Chapter Chapter 21 · DIALOGUE WITH A MASTER

. DIALOGUE WITH A MASTER

Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;

For such as we are made of, such we be.--_Twelfth Night_.

It was with a childish pleasure that for a whole hour Julien put the

words together. As he came out of his room, he met his pupils with

their mother. She took the letter with a simplicity and a courage whose

calmness terrified him.

"Is the mouth-glue dry enough yet?" she asked him.

"And is this the woman who was so maddened by remorse?" he thought.

"What are her plans at this moment?" He was too proud to ask her, but

she had never perhaps pleased him more.

"If this turns out badly," she added with the same coolness, "I shall

be deprived of everything. Take charge of this, and bury it in some

place of the mountain. It will perhaps one day be my only resource."

She gave him a glass case in red morocco filled with gold and some

diamonds.

"Now go," she said to him.

She kissed the children, embracing the youngest twice. Julien remained

motionless. She left him at a rapid pace without looking at him.

From the moment that M. de Rênal had opened the anonymous letter his

life had been awful. He had not been so agitated since a duel which he

had just missed having in 1816, and to do him justice, the prospect of

receiving a bullet would have made him less unhappy. He scrutinised the

letter from every standpoint. "Is that not a woman's handwriting?" he

said to himself. In that case, what woman had written it? He reviewed

all those whom he knew at Verrières without being able to fix his

suspicions on any one. Could a man have dictated that letter? Who

was that man? Equal uncertainty on this point. The majority of his

acquaintances were jealous of him, and, no doubt, hated him. "I must

consult my wife," he said to himself through habit, as he got up from

the arm-chair in which he had collapsed.

"Great God!" he said aloud before he got up, striking his head, "it is

she above all of whom I must be distrustful. At the present moment she

is my enemy," and tears came into his eyes through sheer anger.

By a poetic justice for that hardness of heart which constitutes the

provincial idea of shrewdness, the two men whom M. de Rênal feared the

most at the present moment were his two most intimate friends.

"I have ten friends perhaps after those," and he passed them in review,

gauging the degree of consolation which he could get from each one.

"All of them, all of them," he exclaimed in a rage, "will derive the

most supreme pleasure from my awful experience."

As luck would have it, he thought himself envied, and not without

reason. Apart from his superb town mansion in which the king of ----

had recently spent the night, and thus conferred on it an enduring

honour, he had decorated his château at Vergy extremely well. The

façade was painted white and the windows adorned with fine green

shutters. He was consoled for a moment by the thought of this

magnificence. The fact was that this château was seen from three or

four leagues off, to the great prejudice of all the country houses or

so-called châteaux of the neighbourhood, which had been left in the

humble grey colour given them by time.

There was one of his friends on whose pity and whose tears M. de Rênal

could count, the churchwarden of the parish; but he was an idiot who

cried at everything. This man, however, was his only resource. "What

unhappiness is comparable to mine," he exclaimed with rage. "What

isolation!"

"Is it possible?" said this truly pitiable man to himself. "Is it

possible that I have no friend in my misfortune of whom I can ask

advice? for my mind is wandering, I feel it. Oh, Falcoz! oh, Ducros!"

he exclaimed with bitterness. Those were the names of two friends of

his childhood whom he had dropped owing to his snobbery in 1814. They

were not noble, and he had wished to change the footing of equality on

which they had been living with him since their childhood.

One of them, Falcoz, a paper-merchant of Verrières, and a man of

intellect and spirit, had bought a printing press in the chief town of

the department and undertaken the production of a journal. The priestly

congregation had resolved to ruin him; his journal had been condemned,

and he had been deprived of his printer's diploma. In these sad

circumstances he ventured to write to M. de Rênal for the first time

for ten years. The mayor of Verrières thought it his duty to answer

in the old Roman style: "If the King's Minister were to do me the

honour of consulting me, I should say to him, ruin ruthlessly all the

provincial printers, and make printing a monopoly like tobacco." M. de

Rênal was horrified to remember the terms of this letter to an intimate

friend whom all Verrières had once admired, "Who would have said that

I, with my rank, my fortune, my decorations, would ever come to regret

it?" It was in these transports of rage, directed now against himself,

now against all his surroundings, that he passed an awful night; but,

fortunately, it never occurred to him to spy on his wife.

