الفصل الفصل 23 · SORROWS OF AN OFFICIAL

. SORROWS OF AN OFFICIAL

Il piacere di alzar la testa tutto l'anno, è ben pagato

da certi quarti d'ora che bisogna passar.--_Casti_.

Let us leave this petty man to his petty fears; why did he take a man

of spirit into his household when he needed someone with the soul

of a valet? Why can't he select his staff? The ordinary trend of

the nineteenth century is that when a noble and powerful individual

encounters a man of spirit, he kills him, exiles him and imprisons him,

or so humiliates him that the other is foolish enough to die of grief.

In this country it so happens that it is not merely the man of spirit

who suffers. The great misfortunes of the little towns of France and of

representative governments, like that of New York, is that they find

it impossible to forget the existence of individuals like M. de Rênal.

It is these men who make public opinion in a town of twenty thousand

inhabitants, and public opinion is terrible in a country which has a

charter of liberty. A man, though of a naturally noble and generous

disposition, who would have been your friend in the natural course of

events, but who happens to live a hundred leagues off, judges you by

the public opinion of your town which is made by those fools who have

chanced to be born noble, rich and conservative. Unhappy is the man who

distinguishes himself.

Immediately after dinner they left for Vergy, but the next day but

one Julien saw the whole family return to Verrières. An hour had not

passed before he discovered to his great surprise that Madame de Rênal

had some mystery up her sleeve. Whenever he came into the room she

would break off her conversation with her husband and would almost

seem to desire that he should go away. Julien did not need to be given

this hint twice. He became cold and reserved. Madame de Rênal noticed

it and did not ask for an explanation. "Is she going to give me a

successor," thought Julien. "And to think of her being so familiar

with me the day before yesterday, but that is how these great ladies

are said to act. It's just like kings. One never gets any more warning

than the disgraced minister who enters his house to find his letter of

dismissal." Julien noticed that these conversations which left off so

abruptly at his approach, often dealt with a big house which belonged

to the municipality of Verrières, a house which though old was large

and commodious and situated opposite the church in the most busy

commercial district of the town. "What connection can there be between

this house and a new lover," said Julien to himself. In his chagrin he

repeated to himself the pretty verses of Francis I. which seemed novel

to him, for Madame de Rênal had only taught him them a month before:

Souvent femme varie

Bien fol est qui s'y fie.

M. de Rênal took the mail to Besançon. This journey was a matter of two

hours. He seemed extremely harassed. On his return he threw a big grey

paper parcel on the table.

"Here's that silly business," he said to his wife. An hour afterwards

Julien saw the bill-poster carrying the big parcel. He followed him

eagerly. "I shall learn the secret at the first street corner." He

waited impatiently behind the bill-poster who was smearing the back of

the poster with his big brush. It had scarcely been put in its place

before Julien's curiosity saw the detailed announcement of the putting

up for public auction of that big old house whose name had figured so

frequently in M. de Rênal's conversations with his wife. The auction of

the lease was announced for to-morrow at two o'clock in the Town Hall

after the extinction of the third fire. Julien was very disappointed.

He found the time a little short. How could there be time to apprise

all the other would-be purchasers. But, moreover, the bill, which was

dated a fortnight back, and which he read again in its entirety in

three distinct places, taught him nothing.

He went to visit the house which was to let. The porter, who had not

seen him approach, was saying mysteriously to a neighbour:

"Pooh, pooh, waste of time. M. Maslon has promised him that he shall

have it for three hundred francs; and, as the mayor kicked, he has been

summoned to the bishop's palace by M. the Grand Vicar de Frilair."

Julien's arrival seemed very much to disconcert the two friends who

did not say another word. Julien made a point of being present at the

auction of the lease.

There was a crowd in the badly-lighted hall, but everybody kept

quizzing each other in quite a singular way. All eyes were fixed on a

table where Julien perceived three little lighted candle-ends on a tin

plate. The usher was crying out "Three hundred francs, gentlemen."

"Three hundred francs, that's a bit too thick," said a man to his

neighbour in a low voice. Julien was between the two of them. "It's

worth more than eight hundred, I will raise the bidding." "It's cutting

off your nose to spite your face. What will you gain by putting M.

Maslon, M. Valenod, the Bishop, this terrible Grand Vicar de Frilair

and the whole gang on your track."

"Three hundred and twenty francs," shouted out the other.

"Damned brute," answered his neighbour. "Why here we have a spy of the

mayor," he added, designating Julien.

Julien turned sharply round to punish this remark, but the two,

Franc-comtois, were no longer paying any attention to him. Their

coolness gave him back his own. At that moment the last candle-end

went out and the usher's drawling voice awarded the house to M. de St.

