Kabanata Kabanata 5 · A NEGOTIATION

. A NEGOTIATION

Cunctando restituit rem.--_Ennius_.

"Answer me without lies, if you can, you damned dog, how did you get to

know Madame de Rênal? When did you speak to her?"

"I have never spoken to her," answered Julien, "I have only seen that

lady in church."

"You must have looked at her, you impudent rascal."

"Not once! you know, I only see God in church," answered Julien, with

a little hypocritical air, well suited, so he thought, to keep off the

parental claws.

"None the less there's something that does not meet the eye," answered

the cunning peasant. He was then silent for a moment. "But I shall

never get anything out of you, you damned hypocrite," he went on. "As a

matter of fact, I am going to get rid of you, and my saw-mill will go

all the better for it. You have nobbled the curate, or somebody else,

who has got you a good place. Run along and pack your traps, and I

will take you to M. de Rênal's, where you are going to be tutor to his

children."

"What shall I get for that?"

"Board, clothing, and three hundred francs salary."

"I do not want to be a servant."

"Who's talking of being a servant, you brute, do you think I want my

son to be a servant?"

"But with whom shall I have my meals?"

This question discomforted old Sorel, who felt he might possibly commit

some imprudence if he went on talking. He burst out against Julien,

flung insult after insult at him, accused him of gluttony, and left him

to go and consult his other sons.

Julien saw them afterwards, each one leaning on his axe and holding

counsel. Having looked at them for a long time, Julien saw that he

could find out nothing, and went and stationed himself on the other

side of the saw in order to avoid being surprised. He wanted to think

over this unexpected piece of news, which changed his whole life,

but he felt himself unable to consider the matter prudently, his

imagination being concentrated in wondering what he would see in M. de

Rênal's fine mansion.

"I must give all that up," he said to himself, "rather than let myself

be reduced to eating with the servants. My father would like to force

me to it. I would rather die. I have fifteen francs and eight sous of

savings. I will run away to-night; I will go across country by paths

where there are no gendarmes to be feared, and in two days I shall be

at Besançon. I will enlist as a soldier there, and, if necessary, I

will cross into Switzerland. But in that case, no more advancement, it

will be all up with my being a priest, that fine career which may lead

to anything."

This abhorrence of eating with the servants was not really natural to

Julien; he would have done things quite, if not more, disagreeable in

order to get on. He derived this repugnance from the _Confessions_

of Rousseau. It was the only book by whose help his imagination

endeavoured to construct the world. The collection of the Bulletins of

the Grand Army, and the _Memorial of St. Helena_ completed his Koran.

He would have died for these three works. He never believed in any

other. To use a phrase of the old Surgeon-Major, he regarded all the

other books in the world as packs of lies, written by rogues in order

to get on.

Julien possessed both a fiery soul and one of those astonishing

memories which are so often combined with stupidity.

In order to win over the old curé Chélan, on whose good grace he

realized that his future prospects depended, he had learnt by heart the

New Testament in Latin. He also knew M. de Maistre's book on The Pope,

and believed in one as little as he did in the other.

Sorel and his son avoided talking to each other to-day as though by

mutual consent. In the evening Julien went to take his theology lesson

at the curé's, but he did not consider that it was prudent to say

anything to him about the strange proposal which had been made to his

father. "It is possibly a trap," he said to himself, "I must pretend

that I have forgotten all about it."

Early next morning, M. de Rênal had old Sorel summoned to him.

He eventually arrived, after keeping M. de Rênal waiting for an

hour-and-a-half, and made, as he entered the room, a hundred apologies

interspersed with as many bows. After having run the gauntlet of all

kinds of objections, Sorel was given to understand that his son would

have his meals with the master and mistress of the house, and that

he would eat alone in a room with the children on the days when they

had company. The more clearly Sorel realized the genuine eagerness of

M. the Mayor, the more difficulties he felt inclined to raise. Being

moreover full of mistrust and astonishment, he asked to see the room

where his son would sleep. It was a big room, quite decently furnished,

into which the servants were already engaged in carrying the beds of

the three children.

This circumstance explained a lot to the old peasant. He asked

immediately, with quite an air of assurance, to see the suit which

would be given to his son. M. de Rênal opened his desk and took out one

hundred francs.

"Your son will go to M. Durand, the draper, with this money and will

get a complete black suit."

"And even supposing I take him away from you," said the peasant, who

had suddenly forgotten all his respectful formalities, "will he still

keep this black suit?"

"Certainly!"

"Well," said Sorel, in a drawling voice, "all that remains to do is to

agree on just one thing, the money which you will give him."

