by Stendhal
The bell rang for dinner; Mme de Rênal blushed deeply when
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she heard Julien's voice as he brought the children in. She had become quite cunning since falling in love, and to explain away her flushed appearance she complained of a terrible headache.
'That's the way with all women,' M. de Rênal replied with a loud laugh. 'There's always something needing mending with those machines!'
Though accustomed to this kind of wit, Mme de Rênal was shocked by his tone of voice. To distract herself, she looked at Julien's face; had he been the ugliest of men, he would still have been attractive to her at that moment.
Careful to copy the habits of people at Court, M. de Rênal took up residence at Vergy as soon as the first fine days of spring arrived. This is the village made famous by the tragic adventure of Gabrielle. * A few hundred yards from the picturesque ruins of the old gothic church, M. de Rênal owns an old château with four turrets and a garden laid out like the one at the Tuileries, * full of boxwood borders and walks lined with chestnut trees pruned twice a year. A neighbouring field planted with apple trees provided a place for walks. There were about ten magnificent walnut trees at the bottom of the orchard; their great canopy of leaves rose to a height of some eighty feet.
'Each one of these cursed walnuts costs me half an acre's worth of harvest,' M. de Rênal would say whenever his wife admired them. 'Wheat won't grow in their shade.'
The sight of the countryside struck Mme de Rênal as quite new, and she marvelled at it to the point of ecstasy. The feeling within her made her witty and decisive. Two days after their arrival in Vergy, when M. de Rênal had gone back to town on civic business, Mme de Rênal hired some workmen at her own expense. Julien had given her the idea of a little sandy path which would wind through the orchard and under the great walnut trees, allowing the children to go for walks in the early morning without getting their shoes drenched with dew. This idea was carried out less than twenty-four hours after being thought up. Mme de Rênal spent the whole day happily in Julien's company, giving instructions to the workmen.
When the mayor of Verrières returned from town, he was most surprised to find the path finished. Mme de Rênal was
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equally surprised to see him back; she had forgotten about his existence. For two months he talked peevishly about the audacity of carrying out so important an improvement without consulting him; but Mme de Rênal had done it at her own expense, which consoled him a little.
She spent her days running about the orchard with her children, and chasing after butterflies. They had made big hood-shaped nets out of pale-coloured gauze to catch the lepidoptera with. This was the barbarous name that Julien taught Mme de Rênal to use. For she had had M. Godart's excellent study * sent over from Besançon, and Julien told her all about the peculiar habits of these poor creatures.
They were mercilessly stuck with pins on to a large cardboard frame which was also set up by Julien.
This at last provided Mme de Rênal and Julien with a topic of conversation, and he was no longer condemned to suffer the terrible torture inflicted on him by moments of silence.
They talked endlessly to each other, and with considerable interest, although always on wholly innocent subjects. This busy and cheerful life of activity suited everyone except Mlle Elisa, who found herself overwhelmed with work. 'Not even at carnival time,' she would say, 'when there's a ball at Verrières, has Madam ever taken so much trouble over her appearance; she changes dresses two or three times a day.'
As our intention is to flatter no one, we shall not deny that Mme de Rênal, who had lovely skin, had some dresses cut to leave her arms and bosom very exposed. She had a very good figure, and this way of dressing suited her wonderfully.
'You've never been so young, Mme de Rênal,' she was told by her friends from Verrières who came to dine at Vergy. (This is a local expression.)
The strange thing is--and it will scarcely be believed by people like ourselves--that Mme de Rênal had no conscious intention in taking so much trouble. It afforded her pleasure; and without giving any other thought to it, she did in fact devote all the time she was not catching butterflies with the children and Julien to dressmaking with Elisa. The only time she went into Verrières to shop was when she fancied some
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new summer dresses that had just been brought from Mulhouse.
She arrived back in Vergy bringing with her a young woman who was one of her relatives. Since her marriage Mme de Rênal had been drawn imperceptibly closer to Mme Derville, who had once been her companion at the Sacred Heart.
Mme Derville was much amused by what she called her cousin's wild ideas. 'I'd never think of that on my own,' she would say. These sudden notions, which would have been called impulses in Paris, were something Mme de Rênal felt ashamed of when she was with her husband, as though they looked foolish; but Mme Derville's presence encouraged her. At first she imparted her thoughts to her in a timid voice; but when the two ladies were alone together for some while, Mme de Rênal's mind became far more adventurous, and a long morning on their own passed in a flash, leaving the two friends in ebullient spirits. On this visit, the sensible Mme Derville found her cousin much less ebullient and far happier.
Julien for his part had lived like a real child since the beginning of his stay in the country, as happy chasing after butterflies as his young charges were. After so much constraint and careful scheming, now that he was alone, away from the public gaze, and instinctively quite unafraid of Mme de Rênal, he gave himself up to the sheer pleasure of living, which is so intense at that age, and when you're in the most beautiful mountains in the world.
