5 Third Valois Duke of Burgundy (1396–1467), father of Charles the Bold, had a reputation as a philanthopist and patron of the arts.
Chapter Nineteen: Thinking Leads to Suffering
Chapter Nineteen: Thinking Leads to Suffering Everyday events are so grotesque they keep you from seeing the very real misfortune of our passions. —Barnave1 Restoring everyday order to the furnishings, in the room Monsieur de La Mole had occupied, Julien found a very thick sheet of paper, double folded. He read the bottom of the first page: To His Excellency, Marquis de La Mole, Peer of France, Knight of the King's Orders, etc., etc. It was a petition written in the clumsy handwriting of a cook: Monsieur Marquis, I have been a religious man all my life. I was at Lyons, during the siege, in constant danger from mortar shells, in '93, of wretched memory.2 I receive communion; every Friday I go to mass in our parish church. I've never failed to do my Easter duty, not even in '93, of wretched memory. In my kitchen I had plenty of people, before the Revolution; my kitchen was always meatless on Friday. I enjoy a universal good reputation in Verrières, and I daresay I deserve it. I carry the dais in processions, alongside monsieur the parish priest and His Honor the Mayor. On high occasions, I carry a great big candle, bought at my own expense. All of which matters are on file in Paris, at the Ministry of Finance. I ask the marquis for the Lottery Bureau at Verrières, which will soon be vacant, one way or another, the current holder being very sick, and besides is someone who votes for the wrong side, etc. De Cholin In the margin of the petition was a note signed "De Moirod," which began: "I had the honor, yesterday, to speak to the good subject making this request, etc." "So even that imbecile De Cholin shows me the path that needs to be taken," Julien told himself. A week after the king passed through Verrières, what remained afloat, for all the innumerable lying stories, stupid explanations, ridiculous debates, etc., etc., which had focused, successively, on the king, the Bishop of Agde, Marquis de La Mole, the ten thousand bottles of wine, de Moirod's pitiful tumble—which, in the hope of a medal, kept him from leaving his house for a month after his fall—was the incredible indecency of Julien Sorel, a carpenter's son, having been shoveled into the guard of honor. You should have heard, on this subject, the wealthy industrialists, manufacturers of printed calico cloth, who, evening and morning, made themselves hoarse, in the cafés, preaching equality. That haughty woman, Madame de Rênal, was responsible for the abomination. Why? The beautiful eyes and lovely, fresh cheeks of the little ecclesiastic, Sorel, said all that needed to be said. Not long after their return to Vergy, the youngest of the children, Stanislas-Xavier, developed a fever. Madame de Rênal immediately fell into a frightful state of remorse. For the first time, she criticized her love affair rationally; she seemed to understand, as if by some miracle, what an enormous sin she had allowed to sweep her away. No matter how profoundly religious her nature, until this moment she had not realized how great was her crime in the eyes of God. Earlier, at the Sacred Heart convent, she'd loved God with a passion; even then she had feared Him. The struggles now lacerating her heart were even more frightful, because her fear had no basis in rational thought. Julien had learned that any attempt at rationality, far from calming her, proved inflammatory: she saw in it the language of hell. However, since Julien himself was very fond of little Stanislas, it was easier for him to talk to her about the child's