by Stendhal
Once he had sent off his despatch, Julien, feeling as contented as a sportsman who at six o'clock on a fine autumn
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morning steps out on to a plain abounding in game, went off to seek Father Chélan's advice. But before he reached the good priest's house, heaven, who had treats in store for him, set M. Valenod in his path, and Julien did not conceal from him that his heart was torn:
A poor lad like himself must devote himself wholeheartedly to the calling which heaven had planted in his heart, but one's calling was not everything here below on earth. To till the Lord's vineyard fittingly, and not to be altogether unworthy of so many learned co-workers, it was necessary to study; it was necessary to spend two very costly years in the seminary at Besanqon; it was therefore becoming indispensable to put by some savings, which was far easier on a salary of eight hundred francs paid quarterly than with six hundred francs that got eaten up month by month. On the other hand, did it not seem that by putting him in close contact with the de Rênal children, and particularly by inspiring him with a special fondness for them, heaven was making it plain to him that this was not the right moment to give up this education in favour of another?...
Julien reached such heights of perfection in this kind of eloquence, which has replaced the swiftness of action found under the Empire, that he ended up boring himself with the sound of his own words.
On returning to the house he found one of M. Valenod's valets in full livery, who was scouring the town for him with a note inviting him to dinner that very day.
Julien had never set foot in the man's house; only a few days before, he could think of nothing else but ways of giving him a sound beating without being hauled up before a police court. Although dinner was only announced for one o'clock, Julien thought it more respectful to present himself at twelve-thirty in the master of the workhouse's study. He found him oozing self-importance in the midst of a host of files. His broad black sidewhiskers, his enormous mass of hair, his smoking-cap sitting askew on the top of his head, his huge pipe, his embroidered slippers, the fat gold chains criss-crossing his chest--the entire set-up befitting a provincial financier who fancies himself a ladies' man--did not impress Julien; he only dwelt the more on the beating he owed him.
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He asked to have the honour of being introduced to Mme Valenod; she was at her toilette and could not receive anyone. In compensation, he had the benefit of being present while the master of the workhouse attended to his own. Afterwards they went to Mme Valenod's suite, and she introduced the children to him with tears in her eyes. This lady, one of the most eminent in Verrières, had the coarse features of a man, which she had daubed with rouge for this grand ceremony. Throughout it, she laid on a full display of maternal pathos.
Julien's thoughts were on Mme de Rênal. His mistrustful nature only allowed him to be susceptible to the kind of memories that are evoked by opposites, but he was then deeply stirred by them. This mood was increased by the appearance of the master's house. He was shown round it. Everything was magnificent and brand new, and he was told the price of each piece of furniture. But Julien felt there was something base about it which smacked of stolen money. Even down to the servants, everyone there seemed to be composing their faces to keep scorn at bay.
The inspector of taxes, the man in charge of indirect levies, the officer of the law and two or three other public officials arrived with their wives. They were followed by a few wealthy liberals. Dinner was announced. It occurred to Julien, who was already in a hostile frame of mind, that on the other side of the dining-room wall were wretched prisoners whose portion of meat had perhaps been fraudulently skimped to pay for all this luxury in poor taste that was intended to bowl him over.
They may be hungry at this very moment, he said to himself. He felt a lump in his throat, and found it impossible to eat and almost even to speak. Things became far worse a quarter of an hour later; in the distance they heard some snatches of a popular song, rather vulgar, it must be admitted, sung by one of the workhouse inmates. M. Valenod caught the eye of one of his men in full livery; he disappeared, and soon the singing was heard no more. At this moment, a valet was offering Julien some Rhine wine in a green glass, and Mme Valenod was careful to point out to him that this wine cost nine francs a bottle, purchased from the producer. Holding out his green glass Julien said to M. Valenod:
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'That indelicate song isn't being sung any more.'
'I should damn well hope not!' replied the master triumphantly. 'I had the beggars reduced to silence.'
These words were too much for Julien; he had the manners, but not yet the heart befitting his station. In spite of all the hypocrisy which he had practised so often, he felt a large tear rolling down his cheek.
He tried to hide it behind the green glass, but it was absolutely impossible for him to do justice to the Rhine wine. Stopping him singing! he said to himself. Oh my God! and you suffer this to happen!
Fortunately no one noticed his misplaced compassion. The inspector of taxes had struck up a royalist song. During the din of the refrain, sung by everyone in chorus, Julien's conscience was murmuring: So there you see the stinking riches you will acquire, and you will only enjoy them under these conditions and in like company! You may well get a post worth twenty thousand francs, but you will be obliged, while gorging yourself on meat, to prevent the poor prisoner from singing; you will host dinners on money stolen from his wretched pittance, and throughout your dinner he will be even more unhappy! Oh Napoleon! how sweet it was in your day to rise to fortune through the dangers of battle; but to be a coward and increase a poor wretch's suffering...!