"I am accustomed to Louise," he said to himself, "she knows all my

affairs. If I were free to marry to-morrow, I should not find anyone to

take her place." Then he began to plume himself on the idea that his

wife was innocent. This point of view did not require any manifestation

of character, and suited him much better. "How many calumniated women

has one not seen?"

"But," he suddenly exclaimed, as he walked about feverishly, "shall I

put up with her making a fool of me with her lover as though I were

a man of no account, some mere ragamuffin? Is all Verrières to make

merry over my complaisance? What have they not said about Charmier

(he was a husband in the district who was notoriously deceived)? Was

there not a smile on every lip at the mention of his name? He is a good

advocate, but whoever said anything about his talent for speaking? 'Oh,

Charmier,' they say, 'Bernard's Charmier,' he is thus designated by the

name of the man who disgraces him."

"I have no daughter, thank heaven," M. de Rênal would say at other

times, "and the way in which I am going to punish the mother will

consequently not be so harmful to my children's household. I could

surprise this little peasant with my wife and kill them both; in that

case the tragedy of the situation would perhaps do away with the

grotesque element." This idea appealed to him. He followed it up in all

its details. "The penal code is on my side, and whatever happens our

congregation and my friends on the jury will save me." He examined his

hunting-knife which was quite sharp, but the idea of blood frightened

him.

"I could thrash this insolent tutor within an inch of his life and

hound him out of the house; but what a sensation that would make in

Verrières and even over the whole department! After Falcoz' journal had

been condemned, and when its chief editor left prison, I had a hand

in making him lose his place of six hundred francs a year. They say

that this scribbler has dared to show himself again in Besançon. He

may lampoon me adroitly and in such a way that it will be impossible

to bring him up before the courts. Bring him up before the courts!

The insolent wretch will insinuate in a thousand and one ways that he

has spoken the truth. A well-born man who keeps his place like I do,

is hated by all the plebeians. I shall see my name in all those awful

Paris papers. Oh, my God, what depths. To see the ancient name of

Rênal plunged in the mire of ridicule. If I ever travel I shall have

to change my name. What! abandon that name which is my glory and my

strength. Could anything be worse than that?

"If I do not kill my wife but turn her out in disgrace, she has her

aunt in Besançon who is going to hand all her fortune over to her.

My wife will go and live in Paris with Julien. It will be known at

Verrières, and I shall be taken for a dupe." The unhappy man then

noticed from the paleness of the lamplight that the dawn was beginning

to appear. He went to get a little fresh air in the garden. At this

moment he had almost determined to make no scandal, particularly in

view of the fact that a scandal would overwhelm with joy all his good

friends in Verrières.

The promenade in the garden calmed him a little. "No," he exclaimed,

"I shall not deprive myself of my wife, she is too useful to me." He

imagined with horror what his house would be without his wife. The only

relative he had was the Marquise of R---- old, stupid, and malicious.

A very sensible idea occurred to him, but its execution required a

strength of character considerably superior to the small amount of

character which the poor man possessed. "If I keep my wife," he said

to himself, "I know what I shall do one day; on some occasion when

she makes me lose patience, I shall reproach her with her guilt. She

is proud, we shall quarrel, and all this will happen before she has

inherited her aunt's fortune. And how they will all make fun of me

then! My wife loves her children, the result will be that everything

will go to them. But as for me, I shall be the laughing-stock of

Verrières. 'What,' they will say, 'he could not even manage to revenge

himself on his wife!' Would it not be better to leave it and verify

nothing? In that case I tie my hands, and cannot afterwards reproach

her with anything."

An instant afterwards M. de Rênal, once more a prey to wounded vanity,

set himself laboriously to recollect all the methods of procedure

mentioned in the billiard-room of the _Casino_ or the _Nobles' Club_ in

Verrières, when some fine talker interrupted the pool to divert himself

at the expense of some deceived husband. How cruel these pleasantries

appeared to him at the present moment!

