by Stendhal
After this display of strength, Sorel wisely reverted to his expressions of respect: a good quarter of an hour was taken up in flowery phrases. Eventually, seeing that there really was nothing more to be gained, he took his leave. He ended his last bow with these words:
'I shall send my son up to the château.'
This was what the mayor's subordinates called his house when they wanted to please him.
Once back at his sawmill, Sorel looked in vain for his son. Wary of what might happen, Julien had gone out in the middle of the night. He wanted to take his books and his Legion of Honour cross to a place of safety. He had carted everything off to the house of a friend of his, a young timber merchant called Fouqué who lived up in the mountains behind Verrières.
When he reappeared, his father greeted him with: 'God only knows, you damned idler, if you'll ever have enough decency to repay me the cost of your food which I've been advancing you all these years! Get your rags together and be off with you to his worship's house.'
Julien was astonished not to be beaten, and left in haste. But as soon as he was out of sight of his dreaded father, he
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slackened his pace. He thought it would be in the interests of his hypocrisy to make a Station * in the church.
Does the word hypocrisy surprise you? Before being able to apply this terrible term to himself, the young peasant had already advanced some way along the path of his spiritual development.
In early childhood Julien had seen some dragoons from the sixth regiment on their way back from Italy, tying their horses to the barred windows of his father's house; they wore long white coats and had helmets with long black plumes, and the sight of them made him crazy about the army. Later, he would listen enthralled while the old army surgeon recounted the battles of Lodi bridge, Arcola and Rivoli. * He noticed how the old man's eyes lit up as he glanced at his Legion of Honour cross.
But when Julien was fourteen, they began to build a church in Verrières that may well be called magnificent for such a small town. Julien was particularly struck by the sight of four marble pillars; they became famous in the region for the deadly hatred they aroused between the justice of the peace and the young curate sent from Besançon, who was reputed to be a spy from the Congregation. * The justice of the peace was on the point of losing his job, at least that is what was generally believed. Hadn't he dared to fall out with a priest who nearly every fortnight went to Besançon where, rumour had it, he saw Monsignor the bishop?
At this point the justice of the peace, who had a large number of children, passed several sentences which appeared unjust; they were all directed against those inhabitants who read Le Constitutionnel. * It was a victory for the orthodox party. The sums involved were admittedly only of the order of four or five francs; but one of these small fines had to be paid by a nailmaker who was Julien's godfather. In his fury this man exclaimed: 'What a change! To think that for over twenty years the justice of the peace was considered such an upright citizen!' Julien's friend the army surgeon was dead by then.
Quite suddenly Julien stopped talking about Napoleon. He announced that he was intending to become a priest, and he was constantly to be seen at his father's sawmill engaged in
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learning off by heart a Latin Bible which the priest had lent him. The kindly old man was astonished at his progress and spent long evenings teaching him theology. Julien never uttered anything but pious sentiments in his presence. Who could have guessed that this face, as pale and gentle as a girl's, hid the unshakable determination to risk a thousand deaths rather than fail to make his fortune!
For Julien, making his fortune meant first and foremost getting out of Verrières; he loathed his native town. Everything he saw there froze his imagination.
From early childhood, there had been occasions when he was carried away by his own fantasies. At such times he imagined with rapture that one day he would be introduced to the pretty women of Paris, and would succeed in drawing himself to their attention by some glorious deed. Why shouldn't he be adored by one of them, just as Bonaparte, still penniless, had been adored by the dazzling Mme de Beauharnais? * For years now, Julien had never let an hour of his life pass without telling himself that Bonaparte, an obscure lieutenant without fortune, had made himself master of the globe with his sword. This thought consoled him for his sufferings, which he believed to be great, and increased any pleasure which came his way.
The building of the church and the sentences passed by the justice of the peace were a sudden flash of illumination for him. He was struck by an idea which drove him almost crazy for several weeks, and finally took hold of him with the overwhelming force characteristic of the very first idea a passionate individual believes he has thought of himself.
When Bonaparte first made a name for himself, France was afraid of being invaded; military prowess was necessary and in fashion. Nowadays you find priests of forty earning a hundred thousand francs, in other words three times as much as the famous generals in Napoleon's army. They need people to back them up. Look at that justice of the peace, such a levelheaded and honest man up till now, dishonouring himself at his age for fear of displeasing a young curate of thirty! The answer is to be a priest.
Once, in the midst of his new-found piety, when Julien had
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been studying theology for two years, he was betrayed by a sudden eruption of the inner fire which was consuming him. It happened at a dinner given by Father Chélan for a gathering of priests, at which the kindly host had presented Julien as a prodigy of learning: he went and praised Napoleon with great vehemence. Afterwards, he strapped his right arm to his chest, pretending he had dislocated it while moving a fir trunk, and kept it in this uncomfortable position for two months. After this corporal punishment he forgave himself. This was the young man of nineteen, looking puny for his age, indeed unlikely to be taken for more than seventeen at the very most, who with a small bundle clasped under his arm was preparing to enter the magnificent church in Verrières.
