by Stendhal
The passionate kisses, the like of which she had never experienced, caused her to forget at once that perhaps he loved another woman. Soon he was no longer guilty in her eyes. The abrupt end to a poignant grief, born of suspicion, and her present of happiness, beyond anything she had even dreamed of, filled her with ecstatic feelings of love and mad gaiety. It was a delightful evening for everyone except the mayor of Verrières, who was unable to forget those industrialists on the make. Julien stopped thinking about his black ambition and his plans that were so difficult to execute. For the first time in his life he was carried away by the power of beauty. Lost in a sweet and aimless dream quite alien to his character, gently clasping a hand he could admire for its flawless prettiness, he listened distractedly to the rustle of the lime leaves in the gentle night breeze, and the dogs down at the mill by the Doubs barking in the distance.
But the emotion he felt was a pleasure not a passion. On returning to his room there was only one thing he desired to make him happy: to take up his favourite book. At twenty, the thought of the wide world and the impact you can have on it overrides everything else.
Soon, however, he put the book down. Thinking about Napoleon's victories had given him a new insight into his own. Yes, I've won a battle, he said to himself, but I must take
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advantage of it, I must crush the pride of this proud gentleman while he is in retreat. That would be Napoleon all over. I must ask for three days' leave to go and see my friend Fouqué. If he refuses to grant it, I'll spell out my terms to him again; but he'll give in.
Mme de Rênal was unable to sleep. It seemed to her that she had not lived until that moment. She could not take her mind off the pleasure of feeling Julien smothering her hand with ardent kisses.
Suddenly the dreadful word adultery came to her. All the revolting images that the vilest debauchery can imprint on the idea of sensual love came crowding into her imagination. These ideas did their best to tarnish the tender and divine images she had of Julien and of her happiness in loving him. The future appeared to her in terrible colours. She saw herself as despicable.
It was a dreadful moment; she was entering uncharted territory. The previous day she had tasted a happiness never experienced before; now she suddenly found herself plunged in atrocious misery. She had no conception of such suffering, and it clouded her reason. She thought for an instant of confessing to her husband that she feared she was in love with Julien. It would have allowed her to talk about him. Fortunately her memory supplied her with a precept given her long ago by her aunt, on the eve of her wedding. It was about the dangers of confiding in a husband, who is after all a master. The excess of her misery made her wring her hands.
She was carried this way and that by contradictory and painful images. At one moment she was afraid of not being loved; at the next, the dreadful thought of her crime tortured her as if she were to face the pillory the next day in the public square of Verrières, with a placard explaining her adultery to the populace.
Mme de Rênal had no experience of life; even when fully awake and in complete command of her reasoning powers, she would not have perceived any gap between being guilty in the eyes of God, and being subjected in public to the rowdiest display of public scorn.
When she was able to rest her mind from the dreadful idea
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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, Mme 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. Mme 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 Mme de Rênal made the virtuous resolve to treat Julien with exemplary coldness when she next saw him.
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CHAPTER 12
A journey
In Paris you find elegant people; there may be people of character in the provinces.
SIEYÈS *
BY five o'clock the next morning, before Mme 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. Mme 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 Mme 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 Mme 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 Mme 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 Mme de Rênal. Ah! it's all settled!
So that she could at least shed tears in peace, and not have to answer Mme 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 Mme 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 achieve
ments 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
