3 Became increasingly unpopular in France throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and were ultimately expelled from the kingdom in 1764. Allowed to return under the Restoration, they retained their reputation as secretive, power-hungry intriguers. Napoleon in particular hated the Jesuits.
Chapter Seven: Elective Affinities
In Paris, Julien's position vis-à-vis Madame de Rênal would have been quickly resolved, but in Paris love is born out of the pages of romantic fiction. The young tutor and his shy mistress could have found enlightenment for themselves in three or four of these novels, and even in high school poetry. The novels would have outlined what roles to play, giving them models to imitate, and sooner or later, perhaps without much pleasure, and even sullenly, vanity would have compelled Julien to play out the game. In small towns off the Mediterranean coast, or in the Pyrenees, the very slightest of occasions would have turned decisive, given the climate's burning intensity. Under our quieter, darker skies, an ambitious but poor young man, moved to ambition only by the refinement of his heart, which obliges him to seek some of the pleasures money can supply, can go on spending every day with a deeply prudent woman of thirty, busy with her children, without finding any of the guides to behavior provided by romantic fiction. Things go very slowly, in the provinces; everything happens naturally, bit by bit. Frequently, while daydreaming about the young tutor's poverty, Madame de Rênal would find herself moved to the point of tears. Julien came upon her, one day, just as she suddenly burst out weeping. "Eh, madame! Something unpleasant must have happened to you!" "No, no, my dear," she answered. "Call the children and we'll take them for a walk." She took his arm and leaned against him, in a way that seemed to him strange. It was the first time she had ever spoken to him as "my dear." As they neared the end of the walkway, Julien observed that she was noticeably blushing. She slowed her steps. "You'll have heard," she said, not looking at him, "that I'm the sole heiress of a very rich aunt who lives in Besançon. She's always giving me presents...My sons are improving...quite astonishingly...so I'd like you to accept a small present as a mark of my gratitude. It's just a few francs so you can take care of your clothing needs. But..." she continued, blushing even more, and then saying nothing else. "But what, madame?" said Julien. "It would not be useful," she went on, her glance turned down, "to mention this to my husband." "I am humble, madame, but I am not base," replied Julien, looking at her, his eyes bright with anger. He drew himself up to his full height. "This is something you have not sufficiently considered. I would be less than a manservant if I involved myself in concealing from Monsieur de Rênal anything whatever concerning my wages." Madame de Rênal was thunderstruck. "His Honor the Mayor," continued Julien, "has five times paid me thirty-six francs, in the time I have been in his house. I am ready to show my record of expenses to Monsieur de Rênal and to anyone else, even Monsieur Valenod, who hates me." After this outburst, Madame de Rênal was left pale and trembling; their walk ended without either of them able to find an excuse for renewing the conversation. To love Madame de Rênal became more and more an impossibility, in Julien's proud heart; for her part, she respected him, she admired him, she had been scolded by him. Giving herself the excuse that she could make up for the humiliation unwittingly caused him, she let herself offer him the tenderest of attentions. For an entire week, the novelty of such things was sheer happiness for Madame de Rênal. And to some degree, they quieted Julien's anger; he had not the slightest notion that there might be anything remotely resembling personal feeling in all this. "So there," he told himself, "this is what these rich people are like. First they humiliate you, then they think they can make it all up to you by monkey business!"
The Red and the Black
Madame de Rênal's heart was too full, and as yet too innocent, for her not to inform her husband of the offer she'd made to Julien, despite all her resolutions to the contrary; she told him exactly how it had been declined. "What?" replied Monsieur de Rênal, distinctly annoyed. "How could you tolerate such a refusal from a servant?" And when Madame de Rênal protested against the use of that word: "I speak, madame, as did the late Prince de Condé,4 in presenting his chamberlains to his newly married wife: 'All these people,' he said to her, 'are our servants.' I have read you the passage in Besenval's memoirs,5 so indispensable for the understanding of social precedence. Anyone not a gentleman, living in your house and receiving a salary, is your servant. I'll have a few words with Monsieur Julien, and I'll give him a hundred francs." "Ah! my dear," said Madame de Renal shakily, "at least let it not be in front of the servants!" "Indeed, they might be jealous, and with reason," said her husband as he left her, thinking about tax aspects of the sum he had mentioned. Madame de Rênal dropped into a chair, almost fainting with sorrow. "He's going to humiliate Julien, and it will be my fault!" She covered her face with her hands, horror-struck by her husband. She promised herself never to take him into her confidence again. When next she saw Julien, she was trembling all over; her chest was so constricted, she could not manage to say a word. In her embarrassment, she caught hold of his hands and squeezed them. "Well, my dear!" she finally said. "Are you happy with my husband?" "How could I not be?" answered Julien with an ironical smile. "He gave me a hundred francs." Madame de Rênal looked at him, doubtful. "Give me your arm," she said at last, more forcefully than Julien was used to hearing her speak. For all the frightfully liberal reputation of the store's proprietor, she was courageous enough to walk, with Julien and her children, right into the bookstore in Verrières. There, she picked out, for two hundred and fifty francs, volumes which she gave to her sons. But these were books she knew Julien had been wanting. She required that, right there in the shop, the children inscribe their names in the volumes given them. Although Madame de Rênal was happy with the kind of amends she'd been able to make to Julien, he was astonished by the quantity of books he saw. He had never dared go into a place so profane; his heart beat wildly. Far from having any notion of what Madame de Rênal was feeling, he longed for a way that would allow him, as a young theology student, to obtain some of these books. And then he thought, if he did it skillfully, he might be able to persuade Monsieur de Rênal that he ought to set his sons, as a subject for the writing of themes, the lives of celebrated gentlemen born in the province. After a month of careful preparation, Julien worked out the idea, and to such a point that he risked raising, while speaking to Monsieur de Rênal, a matter which might well have been, in different circumstances, distressing to the noble mayor—namely, the notion of contributing to a liberal's fortune by taking out a