I confess that the weakness shown by Julien in this monologue gives me a very poor opinion of him. He would be a worthy colleague for those yellow-gloved conspirators who set out to change the entire way of life of a great country, and do not wish to have to reproach themselves with the slightest scratch.
Julien was brought back to his role with a violent jolt. It wasn't to indulge in daydreaming and sit in silence that he had been invited to dine in such good company.
A retired manufacturer of painted cloth, who was a corresponding member of the Academies of Besançon and Uzès, turned to him from right down the far end of the table to ask him whether what people said about his astonishing achievements in the study of the New Testament was true.
There was a sudden deathly hush; a New Testament in
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Latin appeared as if by magic in the hands of the learned member of two academies. On Julien's reply, half a Latin sentence was read out at random. He recited on: his memory served him faithfully and the prodigious feat was admired with all the rowdy energy to be expected at the end of a dinner. Julien looked at the glowing faces of the ladies; several of them were quite pretty. He had singled out the wife of the tax inspector with the fine voice.
'I am ashamed in all honesty to go on speaking Latin for so long in front of the ladies,' he said, looking at her. 'If M. Rubigneau (he was the member of the two academies) will be good enough to read out a Latin sentence at random, then instead of continuing with the Latin text, I shall try to translate it impromptu.'
This second ordeal put the crown on his reputation.
Among the company were a number of wealthy liberals who, as the happy fathers of children in the running for scholarships, had undergone sudden conversions since the last mission. * In spite of this subtle political move, M. de Rênal had never consented to entertain them in his house. These worthy characters, who only knew Julien by reputation and through having seen him on horseback on the day of the King of-----'s triumphal entry, were now his rowdiest admirers. When will these fools grow tired of listening to this biblical idiom which they can't make head or tail of? he thought. But on the contrary the idiom amused them by its unfamiliarity; it made them laugh. It was Julien who grew tired.
He rose gravely as six o'clock was striking and mentioned a chapter of Ligorio's new theology * w
hich he had to learn in order to be able to recite it to Father Chélan on the following day. 'For my profession', he added engagingly, 'is to make others say their lessons and also to say my own.'
There was much laughter and admiration; this is what passes for wit in Verrières. Julien was already on his feet, and everyone rose in spite of decorum; such is the power of genius. Mme Valenod kept him for a further quarter of an hour; he simply had to hear the children saying their catechism; they got into the most comic of muddles which he was the only one to perceive. He was careful not to point them out. What
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ignorance of the first principles of religion! he thought. At last he made his farewells and thought he could escape; but he had to endure a fable by La Fontaine. *
'This author is highly immoral,' Julien told Mme Valenod, 'there's one particular fable, about Messire Jean Chouart, * that dares to pour ridicule on what is most worthy of veneration. It is roundly condemned by the best commentators.'
Before he left, Julien received four or five invitations to dinner. 'This young man is a credit to the département,' exclaimed a chorus of exceedingly merry guests. They even went so far as to speak of an allowance drawn from municipal funds to give him the wherewithal to continue his studies in Paris.
While this rash idea was echoing round the dining-room, Julien had made his way nimbly to the carriage entrance. 'Ah! you swine! you swine!' he expostulated under his breath three or four times in a row, enjoying the pleasure of breathing the fresh air.
He felt every inch the aristocrat at that moment--the very same Julien who had been so shocked for ages at the disdainful smile and the haughty superiority which he detected beneath all the marks of courtesy shown to him in M. de Rênal's house. He couldn't help feeling the immense difference. Even forgetting, he said to himself as he left, the matter of stealing money from the poor prisoners, and stopping them singing, what's more! Did M. de Rênal ever take it into his head to tell his guests the price of each bottle of wine being served to them? And when this M. Valenod starts enumerating all his properties, which he keeps on doing, he can't speak of his house, his estate, etc. if his wife is present without saying your house, your estate.
This lady, apparently so sensitive to the pleasure of owning property, had just created an abominable scene at dinner when a servant had smashed a stem glass and thus ruined one of her sets of twelve; and the servant had replied with the utmost insolence.
What a household! Julien said to himself. They could give me the half of all they steal, and I still wouldn't want to live
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with them. One fine day I'd betray myself; I'd be unable to refrain from expressing the disdain I feel for them.
He was obliged, however, on Mme de Rênal's instructions, to attend several dinners of the same sort; Julien became all the rage: his guard of honour's outfit was forgiven him, or rather, this piece of rashness was the true cause of his success. Soon the only topic of concern in Verrières was who would win the battle to obtain this learned young man--M. de Rênal or the master of the workhouse. Together with Father Maslon these gentlemen formed a triumvirate which for a good many years had tyrannized the town. The mayor was an object of envy, the liberals had grievances against him, but he was, after all, noble and destined for a position of superiority, whereas M. Valenod's father hadn't even left him so much as an income of six hundred pounds. In his case, people had had to switch from feelings of pity for the shabby apple-green suit universally associated with him in his youth to envy for his Normandy cobs, his gold chains, his clothes sent from Paris--all his present prosperity.