From the very moment she arrived, it seemed to Julien that Mme Derville was a friend. He lost no time in showing her the view from the far end of the new path under the great walnuts; it is indeed equal if not superior to the very finest that Switzerland or the Italian lakes can offer. If you go up the steep slope which starts a few feet from that spot, you soon find yourself overlooking deep ravines with oak woods growing along their edges, which extend almost to the river itself. It was to the summit of these sheer crags that Julien, feeling happy, free and even something more--lord of the household--would take the two ladies, and delight in their admiration for these sublime views.
'I find it just like the music of Mozart,' said Mme Derville.
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His brothers' jealousy and the presence of a despotic and illtempered father had spoilt Julien's enjoyment of the countryside round Verrières. At Vergy he had no such bitter memories, and for the first time in his life he found himself with no enemies. When M. de Rênal was in town, which was a frequent occurrence, he plucked up the courage to read. Soon, instead of reading at night, taking care at that to conceal his lamp inside an overturned vase, he felt able to indulge in sleep. During the day, between the children's lessons, he would come to these rocks with the book which alone ruled his conduct and was the object of his delight. It was at once a source of happiness, ecstasy and consolation to him in moments of discouragement.
Certain things which Napoleon says about women, and a number of passages discussing the merits of novels fashionable during his reign, now gave Julien for the very first time the kind of thoughts that any other young man of his age would have long since been entertaining.
The summer heatwave arrived. They took to spending their evenings beneath an enormous lime tree just outside the house. It was totally dark there. One evening, Julien was talking excitedly, deriving intense enjoyment from the pleasure of expressing himself eloquently, and to young women too. As he gesticulated, he touched Mme de Rênal's hand which was resting on the back of one of those painted wooden chairs which are often put in gardens.
The hand was withdrawn very soon; but Julien decided it was his duty to ensure that this hand would not be withdrawn when he touched it. The idea of a duty to carry out, and a risk of suffering ridicule or rather a feeling of inferiority if he failed in
it, immediately removed all pleasure from his heart.
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CHAPTER 9
An evening in the country
Guérin's painting of Dido: a charming sketch.
STROMBECK *
HE had a strange look in his eyes the next day when he met Mme de Rênal; he observed her as if she were an enemy he was going to have to fight. This look, so different from his expression the day before, caused Mme de Rênal to lose her head: she had been indulgent towards him, and he seemed angry. She could not tear her gaze away from his.
The presence of Mme Derville allowed Julien to say less and spend more time on what was preoccupying him. His sole concern throughout the whole of that day was to fortify himself by reading the work of inspiration which always retempered his soul.
He cut short the children's lessons considerably, and later, when Mme de Rênal's presence served to recall him to the single-minded pursuit of his personal glory, he decided it was absolutely essential that she should allow her hand to remain in his that very evening.
As the sun went down and brought the decisive moment nearer, it caused Julien's heart to beat strangely. Night fell. He observed, with a sense of joy which took an enormous weight off his chest, that it was going to be a very dark one. The sky was laden with big clouds driven by a sultry wind, and it seemed to portend a storm. The two ladies remained out walking very late. Everything they did that evening seemed strange to Julien. They were enjoying this weather, which for some delicate souls seems to increase the pleasure of affection.
Eventually they all sat down, with Mme de Rênal next to Julien, and Mme Derville by her friend. Julien's mind was quite taken up with what he was going to attempt, and he could find nothing to say. The conversation flagged.
Will I be as fearful and as wretched when my first duel
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comes along? Julien wondered, for he was too wary both of himself and of others to fail to perceive his own state of mind.
In his mortal anguish, any form of danger would have seemed preferable to him. How many times he longed for some sudden business to crop up which would oblige Mme de Rênal to return to the house and leave the garden! The effort which Julien had to make to control himself was too violent for his voice not to be profoundly affected by it. Soon Mme de Rênal's voice became unsteady too, but Julien did not notice. The fearful battle being waged by his sense of duty against his nervousness was too painful to leave him in a state to observe anything besides himself. The chateau clock had just struck a quarter to ten, and he had still not ventured anything. Outraged at his own cowardice, Julien declared to himself: At the precise moment when ten o'clock strikes, I shall carry out what I have been promising myself all day I shall do this evening, or else I shall go up to my room and blow my brains out.
After a final period of anxious waiting, during which Julien was almost beside himself from excess of emotion, ten strokes rang out from the clock above his head. Each chime of the fateful bell reverberated in his chest, causing a kind of physical reaction there.
At last, as the final stroke of ten was still ringing, he reached out his hand and took Mme de Rênal's, which she immediately withdrew. Not quite knowing what he was about, Julien grasped it again. Although thoroughly moved himself, he was struck by the icy coldness of the hand he was taking. He squeezed it with convulsive strength; there was one last attempt to remove it from his grasp, but in the end the hand remained in his.