Giraud of the office of the prefecture of ---- for a term of nine years

and for a rent of 320 francs.

As soon as the mayor had left the hall, the gossip began again.

"Here's thirty francs that Grogeot's recklessness is landing the

municipality in for," said one--"But," answered another, "M. de Saint

Giraud will revenge himself on Grogeot."

"How monstrous," said a big man on Julien's left. "A house which I

myself would have given eight hundred francs for my factory, and I

would have got a good bargain."

"Pooh!" answered a young manufacturer, "doesn't M. de St. Giraud belong

to the congregation? Haven't his four children got scholarships? poor

man! The community of Verrières must give him five hundred francs over

and above his salary, that is all."

"And to say that the mayor was not able to stop it," remarked a third.

"For he's an ultra he is, I'm glad to say, but he doesn't steal."

"Doesn't he?" answered another. "Suppose it's simply a mere game of

'snap'[1] then. Everything goes into a big common purse, and everything

is divided up at the end of the year. But here's that little Sorel,

let's go away."

Julien got home in a very bad temper. He found Madame de Rênal very sad.

"You come from the auction?" she said to him.

"Yes, madam, where I had the honour of passing for a spy of M. the

Mayor."

"If he had taken my advice, he would have gone on a journey."

At this moment Monsieur de Rênal appeared: he looked very dismal. The

dinner passed without a single word. Monsieur de Rênal ordered Julien

to follow the children to Vergy.

Madame de Rênal endeavoured to console her husband.

"You ought to be used to it, my dear."

That evening they were seated in silence around the domestic hearth.

The crackle of the burnt pinewood was their only distraction. It

was one of those moments of silence which happen in the most united

families. One of the children cried out gaily,

"Somebody's ringing, somebody's ringing!"

"Zounds! supposing it's Monsieur de Saint Giraud who has come under

the pretext of thanking me," exclaimed the mayor. "I will give him a

dressing down. It is outrageous. It is Valenod to whom he'll feel under

an obligation, and it is I who get compromised. What shall I say if

those damned Jacobin journalists get hold of this anecdote, and turn me

into a M. Nonante Cinque."

A very good-looking man, with big black whiskers, entered at this

moment, preceded by the servant.

"Monsieur the mayor, I am Signor Geronimo. Here is a letter which M.

the Chevalier de Beauvoisis, who is attached to the Embassy of Naples,

gave me for you on my departure. That is only nine days ago, added

Signor Geronimo, gaily looking at Madame de Rênal. Your cousin, and my

good friend, Signor de Beauvoisis says that you know Italian, Madame."

The Neapolitan's good humour changed this gloomy evening into a very

gay one. Madame de Rênal insisted upon giving him supper. She put the

whole house on the go. She wanted to free Julien at any price from the

imputation of espionage which she had heard already twice that day.

Signor Geronimo was an excellent singer, excellent company, and had

very gay qualities which, at any rate in France, are hardly compatible

with each other. After dinner he sang a little duet with Madame de

Rênal, and told some charming tales. At one o'clock in the morning the

children protested, when Julien suggested that they should go to bed.

"Another of those stories," said the eldest.

"It is my own, Signorino," answered Signor Geronimo.

"Eight years ago I was, like you, a young pupil of the Naples

Conservatoire. I mean I was your age, but I did not have the honour to

be the son of the distinguished mayor of the pretty town of Verrières."

This phrase made M. de Rênal sigh, and look at his wife.

"Signor Zingarelli," continued the young singer, somewhat exaggerating

his action, and thus making the children burst into laughter, "Signor

Zingarelli was an excellent though severe master. He is not popular at

the Conservatoire, but he insists on the pretence being kept up that he

is. I went out as often as I could. I used to go to the little Theatre

de San Carlino, where I used to hear divine music. But heavens! the

question was to scrape together the eight sous which were the price of

admission to the parterre? An enormous sum," he said, looking at the

children and watching them laugh. "Signor Giovannone, director of the

San Carlino, heard me sing. I was sixteen. 'That child is a treasure,'

he said.

"'Would you like me to engage you, my dear boy?' he said.

"'And how much will you give me?'

"'Forty ducats a month.' That is one hundred and sixty francs,

gentlemen. I thought the gates of heaven had opened.

"'But,' I said to Giovannone, 'how shall I get the strict Zingarelli to

let me go out?'

"'_Lascia fare a me_.'"

"Leave it to me," exclaimed the eldest of the children.

"Quite right, my young sir. Signor Giovannone he says to me, 'First

sign this little piece of paper, my dear friend.' I sign.

