Part 4

She would have been remarked for her naturalness and quickness of mind, had she received the slightest education. But as an heiress, she had been brought up among religious women, passionate adorers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and animated by a violent hatred for the French, enemies of the Jesuits. Madame de Rênal had had sense enough to forget, as absurd, everything she had learned in the convent; but she put nothing in its place, and ended by knowing nothing. The premature flatteries of which she had been the object, in her capacity as heiress to a great fortune, and a decided inclination toward passionate devotion, had given her a wholly inward manner of living. With the appearance of the most perfect compliance, and a self-denial of will, which the husbands of Verrières cited as an example to their wives, and which was the pride of Monsieur de Rênal, the habitual conduct of her soul was in effect the result of the most haughty temper. Such a princess, cited for her pride, pays infinitely more attention to what her gentlemen do about her, than this woman, so gentle, so modest in appearance, paid to all that her husband said or did. Until the arrival of Julien, she had really had attention only for her children. Their little illnesses, their pains, their small joys, occupied all the sensibility of that soul, which, of life, had adored only God, when she was at the Sacred Heart of Besançon.

Without deigning to say it to anyone, a fever fit in one of her sons put her in almost the same state as if the child had died. A coarse burst of laughter, a shrug of the shoulders, accompanied by some trivial maxim on the folly of women, had constantly greeted the confidences of this kind of sorrow, which the need to unburden herself had led her to make to her husband, in the first years of their marriage. These sorts of jests, especially when they bore upon the illnesses of her children, turned the dagger in Madame de Rênal's heart. Such was what she found amid the eager and honeyed flatteries of the Jesuit convent where she had passed her youth. Her education was made by sorrow. Too proud to speak of this kind of grief, even to her friend Madame Derville, she fancied that all men were like her husband, Monsieur Valenod, and the sub-prefect Charcot de Maugiron. Coarseness, and the most brutal insensibility to all that was not interest of money, of precedence, or of crosses; blind hatred for all reasoning that contradicted them, seemed to her natural things in that sex, as to wear boots and a felt hat.

After long years, Madame de Rênal was not yet accustomed to these moneyed people among whom she had to live.

Hence the success of the little peasant Julien. She found sweet enjoyments, and all brilliant with the charm of novelty, in the sympathy of that noble and proud soul. Madame de Rênal soon pardoned him his extreme ignorance, which was a further grace, and the roughness of his manners, which she managed to correct. She found that he was worth the trouble of listening to, even when one spoke of the most common things, even when it was a question of a poor dog crushed, as it crossed the street, by the cart of a peasant going at a trot. The sight of that pain drew a loud laugh from her husband, while she saw contract the beautiful black and so well-arched eyebrows of Julien. Generosity, nobleness of soul, humanity seemed to her by degrees to exist only in this young abbé. She had for him alone all the sympathy and even the admiration that these virtues excite in well-born souls.

At Paris, the position of Julien toward Madame de Rênal would have been very quickly simplified; but at Paris, love is the child of novels. The young tutor and his timid mistress would have found, in three or four novels and even in the couplets of the Gymnase, the explanation of their position. The novels would have traced for them the role to play, shown them the model to imitate, and this model, sooner or later, and though with no pleasure, and perhaps grumbling, vanity would have forced Julien to follow.

In a small town of the Aveyron or the Pyrenees, the least incident would have been made decisive by the fire of the climate. Under our more somber skies a poor young man, who is only ambitious because the delicacy of his heart makes him need some of the enjoyments that money gives, sees every day a woman of thirty sincerely virtuous, occupied with her children, and who takes no examples of conduct from novels. Everything goes slowly, everything is done by degrees in the provinces, there is more naturalness.

Often, thinking of the poverty of the young tutor, Madame de Rênal was moved to tears. Julien surprised her one day, weeping outright.

"Why, madame, has some misfortune befallen you!"

"No, my friend," she answered him; "call the children, let us go for a walk."

She took his arm and leaned on it in a way that seemed singular to Julien. It was the first time she had called him my friend.

Toward the end of the walk, Julien noticed that she was blushing deeply. She slackened her pace.

"You will have been told," she said without looking at him, "that I am the sole heiress of a very rich aunt who lives in Besançon. She overwhelms me with gifts... My sons are making progress... so astonishing... that I should like to beg you to accept a small present, as a mark of my gratitude. It is only a matter of a few louis for you to make some linen. But—" she added, blushing still more, and she ceased to speak.

"What, madame?" said Julien.

"It would be useless," she continued, lowering her head, "to speak of this to my husband."