"My God, why is my wife not dead! then I should be impregnable against

ridicule. Why am I not a widower? I should go and pass six months in

Paris in the best society. After this moment of happiness occasioned

by the idea of widowerhood, his imagination reverted to the means of

assuring himself of the truth. Should he put a slight layer of bran

before the door of Julien's room at midnight after everyone had gone to

bed? He would see the impression of the feet in the following morning.

"But that's no good," he suddenly exclaimed with rage. "That

inquisitive Elisa will notice it, and they will soon know all over the

house that I am jealous."

In another _Casino_ tale a husband had assured himself of his

misfortune by tying a hair with a little wax so that it shut the door

of the gallant as effectually as a seal.

After so many hours of uncertainty this means of clearing up his fate

seemed to him emphatically the best, and he was thinking of availing

himself of it when, in one of the turnings of the avenue he met the

very woman whom he would like to have seen dead. She was coming back

from the village. She had gone to hear mass in the church of Vergy.

A tradition, extremely doubtful in the eyes of the cold philosopher,

but in which she believed, alleges that the little church was once the

chapel of the château of the Lord of Vergy. This idea obsessed Madame

de Rênal all the time in the church that she had counted on spending in

prayer. She kept on imagining to herself the spectacle of her husband

killing Julien when out hunting as though by accident, and then making

her eat his heart in the evening.

"My fate," she said to herself, "depends on what he will think when

he listens to me. It may be I shall never get another opportunity

of speaking to him after this fatal quarter of an hour. He is not a

reasonable person who is governed by his intellect. In that case, with

the help of my weak intelligence, I could anticipate what he will do or

say. He will decide our common fate. He has the power. But this fate

depends on my adroitness, on my skill in directing the ideas of this

crank, who is blinded by his rage and unable to see half of what takes

place. Great God! I need talent and coolness, where shall I get it?"

She regained her calmness as though by magic, and she entered the

garden and saw her husband in the distance. His dishevelled hair and

disordered dress showed that he had not slept.

She gave him a letter with a broken seal but folded. As for him,

without opening it, he gazed at his wife with the eyes of a madman.

"Here's an abominable thing," she said to him, "which an evil-looking

man who makes out that he knows you and is under an obligation to you,

handed to me as I was passing behind the notary's garden. I insist on

one thing and that is that you send back this M. Julien to his parents

and without delay." Madame de Rênal hastened to say these words,

perhaps a little before the psychological moment, in order to free

herself from the awful prospect of having to say them.

She was seized with joy on seeing that which she was occasioning to her

husband. She realised from the fixed stare which he was rivetting on

her that Julien had surmised rightly.

"What a genius he is to be so brilliantly diplomatic instead of

succumbing to so real a misfortune," she thought. "He will go very far

in the future! Alas, his successes will only make him forget me."

This little act of admiration for the man whom she adored quite cured

her of her trouble.

She congratulated herself on her tactics. "I have not been unworthy of

Julien," she said to herself with a sweet and secret pleasure.

M. de Rênal kept examining the second anonymous letter which the

reader may remember was composed of printed words glued on to a paper

verging on blue. He did not say a word for fear of giving himself away.

"They still make fun of me in every possible way," said M. de Rênal

to himself, overwhelmed with exhaustion. "Still more new insults to

examine and all the time on account of my wife." He was on the point

of heaping on her the coarsest insults. He was barely checked by the

prospects of the Besançon legacy. Consumed by the need of venting his

feelings on something, he crumpled up the paper of the second anonymous

letter and began to walk about with huge strides. He needed to get

away from his wife. A few moments afterwards he came back to her in a

quieter frame of mind.