He found it dark and deserted. All the windows of the building had been draped with crimson material for a feastday, and as a result the sun's rays streaming in produced a dazzling light-effect of the most awe-inspiring and religious kind. Julien shuddered. Alone in the church, he took a seat in the finest-looking pew. It bore the arms of M. de Rênal.
On the hassock Julien noticed a piece of paper with printing on it, spread out there as if meant to be read. He looked at it closely and saw:
Details of the execution and last moments of Louis Jenrel, executed at Besançon on the . . .
The paper was torn. On the back, the first few words of a line could be read. They ran: The first step.
Who can have put that paper there? Julien wondered. Poor wretch, he added with a sigh, his named ends like mine . . . and he crumpled up the piece of paper.
On his way out, Julien thought he saw blood beside the stoup of holy water; some of it had been spilled, and the light coming through the red drapings over the windows made it look like blood.
After a while Julien felt ashamed of his secret terror.
Could I be a coward! he said to himself. 'To arms!'
This expression, which recurred so often in the old surgeon's accounts of battles, had heroic symbolism for Julien. He stood up and walked quickly in the direction of M. de Rênal's house.
In spite of this fine resolve, as soon as he caught sight of it
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twenty yards in front of him he was seized with overwhelming shyness. The iron gate was open; it looked magnificent to him, and he had to go inside.
Julien was not the only person to feel deep agitation at his arrival in the house. Mme de Rênal with her excessive shyness was put out at the thought of this stranger who, by the very nature of his duties, was constantly going to come between herself and her children. She was accustomed to having her sons sleeping in her bedroom. That morning a good many tears had been shed when she had seen their li
ttle beds moved into the quarters set aside for the tutor. She asked her husband in vain to have her youngest child Stanislas-Xavier's bed brought back into her room.
Feminine delicacy was carried to excess in Mme de Rênal. She conjured up the most disagreeable image of a boorish, ill- w kempt individual, empowered to scold her children solely because he knew Latin, a barbarous language on account of which her sons would be beaten.
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CHAPTER 6 Boredom
Non so più cosa son, Cosa facio.
MOZART (Figaro) *
WITH the lively and graceful demeanour which came naturally to her when she was not in company, Mme de Rênal was coming out into the garden through the French window of the drawing-room when she noticed the figure of a young peasant standing by the front door. He was scarcely more than a boy, and his pale face showed signs of recent tears. He was wearing a spotless white shirt and carrying a very clean jacket of thick mauve wool under his arm.
The peasant boy had so fair a complexion and such gentle eyes that Mme de Rênal's romantically inclined nature led her to imagine at first that he might be a girl in disguise, coming to ask some favour of the mayor. She felt a surge of pity for the poor soul standing there at the front door and obviously not daring to raise a hand to the bell. She went over to him, distracted for a moment from the deep distress which the prospect of a tutor in the house was causing her. Julien was facing the door and did not see her coming. He started when a gentle voice said right in his ear: 'What have you come for, dear?'
Julien turned round in a flash, and, struck by the gracious look in Mme de Rênal's eyes, forgot some of his shyness. Soon, astonished at her beauty, he forgot everything, even what he was there for. Mme de Rênal had repeated her question.
'I've come to be tutor here, madam,' he told her at last, thoroughly ashamed of the tears he was doing his best to wipe away.
Mme de Rênal was struck speechless. They were standing very close together, looking at each other. Julien had never been spoken to gently by a person so well dressed--particularly a woman with such a dazzling complexion. Mme de Rênal gazed
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at the big teardrops poised on the young peasant's cheeks, which had now turned from pale to deep crimson. She soon began to laugh with the uncontrollable mirth of a girl; she was laughing at herself, unable to take in the full extent of her good fortune. Was it possible? was this the tutor she had imagined as an unkempt, shabby priest who would come to scold and cane her children?
'Can it be, sir,' she said to him at last, 'that you know Latin?'
The term sir so astonished Julien that he took a moment to reflect.
'Yes, madam,' he said shyly.
Mme de Rênal was so happy that she plucked up the courage to say to Julien: 'You won't scold the poor children too much, will you?'
'Me, scold them?' said Julien in surprise. 'Why should I?'
'You will be sure, sir, won't you,' she added after a short pause, in a voice which grew more and more emotional by the moment, 'to be kind to them. Do you promise me you will?'
To hear himself addressed again as sir in all seriousness, and by so well dressed a lady, was far beyond anything Julien had anticipated. Whenever he had built castles in the air in his youth, he had always told himself that no real lady would ever deign to speak to him until he had a fine uniform. Mme de Rênal, for her part, was completely beguiled by Julien's exquisite complexion, his large dark eyes and his lovely hair, which was curlier than usual because he had just cooled himself off by dipping his head in the trough under the public drinking fountain. To her great delight, she detected the shy look of a young girl in this fateful tutor whose sternness and rebarbative appearance she had so dreaded on her children's account. For a temperament as quiet as Mme de Rênal's, the mismatch between her fears and what she now saw was a major upheaval. She eventually recovered from her surprise, and was astonished to find herself on her own doorstep with this young man almost in his shirtsleeves, and standing so close to him too.