"What!" exclaimed M. de Rênal, indignantly, "we agreed on that

yesterday. I shall give him three hundred francs, I think that is a

lot, and probably too much."

"That is your offer and I do not deny it," said old Sorel, speaking

still very slowly; and by a stroke of genius which will only astonish

those who do not know the Franche-Comté peasants, he fixed his eyes on

M. de Rênal and added, "We shall get better terms elsewhere."

The Mayor's face exhibited the utmost consternation at these words. He

pulled himself together however and after a cunning conversation of

two hours' length, where every single word on both sides was carefully

weighed, the subtlety of the peasant scored a victory over the subtlety

of the rich man, whose livelihood was not so dependent on his faculty

of cunning. All the numerous stipulations which were to regulate

Julien's new existence were duly formulated. Not only was his salary

fixed at four hundred francs, but they were to be paid in advance on

the first of each month.

"Very well, I will give him thirty-five francs," said M. de Rênal.

"I am quite sure," said the peasant, in a fawning voice, "that a rich,

generous man like the M. mayor would go as far as thirty-six francs, to

make up a good round sum."

"Agreed!" said M. de Rênal, "but let this be final." For the moment his

temper gave him a tone of genuine firmness. The peasant saw that it

would not do to go any further.

Then, on his side, M. de Rênal managed to score. He absolutely refused

to give old Sorel, who was very anxious to receive it on behalf of his

son, the thirty-six francs for the first month. It had occurred to M.

de Rênal that he would have to tell his wife the figure which he had

cut throughout these negotiations.

"Hand me back the hundred francs which I gave you," he said sharply.

"M. Durand owes me something, I will go with your son to see about a

black cloth suit."

After this manifestation of firmness, Sorel had the prudence to return

to his respectful formulas; they took a good quarter of an hour.

Finally, seeing that there was nothing more to be gained, he took his

leave. He finished his last bow with these words:

"I will send my son to the Château." The Mayor's officials called his

house by this designation when they wanted to humour him.

When he got back to his workshop, it was in vain that Sorel sought his

son. Suspicious of what might happen, Julien had gone out in the middle

of the night. He wished to place his Cross of the Legion of Honour and

his books in a place of safety. He had taken everything to a young

wood-merchant named Fouqué, who was a friend of his, and who lived in

the high mountain which commands Verrières.

"God knows, you damned lazy bones," said his father to him when he

re-appeared, "if you will ever be sufficiently honourable to pay me

back the price of your board which I have been advancing to you for so

many years. Take your rags and clear out to M. the Mayor's."

Julien was astonished at not being beaten and hastened to leave. He

had scarcely got out of sight of his terrible father when he slackened

his pace. He considered that it would assist the rôle played by his

hypocrisy to go and say a prayer in the church.

The word hypocrisy surprises you? The soul of the peasant had had to go

through a great deal before arriving at this horrible word.

Julien had seen in the days of his early childhood certain Dragoons

of the 6th[1] with long white cloaks and hats covered with long black

plumed helmets who were returning from Italy, and tied up their horses

to the grilled window of his father's house. The sight had made him mad

on the military profession. Later on he had listened with ecstasy to

the narrations of the battles of Lodi, Arcola and Rivoli with which the

old surgeon-major had regaled him. He observed the ardent gaze which

the old man used to direct towards his cross.

But when Julien was fourteen years of age they commenced to build a

church at Verrières which, in view of the smallness of the town, has

some claim to be called magnificent. There were four marble columns in

particular, the sight of which impressed Julien. They became celebrated

in the district owing to the mortal hate which they raised between

the Justice of the Peace and the young vicar who had been sent from

Besançon and who passed for a spy of the congregation. The Justice of

the Peace was on the point of losing his place, so said the public

opinion at any rate. Had he not dared to have a difference with the

priest who went every fortnight to Besançon; where he saw, so they

said, my Lord the Bishop.

In the meanwhile the Justice of the Peace, who was the father of a

numerous family, gave several sentences which seemed unjust: all these

sentences were inflicted on those of the inhabitants who read the

"_Constitutionnel_." The right party triumphed. It is true it was only a

question of sums of three or five francs, but one of these little fines

had to be paid by a nail-maker, who was god-father to Julien. This man

exclaimed in his anger "What a change! and to think that for more than

twenty years the Justice of the Peace has passed for an honest man."