"I am small, madame, but I am not base," resumed Julien, stopping, his eyes shining with anger, and drawing himself up to his full height; "that is what you have not sufficiently reflected upon. I should be less than a valet, if I put myself in the case of hiding from Monsieur de Rênal anything whatsoever relating to my money."

Madame de Rênal was thunderstruck.

"The mayor," continued Julien, "has given me five times thirty-six francs since I have lived in his house; I am ready to show my account book to Monsieur de Rênal and to anyone whatsoever, even to Monsieur Valenod, who hates me."

After this outburst, Madame de Rênal remained pale and trembling, and the walk ended without either of them being able to find a pretext to renew the conversation. Love for Madame de Rênal became more and more impossible in the proud heart of Julien; as for her, she respected him, she admired him, she had been scolded by him. Under pretext of repairing the involuntary humiliation she had caused him, she permitted herself the tenderest cares. The novelty of these manners made for eight days the happiness of Madame de Rênal. Their effect was to partly appease the anger of Julien; he was far from seeing in them anything that could resemble a personal liking.

"There," he said to himself, "is how these rich people are; they humiliate and then think they can repair everything, by some queer antics!"

The heart of Madame de Rênal was too full, and still too innocent, for that, despite her resolutions in this regard, she did not tell her husband of the offer she had made to Julien, and the way she had been rebuffed.

"How," said Monsieur de Rênal, keenly piqued, "could you have tolerated a refusal on the part of a domestic?"

And as Madame de Rênal protested at this word:

"I speak, madame, as the late Prince de Condé, presenting his chamberlains to his new wife: 'All those people,' he said to her, 'are our domestics.' I read you that passage from the Mémoires of Besenval, essential for questions of precedence. Everyone who is not a gentleman, who lives with you and receives a salary, is your domestic. I am going to say two words to this Monsieur Julien, and give him a hundred francs."

"Ah! my friend," said Madame de Rênal, trembling, "let it not be at least before the servants!"

"Yes, they might be jealous and with reason," said her husband, moving away and thinking of the amount of the sum.

Madame de Rênal fell into a chair, almost fainting with grief. He is going to humiliate Julien, and through my fault! She conceived a horror of her husband and hid her face in her hands. She firmly resolved never to make confidences again.

When she saw Julien again, she was all trembling, her breast was so contracted that she could not manage to pronounce the least word. In her embarrassment she took his hands, which she pressed.

"Well, my friend," she said to him at last, "are you pleased with my husband?"

"How should I not be?" answered Julien with a bitter smile; "he gave me a hundred francs."

Madame de Rênal looked at him uncertainly.

"Give me your arm," she said at last with an accent of courage Julien had never seen in her.

She dared to go as far as the bookseller's at Verrières, despite his awful reputation for liberalism. There, she chose ten louis' worth of books, which she gave to her sons. But these books were those she knew Julien desired. She insisted that there, in the bookseller's shop, each of the children write his name on the books that fell to him in share. While Madame de Rênal was happy in this sort of reparation she had the boldness to make to Julien, the latter was astonished at the quantity of books he perceived at the bookseller's. Never had he dared enter so profane a place; his heart was palpitating. Far from thinking to guess what was passing in the heart of Madame de Rênal, he dreamed deeply of the means a young student in theology might have, to procure himself some of those books. At last he had the idea that it would be possible, with skill, to persuade Monsieur de Rênal that he must give as a theme for his sons the history of the famous gentlemen born in the province. After a month of care, Julien saw this idea succeed, and to such a degree, that, some time after, he dared hazard, in speaking to Monsieur de Rênal, the mention of an undertaking far more painful for the noble mayor; it was a question of contributing to the fortune of a liberal, by taking out a subscription at the bookseller's. Monsieur de Rênal agreed well that it was wise to give his eldest son the idea, by sight, of several works he would hear mentioned in conversation, when he should be at the Military School, but Julien saw Monsieur the mayor obstinately refuse to go further. He suspected a secret reason, but could not guess it.

"I was thinking," he said to him one day, "that it would be a high impropriety for the name of a good gentleman such as a Rênal to appear on the dirty register of the bookseller."

The brow of Monsieur de Rênal cleared.

"It would also be a very bad note," continued Julien, in a more humble tone, "for a poor student in theology, if one could ever discover that his name had been on the register of a bookseller who lends books. The liberals might accuse me of having asked for the most infamous books; who knows even if they would not go so far as to write after my name the titles of those perverse books."

But Julien was straying from the track. He saw the physiognomy of the mayor resume the expression of embarrassment and ill-humor. Julien held his tongue. I have him, he said to himself.

Some days after, the eldest of the children, questioning Julien about a book announced in the Quotidienne, in the presence of Monsieur de Rênal:

"To avoid all subject of triumph to the Jacobin party," said the young tutor, "and yet give me the means to answer Monsieur Adolphe, one might have the last of your servants take out a subscription at the bookseller's."