"He gives me three ducats. I had never seen so much money. Then he told

me what I had to do.

"Next day I asked the terrible Zingarelli for an audience. His old

valet ushered me in.

"'What do you want of me, you naughty boy?' said Zingarelli.

"'Maestro,' I said, 'I repent of all my faults. I will never go out of

the Conservatoire by passing through the iron grill. I will redouble my

diligence.'

"'If I were not frightened of spoiling the finest bass voice I have

ever heard, I would put you in prison for a fortnight on bread and

water, you rascal.'

"'Maestro,' I answered, 'I will be the model boy of the whole school,

_credete a me_, but I would ask one favour of you. If anyone comes and

asks permission for me to sing outside, refuse. As a favour, please say

that you cannot let me.'

"'And who the devil do you think is going to ask for a ne'er-do-well

like you? Do you think I should ever allow you to leave the

Conservatoire? Do you want to make fun of me? Clear out! Clear out!' he

said, trying to give me a kick, 'or look out for prison and dry bread.'"

One thing astonished Julien. The solitary weeks passed at Verrières in

de Rênal's house had been a period of happiness for him. He had only

experienced revulsions and sad thoughts at the dinners to which he had

been invited. And was he not able to read, write and reflect, without

being distracted, in this solitary house? He was not distracted every

moment from his brilliant reveries by the cruel necessity of studying

the movement of a false soul in order to deceive it by intrigue and

hypocrisy.

"To think of happiness being so near to me--the expense of a life

like that is small enough. I could have my choice of either marrying

Mademoiselle Elisa or of entering into partnership with Fouqué. But it

is only the traveller who has just scaled a steep mountain and sits

down on the summit who finds a perfect pleasure in resting. Would he be

happy if he had to rest all the time?"

Madame de Rênal's mind had now reached a state of desperation. In spite

of her resolutions, she had explained to Julien all the details of the

auction. "He will make me forget all my oaths!" she thought.

She would have sacrificed her life without hesitation to save that

of her husband if she had seen him in danger. She was one of those

noble, romantic souls who find a source of perpetual remorse equal to

that occasioned by the actual perpetration of a crime, in seeing the

possibility of a generous action and not doing it. None the less, there

were deadly days when she was not able to banish the imagination of

the excessive happiness which she would enjoy if she suddenly became a

widow, and were able to marry Julien.

He loved her sons much more than their father did; in spite of his

strict justice they were devoted to him. She quite realised that if

she married Julien, it would be necessary to leave that Vergy, whose

shades were so dear to her. She pictured herself living at Paris, and

continuing to give her sons an education which would make them admired

by everyone. Her children, herself, and Julien! They would be all

perfectly happy!

Strange result of marriage such as the nineteenth century has made it!

The boredom of matrimonial life makes love fade away inevitably, when

love has preceded the marriage. But none the less, said a philosopher,

married life soon reduces those people who are sufficiently rich

not to have to work, to a sense of being utterly bored by all quiet

enjoyments. And among women, it is only arid souls whom it does not

predispose to love.

The philosopher's reflection makes me excuse Madame de Rênal, but she

was not excused in Verrières, and without her suspecting it, the whole

town found its sole topic of interest in the scandal of her intrigue.

As a result of this great affair, the autumn was less boring than usual.

The autumn and part of the winter passed very quickly. It was necessary

to leave the woods of Vergy. Good Verrières society began to be

indignant at the fact that its anathemas made so little impression on

Monsieur de Rênal. Within eight days, several serious personages who

made up for their habitual gravity of demeanour by their pleasure in

fulfilling missions of this kind, gave him the most cruel suspicions,

at the same time utilising the most measured terms.

M. Valenod, who was playing a deep game, had placed Elisa in an

aristocratic family of great repute, where there were five women.

Elisa, fearing, so she said, not to find a place during the winter, had

only asked from this family about two-thirds of what she had received

in the house of the mayor. The girl hit upon the excellent idea of

going to confession at the same time to both the old curé Chélan,

and also to the new one, so as to tell both of them in detail about

Julien's amours.

The day after his arrival, the abbé Chélan summoned Julien to him at

six o'clock in the morning.

"I ask you nothing," he said. "I beg you, and if needs be I insist,

that you either leave for the Seminary of Besançon, or for your friend

Fouqué, who is always ready to provide you with a splendid future. I

have seen to everything and have arranged everything, but you must

leave, and not come back to Verrières for a year."

Julien did not answer. He was considering whether his honour ought to

regard itself offended at the trouble which Chélan, who, after all, was

not his father, had taken on his behalf.