'Shall we go in, sir?' she said to him in some embarrassment.
In all her life Mme de Rênal had not been so deeply moved
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by a wholly pleasurable sensation; never had so charming an apparition come as a sequel to such alarming fears. So these lovely children of hers, the objects of her tender care, wouldn't fall into the hands of a dirty, ill-tempered priest. As soon as she was inside the hall she turned to face Julien who was timidly following her. His look of astonishment at the sight of such a fine house was a further source of charm to Mme de Rênal. She couldn't believe her eyes; it seemed to her that the tutor would surely be wearing a black suit.
'But is it true, sir,' she asked him with the same hesitation and in mortal dread of being wrong, so great was the happiness her supposition gave her, 'that you really know Latin?'
These words wounded Julien's pride and broke the spell he had been living under for the past quarter of an hour.
'Yes, madam,' he replied, endeavouring to muster a chilly look, 'I know Latin as well as Father Chélan does, and he's sometimes even good enough to say better.'
Mme de Rênal thought Julien had a very fierce look on his face; he had stopped some feet away from her. She went up to him and said quietly: 'You won't give my children the cane, will you, not the first few days, even if they don't know their lessons?'
A voice so gentle and almost pleading from a lady of such beauty caused Julien to forget at once what he owed to his reputation as a Latin scholar. Mme de Rênal's face was close to his, and he caught the fragrance of a woman's summer clothes--something quite breathtaking to a simple peasant. Julien blushed deeply and said with a sigh in scarcely audible tones: 'Never fear, madam, I shall obey your every word.'
It was only at that moment, when her anxiety about her children was completely dispelled, that Mme de Rênal was struck by how extremely good-looking Julien was. The almost feminine cast of his features and his air of embarrassment did not appear at all ridiculous to a woman who was excessively shy herself. She would have been frightened by the overt masculinity which is commonly thought an essential ingredient of good looks in a man.
'How old are you, sir?' she asked Julien.
'Nearly nineteen.'
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'My eldest son is eleven,' Mme de Rênal went on, completely reassured, 'he'll almost be a companion for you; you'll be able to reason with him. His father once decided to thrash him, and the child was ill for a whole week, even though he wasn't beaten at all hard.'
How different things are for me, thought Julien. Only yesterday my father beat me. How lucky these rich people are!
Mme de Rênal had already reached the stage of reading what was going on in the tutor's mind, down to the finest subtleties. She took his wistful expression for shyness and tried to encourage him.
'What's your name, sir?' she asked with a delicacy of tone which thoroughly charmed Julien's feelings, although he was quite unaware of what was going on.
'I'm called Julien Sorel, madam. I'm very nervous at coming into a strange household for the first time in my life; I shall need you to protect me and to forgive me a good many things in the early days. I never went to secondary school, I was too poor. I've never talked seriously to anyone apart from my cousin the army surgeon who's a member of the Legion of Honour, and Father Chélan our priest. He'll put in a good word for me. My brothers have always beaten me: don't believe them if they say nasty things about me to you. Forgive my mistakes, madam; I shall never intend any wrong.'
Julien was gaining confidence during this long speech. He looked closely at Mme de Rênal. Such is the effect of perfect grace when it is a natural part of someone's character-especially when the person it adorns does not take pains to cultivate it--that Julien, who was a great connoisseur of feminine beauty, would have sworn at that moment that she was no more than twenty. He was at once struck with the bold idea of kissing her hand. He soon took fright at his idea, but a moment later said to himse
lf: It would be cowardice on my part not to carry out an action which may prove useful to me, and lessen the disdain which this beautiful lady probably feels for a poor workman only just wrested from his saw. Possibly Julien felt somewhat encouraged at remembering the term handsome lad which he had heard some of the girls use a number of times on Sundays over the last six months. While
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this inner debate was going on, Mme de Rênal had been giving him one or two words of instruction on how to make a start with the children. Julien's struggle to take hold of himself made him turn very pale again, and he said awkwardly:
'I'll never beat your children, madam; I swear before God I won't.'
As he uttered these words, he plucked up the courage to take Mme de Rênal's hand and raise it to his lips. She was astonished at his gesture, and when she thought about it, shocked. As the weather was very hot, her arm was quite bare under her shawl, and it had been completely uncovered when Julien raised her hand to his lips. After a moment or so she was cross with herself, feeling that she had not been quick enough to take offence.
Hearing the sound of voices M. de Rênal came out of his study and said to Julien with the solemnity and smooth condescension he assumed when officiating at weddings in the town hall: 'It is essential that I have a word with you before the children see you.'
He ushered Julien into a room and asked his wife to remain with them, despite her desire to leave them alone. Once the door was shut, M. de Rênal sat down gravely.
' Father Chélan tells me you are diligent and well-behaved. Everyone here will treat you with respect, and if I am pleased with you I shall arrange a modest settlement for you at a later date. My wish is that you should have no further dealings with your family or friends, as their manners are not fitting for my children. Here are thirty-six francs for the first month; but I must have your word that you will not give a single penny of this money to your father.'