"The thing is to take some definite line and send Julien away," she

said immediately, "after all it is only a labourer's son. You will

compensate him by a few crowns and besides he is clever and will easily

manage to find a place, with M. Valenod for example, or with the

sub-prefect De Maugiron who both have children. In that way you will

not be doing him any wrong...." "There you go talking like the fool

that you are," exclaimed M. de Rênal in a terrible voice. "How can one

hope that a woman will show any good sense? You never bother yourself

about common sense. How can you ever get to know anything? Your

indifference and your idleness give you no energy except for hunting

those miserable butterflies, which we are unfortunate to have in our

houses."

Madame de Rênal let him speak and he spoke for a long time. _He was

working off his anger_, to use the local expression.

"Monsieur," she answered him at last, "I speak as a woman who has

been outraged in her honour, that is to say, in what she holds most

precious."

Madame de Rênal preserved an unalterable sang-froid during all this

painful conversation on the result of which depended the possibility of

still living under the same roof as Julien. She sought for the ideas

which she thought most adapted to guide her husband's blind anger

into a safe channel. She had been insensible to all the insulting

imputations which he had addressed to her. She was not listening to

them, she was then thinking about Julien. "Will he be pleased with me?"

"This little peasant whom we have loaded with attentions, and even with

presents, may be innocent," she said to him at last, "but he is none

the less the occasion of the first affront that I have ever received.

Monsieur, when I read this abominable paper, I vowed to myself that

either he or I should leave your house."

"Do you want to make a scandal so as to dishonour me and yourself as

well? You will make things hum in Verrières I can assure you."

"It is true, the degree of prosperity in which your prudent management

has succeeded in placing you yourself, your family and the town is the

subject of general envy.... Well, I will urge Julien to ask you for

a holiday to go and spend the month with that wood-merchant of the

mountains, a fit friend to be sure for this little labourer."

"Mind you do nothing at all," resumed M. de Rênal with a fair amount of

tranquillity. "I particularly insist on your not speaking to him. You

will put him into a temper and make him quarrel with me. You know to

what extent this little gentleman is always spoiling for a quarrel."

"That young man has no tact," resumed Madame de Rênal. "He may be

learned, you know all about that, but at bottom he is only a peasant.

For my own part I never thought much of him since he refused to

marry Elisa. It was an assured fortune; and that on the pretext that

sometimes she had made secret visits to M. Valenod."

"Ah," said M. de Rênal, lifting up his eyebrows inordinately. "What,

did Julien tell you that?"

"Not exactly, he always talked of the vocation which calls him to the

holy ministry, but believe me, the first vocation for those lower-class

people is getting their bread and butter. He gave me to understand that

he was quite aware of her secret visits."

"And I--I was ignorant," exclaimed M. de Rênal, growing as angry as

before and accentuating his words. "Things take place in my house which

I know nothing about.... What! has there been anything between Elisa

and Valenod?"

"Oh, that's old history, my dear," said Madame de Rênal with a smile,

"and perhaps no harm has come of it. It was at the time when your good

friend Valenod would not have minded their thinking at Verrières that a

perfectly platonic little affection was growing up between him and me."

"I had that idea once myself," exclaimed M. de Rênal, furiously

striking his head as he progressed from discovery to discovery, "and

you told me nothing about it."

"Should one set two friends by the ears on account of a little fit of

vanity on the part of our dear director? What society woman has not had

addressed to her a few letters which were both extremely witty and even

a little gallant?"

"He has written to you?"

"He writes a great deal."

"Show me those letters at once, I order you," and M. de Rênal pulled

himself up to his six feet.

"I will do nothing of the kind," he was answered with a sweetness

verging on indifference. "I will show you them one day when you are in

a better frame of mind."

"This very instant, odds life," exclaimed M. de Rênal, transported with

rage and yet happier than he had been for twelve hours.

"Will you swear to me," said Madame de Rênal quite gravely, "never to

quarrel with the director of the workhouse about these letters?"

"Quarrel or no quarrel, I can take those foundlings away from him,

but," he continued furiously, "I want those letters at once. Where are

they?"

"In a drawer in my secretary, but I shall certainly not give you the

key."

"I'll manage to break it," he cried, running towards his wife's room.

