7 Antoine Barnave (1761–93) quickly earned a reputation as the finest young orator of the National Assembly in 1789. A native of Grenoble, he had been an acquaintance of Stendhal's (Marie-Henri Beyle's) grandfather. Barnave was a moderate supporter of constitutional monarchy; he was an early victim of the Terror.
Chapter Two: A Mayor
earth brought by the mayor and deposited behind his huge retaining wall, for in spite of the Municipal Council's opposition, he had enlarged the walkway by more than six feet—I commend him for this, although he is a monarchist and I a liberal8—and indeed that is why, in his opinion and that of Monsieur Valenod, the fortunate director of the Pauper's Bureau in Verrières, this raised earthwork can bear comparison to that of Paris's Saint-Germain-en-Laye. For myself, I find only one thing to object to, about Loyalty Walkway. One can read this formal title in fifteen or twenty places, on marble plaques that earned Monsieur de Rênal an extra star on his official medal. But what I disapprove of about Loyalty Walkway is the barbarous way the authorities cut and clip those vigorous plane trees, down to the very quick. Instead of looking as if their heads were bowed low, plump and round and debased like the most vulgar of garden vegetables, they ask only to be granted the magnificent shapes one sees them assume in England. His Honor the Mayor is a despot, and twice a year all trees belonging to the town are shorn without pity. Those of liberal belief pretend (though they exaggerate) that the town gardener's hand has become even more severe since Father Maslon decided to impound for church use the profits from this shearing. This young ecclesiastic was sent out from Besançon, some years ago, to keep watch on Father Chélan and several other priests in the neighborhood. An old surgeon-major,9 a veteran of the Italian wars who had retired to Verrières, and who in his lifetime had been (according to His Honor the Mayor) both a Jacobin10 and a Bonapartist, actually had the nerve to complain to the mayor about the periodic mutilation of these beautiful trees. "I like shade," replied Monsieur de Rênal with the arrogant tone so appropriate when speaking to a surgeon and member of the Legion of Honor.11 "I love shade, and I have my trees cut so they provide shade, nor can I conceive of any other use for trees, especially when, unlike the useful walnut, they bring in no revenue." And there you have the mighty words that, in Verrières, decide everything: bring in no revenue. This phrase alone is representative of the habitual views of more than three-quarters of the inhabitants. Bring in no revenue, then, explains every decision taken in this little town, which seemed to you so pretty. The arriving traveler, seduced at first by the beauty of the deep, green valleys all around, fancies that these are people who appreciate the beautiful; indeed, they're constantly chattering about the loveliness of their countryside, nor can one deny that they in fact appreciate it—but simply because it attracts outsiders whose money fattens up innkeepers, which in turn, via the local tax system, brings in revenue.