"There is an idea that is not bad," said Monsieur de Rênal, evidently much rejoiced.

"However, it would be necessary to specify," said Julien, with that grave and almost unhappy air which goes so well with certain people, when they see the success of affairs they have most long desired; "it would be necessary to specify that the domestic can take out no novels. Once in the house, those dangerous books might corrupt madame's daughters, and the domestic himself."

"You forget the political pamphlets," added Monsieur de Rênal, with a haughty air. He wished to hide the admiration the learned middle course invented by the tutor of his children gave him.

The life of Julien was thus composed of a series of small negotiations, and their success occupied him much more than the sentiment of marked preference which it would have depended only on him to read in the heart of Madame de Rênal.

The moral position in which he had been all his life renewed itself at the house of the mayor of Verrières. There, as at his father's sawmill, he profoundly despised the people with whom he lived, and was hated by them. He saw each day, in the accounts given by the sub-prefect, by Monsieur Valenod, by the other friends of the house, on the occasion of things that had just happened before their eyes, how little their ideas resembled reality. An action seemed admirable to him? It was precisely that which drew the blame of those around him. His inward reply was always: What monsters or what fools! The amusing thing, with so much pride, is that often he understood absolutely nothing of what was spoken of.

Of life, he had spoken sincerely only with the old surgeon-major; the few ideas he had were relative to Bonaparte's campaigns in Italy, or to surgery. His young courage took pleasure in the detailed account of the most painful operations; he told himself: I should not have flinched.

The first time Madame de Rênal tried with him a conversation foreign to the education of the children, he began to speak of surgical operations; she paled and begged him to stop.

Julien knew nothing beyond that. Thus, passing his life with Madame de Rênal, the most singular silence established itself between them as soon as they were alone. In the salon, whatever the humility of his bearing, she found in his eyes an air of intellectual superiority over all who came to her house. Found she herself alone a moment with him, she saw him visibly embarrassed. She was uneasy at this, for her woman's instinct made her understand that this embarrassment was in no way tender.

From I know not what idea taken from some account of good society, such as the old surgeon-major had seen it, as soon as one fell silent in a place where he found himself with a woman, Julien felt himself humiliated as if that silence had been his particular fault. This sensation was a hundred times more painful in tête-à-tête. His imagination filled with the most exaggerated, the most Spanish notions, of what a man must say when he is alone with a woman, offered him in his trouble only inadmissible ideas. His soul was in the clouds, and yet he could not escape the most humiliating silence. Thus his severe air, during his long walks with Madame de Rênal and the children, was increased by the most cruel sufferings. He despised himself horribly. If by misfortune he forced himself to speak, it happened to him to say the most ridiculous things. To crown his misery, he saw and exaggerated his absurdity, but what he did not see, was the expression of his eyes; they were so beautiful and announced so ardent a soul, that, like good actors, they sometimes gave a charming sense to what had none. Madame de Rênal noticed that, alone with her, he never managed to say anything good except when, distracted by some unforeseen event, he was not thinking of turning a compliment well. As the friends of the house did not spoil her by presenting new and brilliant ideas, she enjoyed with delight the flashes of wit of Julien.

Since the fall of Napoleon, all appearance of gallantry is severely banished from the morals of the province. One is afraid of being dismissed. Rogues seek support in the congregation; and hypocrisy has made the finest progress even among the liberal classes. Boredom redoubles. No other pleasure remains than reading and agriculture.

Madame de Rênal, rich heiress of a devout aunt married at sixteen to a good gentleman, had in her life felt or seen nothing that in the least resembled love. It was hardly but her confessor, the good curé Chélan, who had spoken to her of love, with regard to the pursuits of Monsieur Valenod, and he had made her so disgusting a picture of it, that the word represented to her only the idea of the most abject libertinage. She regarded as an exception, or even as quite outside nature, love such as she had found it in the very small number of novels that chance had put before her eyes. Thanks to this ignorance, Madame de Rênal, perfectly happy, continually occupied with Julien, was far from making herself the least reproach.

CHAPTER VIII

SMALL EVENTS

Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression, And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft, And burning blushes, though for no transgression.

_Don Juan_ C. I, st 74.

The angelic sweetness that Madame de Rênal owed to her character and to her present happiness was only a little altered when she came to think of her chambermaid Élisa. This girl came into an inheritance, went to confess to the curé Chélan and avowed to him the project of marrying Julien. The curé had a true joy at the happiness of his friend, but his surprise was extreme, when Julien said to him with a resolute air that the offer of Mademoiselle Élisa could not suit him.