He did break in fact with a bar of iron a costly secretary of veined

mahogany which came from Paris and which he had often been accustomed

to wipe with the nap of his coat, when he thought he had detected a

spot.

Madame de Rênal had climbed up at a run the hundred and twenty steps

of the dovecot. She tied the corner of a white handkerchief to one of

the bars of iron of the little window. She was the happiest of women.

With tears in her eyes she looked towards the great mountain forest.

"Doubtless," she said to herself, "Julien is watching for this happy

signal."

She listened attentively for a long time and then she cursed the

monotonous noise of the grasshopper and the song of the birds. "Had it

not been for that importunate noise, a cry of joy starting from the big

rocks could have arrived here." Her greedy eye devoured that immense

slope of dark verdure which was as level as a meadow.

"Why isn't he clever enough," she said to herself, quite overcome, "to

invent some signal to tell me that his happiness is equal to mine?" She

only came down from the dovecot when she was frightened of her husband

coming there to look for her.

She found him furious. He was perusing the soothing phrases of M. de

Valenod and reading them with an emotion to which they were but little

used.

"I always come back to the same idea," said Madame de Rênal seizing

a moment when a pause in her husband's ejaculations gave her the

possibility of getting heard. "It is necessary for Julien to travel.

Whatever talent he may have for Latin, he is only a peasant after all,

often coarse and lacking in tact. Thinking to be polite, he addresses

inflated compliments to me every day, which are in bad taste. He learns

them by heart out of some novel or other."

"He never reads one," exclaimed M. de Rênal. "I am assured of it. Do

you think that I am the master of a house who is so blind as to be

ignorant of what takes place in his own home."

"Well, if he doesn't read these droll compliments anywhere, he invents

them, and that's all the worse so far as he is concerned. He must have

talked about me in this tone in Verrières and perhaps without going so

far," said Madame Rênal with the idea of making a discovery, "he may

have talked in the same strain to Elisa, which is almost the same as if

he had said it to M. Valenod."

"Ah," exclaimed M. de Rênal, shaking the table and the room with one of

the most violent raps ever made by a human fist. "The anonymous printed

letter and Valenod's letters are written on the same paper."

"At last," thought Madame de Rênal. She pretended to be overwhelmed

at this discovery, and without having the courage to add a single

word, went and sat down some way off on the divan at the bottom of the

drawing-room.

From this point the battle was won. She had a great deal of trouble in

preventing M. de Rênal from going to speak to the supposed author of

the anonymous letter. "What, can't you see that making a scene with M.

Valenod without sufficient proof would be the most signal mistake? You

are envied, Monsieur, and who is responsible? Your talents: your wise

management, your tasteful buildings, the dowry which I have brought

you, and above all, the substantial legacy which we are entitled to

hope for from my good aunt, a legacy, the importance of which is

inordinately exaggerated, have made you into the first person in

Verrières."

"You are forgetting my birth," said M. de Rênal, smiling a little.

"You are one of the most distinguished gentlemen in the province,"

replied Madame de Rênal emphatically. "If the king were free and could

give birth its proper due, you would no doubt figure in the Chamber of

Peers, etc. And being in this magnificent position, you yet wish to

give the envious a fact to take hold of."

"To speak about this anonymous letter to M. Valenod is equivalent

to proclaiming over the whole of Verrières, nay, over the whole of

Besançon, over the whole province that this little bourgeois who has

been admitted perhaps imprudently to intimacy _with a Rênal_, has

managed to offend him. At the time when those letters which you have

just taken prove that I have reciprocated M. Valenod's love, you ought

to kill me. I should have deserved it a hundred times over, but not to

show him your anger. Remember that all our neighbours are only waiting

for an excuse to revenge themselves for your superiority. Remember that

in 1816 you had a hand in certain arrests.

"I think that you show neither consideration nor love for me,"

exclaimed M. de Rênal with all the bitterness evoked by such a memory,

"and I was not made a peer."