"I shall have the honour of seeing you again to-morrow at the same

hour," he said finally to the curé.

Chélan, who reckoned on carrying so young a man by storm, talked a

great deal. Julien, cloaked in the most complete humbleness, both of

demeanour and expression, did not open his lips.

Eventually he left, and ran to warn Madame de Rênal whom he found in

despair. Her husband had just spoken to her with a certain amount of

frankness. The weakness of his character found support in the prospect

of the legacy, and had decided him to treat her as perfectly innocent.

He had just confessed to her the strange state in which he had found

public opinion in Verrières. The public was wrong; it had been misled

by jealous tongues. But, after all, what was one to do?

Madame de Rênal was, for the moment, under the illusion that Julien

would accept the offer of Valenod and stay at Verrières. But she was no

longer the simple, timid woman that she had been the preceding year.

Her fatal passion and remorse had enlightened her. She soon realised

the painful truth (while at the same time she listened to her husband),

that at any rate a temporary separation had become essential.

When he is far from me, Julien will revert to those ambitious projects

which are so natural when one has no money. And I, Great God! I am so

rich, and my riches are so useless for my happiness. He will forget

me. Loveable as he is, he will be loved, and he will love. You unhappy

woman. What can I complain of? Heaven is just. I was not virtuous

enough to leave off the crime. Fate robs me of my judgment. I could

easily have bribed Elisa if I had wanted to; nothing was easier. I did

not take the trouble to reflect for a moment. The mad imagination of

love absorbed all my time. I am ruined.

When Julien apprised Madame de Rênal of the terrible news of his

departure, he was struck with one thing. He did not find her put

forward any selfish objections. She was evidently making efforts not to

cry.

"We have need of firmness, my dear." She cut off a strand of her hair.

"I do no know what I shall do," she said to him, "but promise me if I

die, never to forget my children. Whether you are far or near, try to

make them into honest men. If there is a new revolution, all the nobles

will have their throats cut. Their father will probably emigrate,

because of that peasant on the roof who got killed. Watch over my

family. Give me your hand. Adieu, my dear. These are our last moments.

Having made this great sacrifice, I hope I shall have the courage to

consider my reputation in public."

Julien had been expecting despair. The simplicity of this farewell

touched him.

"No, I am not going to receive your farewell like this. I will leave

you now, as you yourself wish it. But three days after my departure I

will come back to see you at night."

Madame de Rênal's life was changed. So Julien really loved her, since

of his own accord he had thought of seeing her again. Her awful grief

became changed into one of the keenest transports of joy which she had

felt in her whole life. Everything became easy for her. The certainty

of seeing her lover deprived these last moments of their poignancy.

From that moment, both Madame de Rênal's demeanour and the expression

of her face were noble, firm, and perfectly dignified.

M. de Rênal soon came back. He was beside himself. He eventually

mentioned to his wife the anonymous letter which he had received two

months before.

"I will take it to the Casino, and shew everybody that it has been sent

by that brute Valenod, whom I took out of the gutter and made into one

of the richest tradesmen in Verrières. I will disgrace him publicly,

and then I will fight him. This is too much."

"Great Heavens! I may become a widow," thought Madame de Rênal, and

almost at the same time she said to herself,

"If I do not, as I certainly can, prevent this duel, I shall be the

murderess of my own husband."

She had never expended so much skill in honoring his vanity. Within

two hours she made him see, and always by virtue of reasons which he

discovered himself, that it was necessary to show more friendship than

ever to M. Valenod, and even to take Elisa back into the household.

Madame de Rênal had need of courage to bring herself to see again the

girl who was the cause of her unhappiness. But this idea was one of

Julien's. Finally, having been put on the track three or four times,

M. de Rênal arrived spontaneously at the conclusion, disagreeable

though it was from the financial standpoint, that the most painful

thing that could happen to him would be that Julien, in the middle of

the effervescence of popular gossip throughout Verrières, should stay

in the town as the tutor of Valenod's children. It was obviously to

Julien's interest to accept the offer of the director of the workhouse.

Conversely, it was essential for M. de Rênal's prestige that Julien

should leave Verrières to enter the seminary of Besançon or that of

Dijon. But how to make him decide on that course? And then how is he

going to live?

M. de Rênal, seeing a monetary sacrifice looming in the distance,

was in deeper despair than his wife. As for her, she felt after this

interview in the position of a man of spirit who, tired of life, has

taken a dose of stramonium. He only acts mechanically so to speak, and

takes no longer any interest in anything. In this way, Louis XIV. came

to say on his death-bed, "When I was king." An admirable epigram.

Next morning, M. de Rênal received quite early an anonymous letter.