Amid the sea of faces in this unfamiliar milieu, Julien thought he discerned an honourable man; he was a geometer by the name of Gros, * and had the reputation of being a Jacobin. Julien, who had committed himself to the line of only ever saying things that seemed false to him, was unable to get beyond mere suspicions in regard to M. Gros's opinions. He received thick packages of Latin proses from Vergy. He was advised to visit his father often, and he fell in with this dreary necessity. In short, he was patching up his reputation rather well, when one morning he was very surprised to be woken up and feel two hands covering his eyes.
It was Mme de Rênal who had made a trip to town and, running up the stairs four at a time, leaving the children playing with a favourite rabbit that was of the party, had reached Julien's room just before they did. It was a blissful moment, all too brief: Mme de Rênal had disappeared when the children arrived with the rabbit, which they wanted to show their friend. Julien welcomed them all warmly, even the rabbit. It seemed to him that he was back with his family again; he felt that he loved these children, that he enjoyed chattering
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with them. He was astonished at the sweetness of their voices, at how simple and noble their little ways were; he needed to cleanse his imagination of all the vulgar modes of behaviour, all the disagreeable thoughts tainting the air he breathed in Verrières. You couldn't get away from fear of doing without, you couldn't get away from luxury and dire poverty tearing each other's hair out. The people he dined with would indulge, on the subject of the joint of meat, in revelations that were humiliating for them and nauseating for anyone listening.
'You nobles, you have reason to be proud,' he said to Mme de Rênal. And he described to her all the dinners he had put up with.
'So you've become all the rage!' And she laughed heartily at the thought of the rouge that Mme Valenod felt obliged to put on whenever she was expecting Julien. 'I think she has designs on your heart,' she added.
Lunch was delectable. The presence of the children, though inhibiting at first sight, in fact increased the general happiness. These poor children were beside themselves with joy at seeing Julien again. The servants had not failed to relate to them that he was being offered two hundred francs extra for edicating the little Valenods.
In the middle of lunch Stanislas-Xavier, still pale after his serious illness, suddenly asked his mother how much his silver cutlery and the tankard he drank from were worth.
'Why do you ask?'
'I want to sell them to give the money to Mr Julien, so he isn't a sucker for staying with us.'
Julien hugged him with tears in his eyes. His mother wept openly while Julien, who had taken Stanislas on his lap, explained to him that he shouldn't use the word sucker, which in that sense was a lackey's way of talking. Seeing the pleasure he was giving Mme de Rênal, he tried to explain, using picturesque examples that amused the children, what being a sucker meant.
'I understand,' said Stanislas, 'it's like the crow who's silly enough to drop his piece of cheese, and the fox gets it, and he was a flatterer.'
Mme de Rênal was overcome with joy, and smothered her
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children in kisses, which she could hardly do without leaning a little on Julien.
Suddenly the door opened: it was M. de Rênal. The stern look of displeasure on his face contrasted strangely with the tender delight that his presence dispelled. Mme de Rênal turned pale; she felt in no state to deny anything. Julien decided to speak, and in a loud voice began to tell his worship how Stanislas had wanted to sell his silver tankard. He was sure that this story would not go down well. To begin with, M. de Rênal frowned from sound habit at the very word silver. 'When this metal is mentioned,' he would say, 'it's always the preface to some call on my purse.'
But in this instance there was more to it than a question of what could be obtained with silver; there was an increase in the level of suspicion. The look of happiness on the faces of his family in his absence was unlikely to improve matters with a man ruled by such prickly vanity. As his wife was praising the gracious and witty manner in which Julien suggested new ideas to his pupils:
'Yes! Yes! I know, he makes me odious to my children; it's easy enough for him to be infinitely more agreeable to them than I am, being, when it comes down to it, the master in this house. Everything nowadays conspires to cast odium on legitimate authority.
Poor France!'
Mme de Rênal did not pause to examine the niceties of the reception she was getting from her husband. She had just glimpsed a chance of spending twelve hours with Julien. She had a host of purchases to make in town, and declared that she insisted on going to dine in a cabaret; in spite of everything her husband could say or do, she stuck to her idea. The children were delighted at the very mention of the word cabaret, * uttered with such pleasure by the prudishness of our times.
M. de Rênal left his wife in the first fashion shop she entered; he had to go off and pay some calls. He was more sullen on his return than in the morning; he was convinced that the whole town was engrossed with him and Julien. In actual fact no one had yet given him cause to suspect the offensive aspect of public gossip. What had been relayed to the
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mayor was exclusively concerned with whether Julien would remain in his household at six hundred francs, or would accept the eight hundred francs offered by the master of the workhouse.