"I am thinking, my dear," resumed Madame de Rênal with a smile, "that

I shall be richer than you are, that I have been your companion for

twelve years, and that by virtue of those qualifications I am entitled

to have a voice in the council and, above all, in to-day's business. If

you prefer M. Julien to me," she added, with a touch of temper which

was but thinly disguised, "I am ready to go and pass a winter with my

aunt." These words proved a lucky shot. They possessed a firmness which

endeavoured to clothe itself with courtesy. It decided M. de Rênal, but

following the provincial custom, he still thought for a long time, and

went again over all his arguments; his wife let him speak. There was

still a touch of anger in his intonation. Finally two hours of futile

rant exhausted the strength of a man who had been subject during the

whole night to a continuous fit of anger. He determined on the line of

conduct he was going to follow with regard to M. Valenod, Julien and

even Elisa.

Madame de Rênal was on the point once or twice during this great scene

of feeling some sympathy for the very real unhappiness of the man

who had been so dear to her for twelve years. But true passions are

selfish. Besides she was expecting him every instant to mention the

anonymous letter which he had received the day before and he did not

mention it. In order to feel quite safe, Madame de Rênal wanted to know

the ideas which the letter had succeeding in suggesting to the man on

whom her fate depended, for, in the provinces the husbands are the

masters of public opinion. A husband who complains covers himself with

ridicule, an inconvenience which becomes no less dangerous in France

with each succeeding year; but if he refuses to provide his wife with

money, she falls to the status of a labouring woman at fifteen sous a

day, while the virtuous souls have scruples about employing her.

An odalisque in the seraglio can love the Sultan with all her might.

He is all-powerful and she has no hope of stealing his authority by

a series of little subtleties. The master's vengeance is terrible

and bloody but martial and generous; a dagger thrust finishes

everything. But it is by stabbing her with public contempt that a

nineteenth-century husband kills his wife. It is by shutting against

her the doors of all the drawing-rooms.

When Madame de Rênal returned to her room, her feeling of danger was

vividly awakened. She was shocked by the disorder in which she found

it. The locks of all the pretty little boxes had been broken. Many

planks in the floor had been lifted up. "He would have no pity on me,"

she said to herself. "To think of his spoiling like this, this coloured

wood floor which he likes so much; he gets red with rage whenever one

of his children comes into it with wet shoes, and now it is spoilt for

ever." The spectacle of this violence immediately banished the last

scruples which she was entertaining with respect to that victory which

she had won only too rapidly.

Julien came back with the children a little before the dinner-bell.

Madame de Rênal said to him very drily at dessert when the servant had

left the room:

"You have told me about your wish to go and spend a fortnight at

Verrières. M. de Rênal is kind enough to give you a holiday. You can

leave as soon as you like, but the childrens' exercises will be sent to

you every day so that they do not waste their time."

"I shall certainly not allow you more than a week," said M. de Rênal in

a very bitter tone. Julien thought his visage betrayed the anxiety of a

man who was seriously harassed.

"He has not yet decided what line to take," he said to his love during

a moment when they were alone together in the drawing-room.

Madame de Rênal rapidly recounted to him all she had done since the

morning.

"The details are for to-night," she added with a smile.

"Feminine perversity," thought Julien, "What can be the pleasure, what

can be the instinct which induces them to deceive us."

"I think you are both enlightened and at the same time blinded by your

love," he said to her with some coldness. "Your conduct to-day has been

admirable, but is it prudent for us to try and see each other to-night?

This house is paved with enemies. Just think of Elisa's passionate

hatred for me."

"That hate is very like the passionate indifference which you no doubt

have for me."

"Even if I were indifferent I ought to save you from the peril in which

I have plunged you. If chance so wills it that M. de Rênal should speak

to Elisa, she can acquaint him with everything in a single word. What

is to prevent him from hiding near my room fully armed?"

"What, not even courage?" said Madame de Rênal, with all the

haughtiness of a scion of nobility.

"I will never demean myself to speak about my courage," said Julien,

coldly, "it would be mean to do so. Let the world judge by the facts.

But," he added, taking her hand, "you have no idea how devoted I am to

you and how over-joyed I am of being able to say good-bye to you before

this cruel separation."