The Surgeon-Major, Julien's friend, died. Suddenly Julien left off

talking about Napoleon. He announced his intention of becoming a

priest, and was always to be seen in his father's workshop occupied

in learning by heart the Latin Bible which the curé had lent him. The

good old man was astonished at his progress, and passed whole evenings

in teaching him theology. In his society Julien did not manifest other

than pious sentiments. Who could not possibly guess that beneath this

girlish face, so pale and so sweet, lurked the unbreakable resolution

to risk a thousand deaths rather than fail to make his fortune. Making

his fortune primarily meant to Julien getting out of Verrières: he

abhorred his native country; everything that he saw there froze his

imagination.

He had had moments of exultation since his earliest childhood. He would

then dream with gusto of being presented one day to the pretty women

of Paris. He would manage to attract their attention by some dazzling

feat: why should he not be loved by one of them just as Buonaparte,

when still poor, had been loved by the brilliant Madame de Beauharnais.

For many years past Julien had scarcely passed a single year of his

life without reminding himself that Buonaparte, the obscure and

penniless lieutenant, had made himself master of the whole world by the

power of his sword. This idea consoled him for his misfortune, which

he considered to be great, and rendered such joyful moments as he had

doubly intense.

The building of the church and the sentences pronounced by the Justice

of the Peace suddenly enlightened him. An idea came to him which made

him almost mad for some weeks, and finally took complete possession of

him with all the magic that a first idea possesses for a passionate

soul which believes that it is original.

"At the time when Buonaparte got himself talked about, France was

frightened of being invaded; military distinction was necessary and

fashionable. Nowadays, one sees priests of forty with salaries of

100,000 francs, that is to say, three times as much as Napoleon's

famous generals of a division. They need persons to assist them. Look

at that Justice of the Peace, such a good sort and such an honest man

up to the present and so old too; he sacrifices his honour through the

fear of incurring the displeasure of a young vicar of thirty. I must be

a priest."

On one occasion, in the middle of his new-found piety (he had already

been studying theology for two years), he was betrayed by a sudden

burst of fire which consumed his soul. It was at M. Chélan's. The

good curé had invited him to a dinner of priests, and he actually let

himself praise Napoleon with enthusiasm. He bound his right arm over

his breast, pretending that he had dislocated it in moving a trunk of a

pine-tree and carried it for two months in that painful position. After

this painful penance, he forgave himself. This is the young man of

eighteen with a puny physique, and scarcely looking more than seventeen

at the outside, who entered the magnificent church of Verrières

carrying a little parcel under his arm.

He found it gloomy and deserted. All the transepts in the building had

been covered with crimson cloth in celebration of a feast. The result

was that the sun's rays produced an effect of dazzling light of the

most impressive and religious character. Julien shuddered. Finding

himself alone in the church, he established himself in the pew which

had the most magnificent appearance. It bore the arms of M. de Rênal.

Julien noticed a piece of printed paper spread out on the stool, which

was apparently intended to be read, he cast his eyes over it and

saw:--"_Details of the execution and the last moments of Louis Jenrel,

executed at Besançon the...._" The paper was torn. The two first words

of a line were legible on the back, they were, "_The First Step_."

"Who could have put this paper there?" said Julien. "Poor fellow!" he

added with a sigh, "the last syllable of his name is the same as mine,"

and he crumpled up the paper. As he left, Julien thought he saw blood

near the Host, it was holy water which the priests had been sprinkling

on it, the reflection of the red curtains which covered the windows

made it look like blood.

Finally, Julien felt ashamed of his secret terror. "Am I going to play

the coward," he said to himself: "_To Arms!_" This phrase, repeated so

often in the old Surgeon-Major's battle stories, symbolized heroism to

Julien. He got up rapidly and walked to M. de Rênal's house. As soon

as he saw it twenty yards in front of him he was seized, in spite of

his fine resolution, with an overwhelming timidity. The iron grill was

open. He thought it was magnificent. He had to go inside.

Julien was not the only person whose heart was troubled by his arrival

in the house. The extreme timidity of Madame de Rênal was fluttered

when she thought of this stranger whose functions would necessitate

his coming between her and her children. She was accustomed to seeing

her sons sleep in her own room. She had shed many tears that morning,

when she had seen their beds carried into the apartment intended for

the tutor. It was in vain that she asked her husband to have the bed of

Stanislas-Xavier, the youngest, carried back into her room.

Womanly delicacy was carried in Madame de Rênal to the point of excess.

She conjured up in her imagination the most disagreeable personage, who

was coarse, badly groomed and encharged with the duty of scolding her

children simply because he happened to know Latin, and only too ready

to flog her sons for their ignorance of that barbarous language.

[1] The author was sub-lieutenant in the 6th Dragoons in 1800.