7 Stendhal had met Lord Byron while living in Milan.
The Red and the Black
Julien replied with new explanations, which were all well and good, but just words: he used the same phrases a fervent young seminarian might have employed, but the tone with which he spoke them, and the badly hidden light burning in his eyes, worried Father Chélan. But there is no need to prophesy terrible things for Julien: he had nicely created language appropriate to a crafty, prudent hypocrite. At his age, this was hardly wickedness. And as for his speech, the gestures he relied on, he lived among country folk, he had never had the opportunity to watch the great models. Later, as soon as he'd been given the chance to mingle with these gentlemen, he would become equally polished in both gesture and word. Madame de Rênal had been amazed when her chambermaid's newfound wealth did not make the girl happier. She saw her constantly going to the parish priest, and returning with tears in her eyes; finally, Elisa talked to her about her marriage. Madame de Rênal thought she must be ill; a sort of fever kept her from sleeping. She felt truly alive only when she was watching either her chambermaid or Julien. She could think of nothing but them and the happiness they had found in the Rênal household. The wretchedness of Elisa's little house, where they'd have to exist on a thousand francs a year, she pictured to herself in ravishing colors. Julien might very well become a lawyer at Bray, a local office of the district government, in which case she'd sometimes see him. Madame de Rênal believed most sincerely that she was going mad; she said so to her husband, and then, finally, she fell sick. That same evening, as her chambermaid was attending to her, she noticed the girl crying. At that moment she loathed Elisa and was rude to her; then she begged the girl's pardon. Elisa's tears fell still faster; if her mistress would give her permission, she said, she'd explain just why she was so miserably unhappy. "Tell me," answered Madame de Rênal. "Well then, madame, he's refused me. Nasty people told him terrible things about me, and he believes them." "Who refused you?" said Madame de Rênal, barely able to breathe. "And who else, madame, but Julien?" replied the chambermaid, sobbing. "Father Chélan couldn't make him change his mind, because Father doesn't think he ought to turn down a good girl just because she's been a chambermaid. After all, Monsieur Julien's father is nothing but a carpenter. How did he himself make his living before he came here with madame?" Madame de Rênal heard nothing else the girl said; overflowing happiness very nearly cost her the power of thought. She told herself, several times, that Julien's refusal had been definitive, which fact would no longer permit of a more sensible decision. "I'll make one last try," madame told the chambermaid; "I'll talk to Monsieur Julien." The next day, after lunch, Madame de Rênal treated herself to the delightful pleasure of pleading her rival's cause, and for a solid hour seeing Elisa's hand, and her fortune, refused over and over again. After a while, Julien's responses grew more formal, and he finished with a lively rebuttal of Madame de Rênal's eminently sensible suggestions. She could not suppress the torrent of happiness that overwhelmed her soul, after so many days of despair. Suddenly, she felt ill. When she'd been taken back to her room and put to bed, she sent everyone away. She felt a shock of the most profound order. "Have I fallen in love with Julien?" she finally asked herself. At any other time, this discovery would have plunged her into all manner of repentance and a profound agitation, but now it seemed to her no more than a bizarre display, but of no particular significance. Her soul, exhausted by all she'd been going through, had no spark of sensitivity to enlist in passion's cause.
Chapter Eight: Minor Occasions
Madame de Rênal wished to attend to her responsibilities, but fell into a very deep sleep; awaking, she was not as worried as she ought to have been. She was far too happy to feel concern about anything. Innocent and naïve, this good provincial woman had never tortured her soul, trying to tease some new shade of feeling, or of misfortune, out of any sensory moment. Before Julien's coming, she had been entirely absorbed in that massive heap of things-to-be-done that, outside of Paris, is the fate of a good mother: Madame de Rênal was used to thinking of the passions as we think of the lottery—guaranteed deception and a happiness sought only by fools. The bell sounded for dinner; hearing Julien's voice, as he led in the children, Madame de Rênal blushed. Made more skillful by love, she explained her reddened face by a frightful headache. "Like all women!" Monsieur de Rênal answered her, laughing uproariously. "There's always something in need of repair, in those machines!" No matter how accustomed she was to this sort of nasty joking, his tone of voice shocked her. To distract herself, she looked over at Julien's face: he could have been the very picture of ugliness, and at that moment he would have delighted her. Quick to copy the ways of court gentlemen, at the coming of the first fine days of spring Monsieur de Rênal transferred his family to Vergy, the village made famous by the tragic old love story of Gabrielle.8 A few hundred steps from the wonderfully picturesque ruins of an ancient Gothic church, Monsieur de Rênal owned an old château, with four towers and a garden made to look like that of the Tuileries; it had thick boxwood borders and alleys lined with chestnut trees, trimmed twice a year. An adjoining field, planted with apple trees, provided an excellent place for civilized strolling. Eight or ten magnificent walnut trees grew at one end of the orchard, their immense branches rising perhaps eighty feet in the air. "Each of those damned walnut trees," declared Monsieur de Rênal when his wife admired them, "costs me the harvest of half an acre: grain can't grow in their shade." The view of the countryside seemed fresh and new to Madame de Rênal; her pleasure came very close to ecstasy. She drew courage and determination from the feelings it inspired in her. Two days after their arrival in Vergy, Monsieur de Rênal having gone back to the city on official mayoral business, Madame Rênal hired workmen—at her own expense. Julien had given her the idea of a little graveled walkway, encircling the orchard and running under the shade of the great walnut trees: this would allow the children to take morning walks without the dew wetting their shoes. The idea was carried to completion less than twenty-four hours after its conception. Madame de Rênal happily passed the entire day, together with Julien, giving orders to the workmen. When the mayor of Verrières returned from the city, he was distinctly surprised, seeing this walkway in place. His arrival surprised Madame de Rênal, too: she had forgotten his existence. For the next two months he amused himself, remarking on the boldness with which, quite without his having been consulted, so important a repair had been accomplished. On the other hand, Madame de Rênal had paid the whole cost, out of her own funds, and this made him feel a bit better. She spent her days running in the orchard with the children, and hunting butterflies. They made oversized nets of clear muslin, with which they captured the poor Lepidoptera, this being the barbarous name Julien had taught Madame de Rênal. For she had ordered, from