6 Under the Restoration, the upper house of the legislature was the Chambre des Pairs. Monsieur de Rênal believes his efforts in 1816 merited a peerage.
Chapter Twenty-One: Conversation with the Head of the House
been pried up. "He's had absolutely no pity on me!" she said to herself. "Ruining this colored wood, which he loved so much: when one of the children came in with wet shoes, he'd turn red with anger. And now it's ruined forever!" Seeing this violence drove away, and quickly, the last of her self-reproaches on account of her overly swift victory. A little before dinnertime, Julien returned with the children. When they were drinking coffee and eating cheese, and all the servants had left the room, Madame de Rênal spoke to Julien, exceedingly dryly: "You expressed your desire to me, that you might be permitted to spend two weeks in Verrières. Monsieur de Rênal is quite agreeable to granting you a leave. You can go whenever you think best. But to keep the children from wasting their time, their papers will be sent to you, every day, for your corrections." "To be sure," added Monsieur de Rênal, his manner distinctly sour, "I won't give you more than a week." Julien noted, on his face, the anxiety of a deeply tormented soul. "He still hasn't made up his mind," he said to his beloved, in the drawing room, when they were alone for a moment. Madame de Rênal swiftly told him everything she'd done since that morning. "I'll give you the details, later tonight," she added, laughing. "Female perversity!" thought Julien. "What pleasure, what instinct, leads them to deceive us?" "It seems to me you're both enlightened and blinded by love," he said to her rather stiffly. "What you've done today is admirable, but is there any wisdom in seeking to be together tonight? This house is packed with enemies: just think of the passionate hate Elisa feels for me." "That hate much resembles the passionate indifference you apparently feel for me." "Even if I were indifferent, I have the responsibility of saving you from the peril into which I've plunged you. If, by some chance, Monsieur de Rênal decides to speak to Elisa, she can tell him everything in very few words. Suppose he hides himself near my room, well armed..." "Ah! Not even courageous?" said Madame de Rênal, with the arrogance of a noble family's daughter. "I won't ever stoop to discussing my courage," said Julien coldly. "That's beneath me. Let the world decide, when I've done what I will do. But," he added, taking her hand, "you don't understand how deeply attached to you I am, and how happy it makes me to have this chance of taking leave of you, before our cruel separation."
The Red and the Black
Chapter Twenty-Two: Patterns of behavior, In 1830 Words have been given to men in order to hide their thoughts. —R. P. Malagrida1 He'd barely reached Verrières when Julien reproached himself for being unfair to Madame de Rênal. "I'd have been as spiteful as a little girl, had weakness made her avoid that scene with her husband! She behaved herself like a diplomat, and here I am, sympathizing with the defeated fellow who's my enemy. I'm behaving like a petty shopkeeper. My vanity is affected, simply because Monsieur de Rênal is a man!—a member of that vast, illustrious guild to which I, too, have the honor of belonging. I'm nothing but a fool." After removal from office drove him out of the rectory, Father Chélan refused lodgings offered him, for political reasons, by the most substantial liberals in the region. The two rooms he'd rented were piled all over with books. Julien, wanting to show Verrières what being a priest was all about, got a dozen pine planks from his father, and lugged them down the highway on his back. Borrowing tools from an old friend, he soon constructed a set of bookshelves, in which he arranged Father Chélan's books. "I'd thought you corrupted by worldly vanity," the old man told him, weeping with joy. "This is a worthy redemption for that bit of childishness, that brilliant uniform for the guard of honor, which made you so many enemies." Monsieur de Rênal had directed Julien to live in the Rênals' Verrières house. No one had any idea what had happened. On the third day after his arrival, Julien was visited in his room by no less a personage than Monsieur de Maugiron, the deputy governor of the district. Only after two long hours of insipid verbiage, and jeremiads about the wickedness of human beings, the dishonesty of those in charge of the public treasury, the dangers facing our poor France, etc., etc., was Julien able to catch a glimpse of the point to this visit. They'd already gotten to the staircase landing, and the poor, half-disgraced tutor was in the process of saying farewell, with all proper signs of respect, when the future governor of some lucky district was pleased to concern himself with Julien's well-being, praising his moderation in matters that affected his own self-interest, etc., etc. Finally, embracing Julien in the most fatherly way, he suggested to him that he depart from Monsieur de Rênal's service, and make his entrance into the household of a civil servant who had children to educate and who, like King Philip,2 thanked heaven not simply for giving them to him but also for having brought them into a neighborhood where Monsieur Julien dwelled. Their tutor would enjoy a salary of eight hundred francs—not payable from month to month, which would not be truly generous, said Monsieur de Maugiron, but quarterly, and always in advance. It was Julien's turn, after an hour and a half of listening to boring prattle. His reply was utter perfection, and above all quite as long as a pastoral letter. It left everything up in the air, saying nothing specific. It included respect for Monsieur de Rênal, reverence for the people of Verrières, and acknowledgment of so illustrious a gentleman as Monsieur de Maugiron. The deputy governor, dumbfounded to find Julien more Jesuitical than he was, tried in vain to secure some concrete response. Delighted, Julien took the opportunity to give himself some