deceived two or three times a day. The young peasant saw
nothing coming between him and the most heroic deeds, apart from lack
of opportunity.

But an impenetrable night had driven away the daylight, and Julien still had two leagues to go to get down to the hamlet

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where Fouqué lived. Before leaving the little grotto, Julien lit a fire and carefully burned everything he had written.

He caused his friend great astonishment by knocking at his door at
one in the morning. He found Fouqué busy doing his accounts. He was a
tall, rather awkwardly built young man, with coarse, hard features, an
endlessly long nose, and plenty of good-nature hidden beneath this
repellent exterior.

'Have you had a quarrel with your M. de Rênal, then, to bring you to my doorstep unexpectedly like this?'

Julien reported to him--in a suitable version--the events of the previous day.

'You stay here with me,' Fouqué said to him. 'I see that you've got
to know M. de Rênal, M. Valenod, the sub-prefect Maugiron and Father
Chélan; you've grasped the subtleties of these people's characters;
you're now fit to take part in auctions. You're better at sums than I
am, so you can keep my accounts. My trade brings me in a lot of money.
Every day I miss excellent business because it's impossible to do
everything myself, and I'm afraid that anyone I take on as a partner
will prove to be a rogue. It's less than a month since I let Michaud
from Saint-Armand make six thousand francs; I hadn't seen him for six
years, and I met him by chance at the auction in Pontarlier.
^*
Why shouldn't it have been you who made those six thousand francs, or
at any rate three thousand? For you see, if I'd had you with me that
day, I'd have started bidding for that plot of timber, and the rest of
them would soon have let me have it. Come and be my partner.'

This offer put Julien in a bad mood, as it interfered with his train
of fantasy. Throughout supper, which the two friends prepared for
themselves like Homeric heroes, since Fouqué lived alone, he showed
Julien his accounts and proved to him how advantageous his trade in
timber was. Fouqué had the highest opinion of Julien's intelligence
and character.

When at last Julien
was alone in his little pine-board room, he said to himself: It's true
that I can earn several thousand francs here, and then be in a better
position to take up a career as a soldier or a priest, according to
what's in fashion in France at that time. The little nest egg I'll
have accumulated will smooth out all the minor difficulties in my way.
With time to

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myself in these mountains, I'll be able to dispel some of my terrible
ignorance about the things that concern all these salon people. But
Fouqué has given up thought of getting married, and he keeps telling
me that solitude makes him unhappy. It's obvious that if he takes a
partner who hasn't any capital to put into his business, he must be
hoping to get himself a companion who'll never leave him.

Am I going to deceive my friend? Julien exclaimed in annoyance. This
individual whose usual means of salvation were hypocrisy and a total
lack of sympathy, was unable on this occasion to bear the thought of
the slightest insensitivity towards a man bound to him by ties of
friendship.

But suddenly Julien
cheered up: he had a reason for refusing. Just think, I'd feebly go
and lose seven or eight years of my life! I'd end up being
twenty-eight; but at that age Bonaparte had his greatest achievements
behind him. By the time I've earned a bit of money as a nobody by
going from one timber auction to the next and winning favours from a
handful of subordinate rogues, who can guarantee that I'll still have
the sacred fire you need to make a name for yourself?

The next morning, with an air of perfect composure, Julien told the
honest Fouqué, who considered the matter of their partnership as
settled, that his calling to the sacred ministry did not allow him to
accept. Fouqué was completely taken aback.

'But do you realize', he repeated, 'that I'm making you a partner, or
if you prefer, I'll give you four thousand francs a year? And you
want to go back to your M. de Rênal who despises you like the dirt on
his boots! Once you've got a pile of two hundred gold louis in front
of you, what's to stop you from going to the seminary? I'll tell you
something else: I'll make it my business to get you the best living in
the neighbourhood. For you see,' added Fouqué, lowering his voice, 'I
supply firewood to important people like M. -----, M. ----and M. -----.
I give them the finest varieties of oak, and they only pay me the
price of deal for it, but never was money better spent.'

Nothing could shift Julien from his vocation. Fouqué ended up thinking him slightly mad. On the third day Julien said

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