"Take care, my child, what passes in your heart," said the curé, frowning; "I congratulate you on your vocation, if it is to that alone you owe the contempt for a more than sufficient fortune. It is fifty-six years rung out that I have been curé of Verrières, and yet, according to all appearance, I am going to be dismissed. This afflicts me, and yet I have eight hundred livres of income. I tell you this detail so that you do not deceive yourself as to what awaits you in the state of priest. If you think of courting the men who have power, your eternal loss is assured. You may make a fortune, but it will be necessary to harm the wretched, flatter the sub-prefect, the mayor, the considered man and serve his passions: this conduct, which in the world is called knowing how to live, may, for a layman, not be absolutely incompatible with salvation, but, in our state, one must choose; it is a question of making a fortune in this world or in the other, there is no middle ground. Go, my dear friend, reflect, and come back in three days to give me a definitive answer. I foresee with sorrow, at the bottom of your character, a dark ardor which does not announce to me the moderation and the perfect renunciation of earthly advantages necessary to a priest; I augur well of your mind; but, allow me to tell you," added the good curé, tears in his eyes, "in the state of priest, I shall tremble for your salvation."

Julien was ashamed of his emotion; for the first time in his life, he saw himself loved; he wept with delight and went to hide his tears in the great woods above Verrières.

Why the state I am in? he said to himself at last; I feel that I should give my life a hundred times for this good curé Chélan and yet he has just proved to me that I am but a fool. It is he above all whom it imports that I deceive, and he guesses me. This secret ardor of which he speaks to me, it is my plan of making a fortune. He believes me unworthy to be a priest, and that precisely when I fancied that the sacrifice of fifty louis of income was going to give him the highest idea of my piety and of my vocation.

In future, continued Julien, I shall count only on the parts of my character that I have proved. Who would have told me that I should find pleasure in shedding tears! that I should love him who proves to me that I am but a fool!

Three days after, Julien had found the pretext with which he should have furnished himself from the first day; this pretext was a calumny, but what matter? He avowed to the curé, with much hesitation, that a reason which he could not explain to him because it would harm a third party, had turned him away from the beginning from the projected union. It was to accuse the conduct of Élisa. Monsieur Chélan found in his manners a certain wholly worldly fire, very different from that which should have animated a young levite.

"My friend," he said to him again, "be a good country bourgeois, estimable and instructed, rather than a priest without vocation."

Julien answered these new remonstrances, very well, as to the words: he found the words a fervent young seminarian would have employed; but the tone in which he pronounced them, but the ill-concealed fire that burst from his eyes, alarmed Monsieur Chélan.

One must not augur too ill of Julien; he correctly invented the words of a cautious and prudent hypocrisy. This is not bad at his age. As for the tone and the gestures, he lived with country people, he had been deprived of the sight of great models. Later, hardly was it given him to approach these gentlemen, than he was admirable for gestures as for words.

Madame de Rênal was astonished that the new fortune of her chambermaid did not make this girl happier; she saw her go continually to the curé, and come back with tears in her eyes; at last Élisa spoke to her of her marriage.

Madame de Rênal thought herself ill; a sort of fever prevented her from sleeping; she lived only when she had her chambermaid or Julien before her eyes. She could think only of them and of the happiness they would find in their household. The poverty of this little house where one would have to live on fifty louis of income, painted itself to her in ravishing colors. Julien might very well make himself a lawyer at Bray, the sub-prefecture two leagues from Verrières; in that case she would see him sometimes.

Madame de Rênal sincerely believed she was going mad; she told her husband so, and at last fell ill. The same evening, as her chambermaid was waiting on her, she noticed that the girl was weeping. She abhorred Élisa at that moment, and had just spoken sharply to her, she asked her pardon for it. Élisa's tears redoubled; she told her that if her mistress permitted it, she would tell her all her unhappiness.

"Speak," answered Madame de Rênal.

"Well, madame, he refuses me; wicked people will have spoken ill of me to him, he believes them."

"Who refuses you?" said Madame de Rênal, scarcely breathing.

"Why, madame, if not Monsieur Julien?" replied the chambermaid, sobbing. "Monsieur the curé could not overcome his resistance; for Monsieur the curé finds that he ought not to refuse an honest girl, on pretext that she has been a chambermaid. After all, the father of Monsieur Julien is nothing but a carpenter; himself, how did he earn his living before being with madame?"

Madame de Rênal listened no more; the excess of happiness had almost deprived her of the use of reason. She had the assurance repeated several times that Julien had refused in a positive fashion, which no longer permitted a return to a wiser resolution.

"I wish to make a last effort," she said to her chambermaid; "I shall speak to Monsieur Julien."

“Stories of the world, in your language.”