Happiness flooded over him; not that he was in love with Mme de Rênal--it was just that a fearful torture had ceased. To prevent Mme Derville from noticing anything, he felt it incumbent upon him to speak; his voice was now ringing and loud. Mme de Rênal's, on the other hand, betrayed so much emotion that her friend thought she was ill and suggested going indoors. Julien sensed the danger at once: If Mme de Rênal goes in to the drawing-room, I shall be back in the terrible situation I've
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been in all day. I've held this hand for too short a time for this to count as a victory won.
Just as Mme Derville was repeating her suggestion that they go indoors to the drawing-room, Julien gave a firm squeeze to the hand that had been abandoned to him.
Mme de Rênal, who was already rising from her seat, sat down again and said in expiring tones:
'I do indeed feel a little ill, but the fresh air is doing me good.'
These words confirmed Julien's happiness, which at that moment was intense. He talked, forgetting all pretence, and seemed the most agreeable of men to the two friends listening to him. Yet there was still a lack of courage in this sudden fit of eloquence. He was in mortal dread that Mme Derville, wearied by the wind which was beginning to get up before the storm, should decide to go indoors to the drawing-room alone. This would have left him on his own with Mme de Rênal. It was almost by chance that he had had the blind courage which suffices for action; but he sensed that it was beyond his powers to say the simplest of words to Mme de Rênal. However gentle her reproaches, he was going to be defeated, and the advantage he had gained would be wiped out.
Fortunately for him that evening, his moving and grandiloquent speeches found favour with Mme Derville, who often found Julien uncouth like a child, and scarcely amusing. As for Mme de Rênal, with her hand in Julien's she was not thinking about anything; she was letting life take its course. The hours they spent beneath that great lime tree, which according to local tradition had been planted by Charles the Bold * were a long stretch of happiness for her. She listened in rapture to the moaning of the wind in the dense foliage of the lime, and the patter of isolated raindrops which were beginning to fall on its lower leaves. Julien failed to notice an incident which would have greatly reassured him: Mme de Rênal, who had been obliged to take her hand out of his because she rose to help her cousin pick up a pot of flowers which the wind had just blown over at their feet, had no sooner sat down again than she gave him back her hand with scarcely any reluctance, as if this were already an agreement between them.
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Midnight had struck long ago; the time came at last to leave the garden. They went their separate ways. Mme de Rênal, carried away by the happiness of love, was so innocent that she hardly reproached herself at all. Happiness drove away sleep. A leaden sleep took hold of Julien, who was wearied to death by the battles which had been raging in his heart all day between nervousness and pride.
The next day he was woken up at five; and--a cruel blow for Mme de Rênal had she but known it--he hardly had a thought for her. He had done his duty, his heroic duty. Filled with happiness at this thought, he locked himself into his room and gave himself up with new-found pleasure to reading about the deeds of his hero.
When the bell rang for lunch, the bulletins of the Great Army had made him forget all the advantages he had won the day before. He said casually to himself as he went downstairs to the drawing-room: I must tell this woman I love her.
Instead of the deeply amorous glances he was expecting to encounter, he was greeted by the stern face of M. de Rênal, who had arrived back from Verrières two hours previously, and did not hide his displeasure at finding that Julien had spent the whole morning without attending to the children. Nothing could be more ugly than this self-important man when he was out of temper and believed he was entitled to show it.
Each sharp word from her husband pierced Mme de Rênal's heart. As for Julien, he was so deep in ecstasy, so preoccupied still with the great happenings which had unfurled before his eyes for hours on end, that at first he could scarcely bring his attention down to the level required to take in the harsh words with M. de Rênal was uttering. In the end he said rather abruptly:
'I was ill.'
The tone of this reply would have stung a man far less touchy than the mayor of Verritres. It crossed his mind to answer Julien by dismissing him forthwith. He was only prevented from doing so by the maxim he had adopted of never showing undue haste in business.
This young fool, he soon said to himself, has acquir
ed something of a reputation in my house; Valenod may offer him
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employment, or else he will marry Elisa, and in either case he will be able to mock me deep down in his heart.
For all his wise thoughts, M. de Rênal none the less gave vent to a stream of coarse language which began to exasperate Julien. Mme de Rênal was on the point of bursting into tears. No sooner was lunch over than she asked Julien to give her his arm for a walk, and leaned on him in a gesture of friendliness. But to everything that Mme de Rênal said to him Julien could only mutter in reply:
'That's the rich for you!'
M. de Rênal was walking close beside them; his presence increased Julien's anger. He noticed suddenly that Mme de Rênal was leaning on his arm in a marked manner; this gesture appalled him, he pushed her violently away and freed his arm.
Luckily M. de Rênal did not see this fresh piece of impertinence. It was only observed by Mme Derville: her friend was overcome with tears. At that moment M. de Rênal began to throw stones to drive off a peasant girl who had taken a wrong path and was crossing the corner of the orchard.