It was written in a most insulting style, and the coarsest words

applicable to his position occurred on every line. It was the work of

some jealous subordinate. This letter made him think again of fighting

a duel with Valenod. Soon his courage went as far as the idea of

immediate action. He left the house alone, went to the armourer's and

got some pistols which he loaded.

"Yes, indeed," he said to himself, "even though the strict

administration of the Emperor Napoleon were to become fashionable

again, I should not have one sou's worth of jobbery to reproach myself

with; at the outside, I have shut my eyes, and I have some good letters

in my desk which authorise me to do so."

Madame de Rênal was terrified by her husband's cold anger. It recalled

to her the fatal idea of widowhood which she had so much trouble in

repelling. She closeted herself with him. For several hours she talked

to him in vain. The new anonymous letter had decided him. Finally she

succeeded in transforming the courage which had decided him to box

Valenod's ears, into the courage of offering six hundred francs to

Julien, which would keep him for one year in a seminary.

M. de Rênal cursed a thousand times the day that he had had the

ill-starred idea of taking a tutor into his house, and forgot the

anonymous letter.

He consoled himself a little by an idea which he did not tell his

wife. With the exercise of some skill, and by exploiting the romantic

ideas of the young man, he hoped to be able to induce him to refuse M.

Valenod's offer at a cheaper price.

Madame de Rênal had much more trouble in proving to Julien that

inasmuch as he was sacrificing the post of six hundred francs a year

in order to enable her husband to keep up appearances, he need have no

shame about accepting the compensation. But Julien would say each time,

"I have never thought for a moment of accepting that offer. You have

made me so used to a refined life that the coarseness of those people

would kill me."

Cruel necessity bent Julien's will with its iron hand. His pride gave

him the illusion that he only accepted the sum offered by M. de Rênal

as a loan, and induced him to give him a promissory note, repayable in

five years with interest.

Madame de Rênal had, of course, many thousands of francs which had been

concealed in the little mountain cave.

She offered them to him all a tremble, feeling only too keenly that

they would be angrily refused.

"Do you wish," said Julien to her, "to make the memory of our love

loathsome?"

Finally Julien left Verrières. M. de Rênal was very happy, but when

the fatal moment came to accept money from him the sacrifice proved

beyond Julien's strength. He refused point blank. M. de Rênal embraced

him around the neck with tears in his eyes. Julien had asked him for

a testimonial of good conduct, and his enthusiasm could find no terms

magnificent enough in which to extol his conduct.

Our hero had five louis of savings and he reckoned on asking Fouqué for

an equal sum.

He was very moved. But one league from Verrières, where he left so much

that was dear to him, he only thought of the happiness of seeing the

capital of a great military town like Besançon.

During the short absence of three days, Madame de Rênal was the victim

of one of the cruellest deceptions to which love is liable. Her life

was tolerable, because between her and extreme unhappiness there was

still that last interview which she was to have with Julien.

Finally during the night of the third day, she heard from a distance

the preconcerted signal. Julien, having passed through a thousand

dangers, appeared before her. In this moment she only had one

thought--"I see him for the last time." Instead of answering the

endearments of her lover, she seemed more dead than alive. If she

forced herself to tell him that she loved him, she said it with an

embarrassed air which almost proved the contrary. Nothing could rid her

of the cruel idea of eternal separation. The suspicious Julien thought

for the moment that he was already forgotten. His pointed remarks to

this effect were only answered by great tears which flowed down in

silence, and by some hysterical pressings of the hand.

"But," Julien would answer his mistress's cold protestations, "Great

Heavens! How can you expect me to believe you? You would show one

hundred times more sincere affection to Madame Derville to a mere

acquaintance."

Madame de Rênal was petrified, and at a loss for an answer.

"It is impossible to be more unhappy. I hope I am going to die. I feel

my heart turn to ice."

Those were the longest answers which he could obtain.

When the approach of day rendered it necessary for him to leave Madame

de Rênal, her tears completely ceased. She saw him tie a knotted rope

to the window without saying a word, and without returning her kisses.

It was in vain that Julien said to her.

"So now we have reached the state of affairs which you wished for

so much. Henceforward you will live without remorse. The slightest

indisposition of your children will no longer make you see them in the

tomb."

"I am sorry that you cannot kiss Stanislas," she said coldly.

Julien finished by being profoundly impressed by the cold embraces of

this living corpse. He could think of nothing else for several leagues.

His soul was overwhelmed, and before passing the mountain, and while

he could still see the church tower of Verrières he turned round

frequently.

[1] C'est pigeon qui vole. A reference to a contemporary animal game

with a pun on the word "vole."