第 十五 章 · THE COCK'S SONG

. THE COCK'S SONG

Amour en latin faict amour;

Or done provient d'amour la mart,

Et, par avant, souley qui moreq,

Deuil, plours, pieges, forfailz, remord.

BLASON D'AMOUR.

If Julien had possessed a little of that adroitness on which he so

gratuitously plumed himself, he could have congratulated himself the

following day on the effect produced by his journey to Verrières. His

absence had caused his clumsiness to be forgotten. But on that day

also he was rather sulky. He had a ludicrous idea in the evening, and

with singular courage he communicated it to Madame de Rênal. They had

scarcely sat down in the garden before Julien brought his mouth near

Madame de Rênal's ear without waiting till it was sufficiently dark and

at the risk of compromising her terribly, said to her,

"Madame, to-night, at two o'clock, I shall go into your room, I must

tell you something."

Julien trembled lest his request should be granted. His rakish pose

weighed him down so terribly that if he could have followed his own

inclination he would have returned to his room for several days and

refrained from seeing the ladies any more. He realised that he had

spoiled by his clever conduct of last evening all the bright prospects

of the day that had just passed, and was at his wits' end what to do.

Madame de Rênal answered the impertinent declaration which Julien had

dared to make to her with indignation which was real and in no way

exaggerated. He thought he could see contempt in her curt reply. The

expression "for shame," had certainly occurred in that whispered answer.

Julien went to the children's room under the pretext of having

something to say to them, and on his return he placed himself beside

Madame Derville and very far from Madame de Rênal. He thus deprived

himself of all possibility of taking her hand. The conversation was

serious, and Julien acquitted himself very well, apart from a few

moments of silence during which he was cudgelling his brains.

"Why can't I invent some pretty manœuvre," he said to himself which

will force Madame de Rênal to vouchsafe to me those unambiguous signs

of tenderness which a few days ago made me think that she was mine.

Julien was extremely disconcerted by the almost desperate plight

to which he had brought his affairs. Nothing, however, would have

embarrassed him more than success.

When they separated at midnight, his pessimism made him think that

he enjoyed Madame Derville's contempt, and that probably he stood no

better with Madame de Rênal.

Feeling in a very bad temper and very humiliated, Julien did not sleep.

He was leagues away from the idea of giving up all intriguing and

planning, and of living from day to day with Madame de Rênal, and of

being contented like a child with the happiness brought by every day.

He racked his brains inventing clever manœuvres, which an instant

afterwards he found absurd, and, to put it shortly, was very unhappy

when two o'clock rang from the castle clock.

The noise woke him up like the cock's crow woke up St. Peter. The most

painful episode was now timed to begin--he had not given a thought to

his impertinent proposition, since the moment when he had made it and

it had been so badly received.

"I have told her that I will go to her at two o'clock," he said to

himself as he got up, "I may be inexperienced and coarse, as the son

of a peasant naturally would be. Madame Derville has given me to

understand as much, but at any rate, I will not be weak."

Julien had reason to congratulate himself on his courage, for he had

never put his self-control to so painful a test. As he opened his door,

he was trembling to such an extent that his knees gave way under him,

and he was forced to lean against the wall.

He was without shoes; he went and listened at M. de Rênal's door, and

could hear his snoring. He was disconsolate, he had no longer any

excuse for not going to her room. But, Great Heaven! What was he to do

there? He had no plan, and even if he had had one, he felt himself so

nervous that he would have been incapable of carrying it out.

Eventually, suffering a thousand times more than if he had been walking

to his death, he entered the little corridor that led to Madame de

Rênal's room. He opened the door with a trembling hand and made a

frightful noise.

There was light; a night light was burning on the mantelpiece. He

had not expected this new misfortune. As she saw him enter, Madame

de Rênal got quickly out of bed. "Wretch," she cried. There was a

little confusion. Julien forgot his useless plans, and turned to his

natural rôle. To fail to please so charming a woman appeared to him the

greatest of misfortunes. His only answer to her reproaches was to throw

himself at her feet while he kissed her knees. As she was speaking to

him with extreme harshness, he burst into tears.

When Julien came out of Madame de Rênal's room some hours afterwards,

one could have said, adopting the conventional language of the novel,

that there was nothing left to be desired. In fact, he owed to the love

he had inspired, and to the unexpected impression which her alluring

charms had produced upon him, a victory to which his own clumsy tactics

would never have led him.

But victim that he was of a distorted pride, he pretended even in

the sweetest moments to play the rôle of a man accustomed to the

subjugation of women: he made incredible but deliberate efforts to

spoil his natural charm. Instead of watching the transports which he

was bringing into existence, and those pangs of remorse which only set

their keenness into fuller relief, the idea of duty was continually

before his eyes. He feared a frightful remorse, and eternal ridicule,

if he departed from the ideal model he proposed to follow. In a word,

the very quality which made Julien into a superior being was precisely

that which prevented him from savouring the happiness which was placed

within his grasp. It's like the case of a young girl of sixteen with a

charming complexion who is mad enough to put on rouge before going to a

ball.

Mortally terrified by the apparition of Julien, Madame de Rênal was

soon a prey to the most cruel alarm. The prayers and despair of Julien

troubled her keenly.

Even when there was nothing left for her to refuse him she pushed

Julien away from her with a genuine indignation, and straightway threw

herself into his arms. There was no plan apparent in all this conduct.

She thought herself eternally damned, and tried to hide from herself

the sight of hell by loading Julien with the wildest caresses. In a

word, nothing would have been lacking in our hero's happiness, not even

an ardent sensibility in the woman whom he had just captured, if he had

only known how to enjoy it. Julien's departure did not in any way bring

to an end those ecstacies which thrilled her in spite of herself, and

those troubles of remorse which lacerated her.

"My God! being happy--being loved, is that all it comes to?" This was

Julien's first thought as he entered his room. He was a prey to the

astonishment and nervous anxiety of the man who has just obtained

what he has long desired. He has been accustomed to desire, and has

no longer anything to desire, and nevertheless has no memories. Like

a soldier coming back from parade. Julien was absorbed in rehearsing

the details of his conduct. "Have I failed in nothing which I owe to

myself? Have I played my part well?"

And what a part! the part of a man accustomed to be brilliant with

women.