2 Refers to Philip II of Macedonia, who had the good fortune to find in his neighborhood Aristotle, who became preceptor to his son, the future Alexander the Great.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Patterns of behavior, In 1830
exercise, and began his reply all over, cast in different language. No eloquent parliamentarian, taking advantage of the end of a legislative session (when the elective body seems often to stir itself), has ever said less and employed a greater quantity of words. Monsieur de Maugiron was barely out the door when Julien began to laugh like a crazy man. To make full use of his Jesuitical spirits, he wrote a nine-page letter to Monsieur de Rênal, explaining everything that had been proposed to him, and humbly requesting his advice. "But, all the same, this scoundrel never mentioned the name of the 'civil servant' making this offer! It has to be Monsieur Valenod, who sees in my exile to Verrières the consequences of his anonymous letter." His missive sent on its way, Julien—feeling as satisfied as a hunter who, at sixA .M. on a beautiful autumn day, comes upon a field full of game—went to ask Father Chélan's advice. But before he got to the good priest's lodgings, heaven—wanting to contrive joyous occasions for him—set in his path Monsieur Valenod, from whom he did not conceal that his heart had been lacerated. A poor boy like him ought to be completely devoted to the vocation heaven had placed in his heart, but in this unspiritual world vocation is not everything. To do worthy work in Our Lord's vineyard, and not to become entirely unworthy of his wise fellow workers, instruction was obligatory. Two expensive years must be spent in the seminary at Besançon; economies were therefore necessary; and that would be a great deal easier on a salary of eight hundred francs, rather than six hundred francs, which was eaten up, month by month. On the other hand, in placing him with the Rênal children, and above all by inspiring him with a special affection for them, wasn't heaven indicating that this wasn't the time to give up that educational process for a different one?... Julien had attained so high a degree of perfection, in this sort of eloquence, which in our time has been substituted for the swift-moving action of the Empire, that he ended by boring himself with the sound of his words. Coming home, he found one of Monsieur Valenod's servants, in splendid livery, who had been looking for him all over town. A luncheon invitation for that very afternoon was delivered. Julien had never been to the man's house; only a few days earlier, all he had thought of was the best way to beat him with a stick, but in such a way that it would not become a matter for criminal prosecution. Although the time was specified as one o'clock, Julien thought it more respectful to present himself at the Pauper's Bureau office at twelve-thirty. He found his host displaying his importance, surrounded on every side by file boxes. His huge black whiskers, his enormous shock of hair, his Greek cap set crossways on his head, his immense pipe, his embroidered slippers, the fat gold chains crossing every which way on his chest, and all the apparatus of a provincial financier who considers himself a Don Juan, had no effect on Julien. It only made him think, once again, of the cudgeling he owed the man. He requested the honor of being presented to Madame Valenod; she was at her dressing table and could not receive him. In compensation, he was given the favor of assisting in Monsieur Valenod's preparations. Then they went to her together and she presented her children, tears in her eyes. This lady, one of the most important in Verrières, had the coarse face of a man, onto which she had been applying rouge, in honor of this grand ceremony. She displayed quantities of maternal pathos. Julien thought of Madame de Rênal. His mistrust was scarcely susceptible to anything except this sort of recollection, summoned by contrasts, but which then gripped him almost tenderly. These feelings were heightened by being inside the Valenod house. He was given a tour. Everything he saw was magnificent and new, and he was told the price of each item. But
The Red and the Black
Julien found it rather disgraceful, smelling of stolen money. Everyone, right down to the servants, seemed to be setting their faces against contempt. The tax collector, the man who handled indirect taxes, the chief of police, and two or three other government officials arrived, along with their wives. They were followed by several rich liberals. Lunch was announced. Julien, already in a distinctly black mood, began to reflect that on the other side of this dining room wall were the captive poor, from whose food they had probably been chiseling away to pay for all this luxurious bad taste that they expected would overwhelm him. "They're hungry, over there," he told himself. His throat tightened. He could not eat and almost could not speak. It grew worse a quarter of an hour later: they could hear, as if from a distance, phrases from a popular song—more than a little vulgar, it must be admitted—being sung by one of the shut-in poor. Monsieur Valenod glanced at one of his people, wearing full livery, who disappeared; soon they heard no more singing. Just then, a servant brought Julien Rhine wine, in a green glass, and Madame Valenod took pains to explain that this cost nine francs a bottle, if bought locally. Julien accepted his green glass and said to Monsieur Valenod: "They're not singing that ugly song anymore." "Indeed! I quite believe it," he replied triumphantly. "I've imposed silence on the beggars." These words were too much for Julien. He had acquired the manners, but not the heart, of his social status. For all his hypocrisy, so frequently practiced, he felt a heavy tear rolling down his cheek. He tried to hide it behind the green glass, but it was absolutely impossible for him to do honor to the Rhine wine. "To stop them from singing!" he said to himself. "Oh my God! How can You allow it?" Luckily, no one noticed his unacceptable emotionalism. The tax collector had been singing a royalist tune. As the refrain was roared out, in chorus: "There you are," said Julien's conscience. "The filthy fortune you're after, and the only place you'll get to enjoy it is like this, and in this kind of company! You'll have a post worth maybe twenty thousand francs, but then you'll find, while you stuff down your meat, that you'll have to stop your poor prisoners from singing. You'll give dinners with money you've stolen out of their miserable pittance, and even as you eat they'll grow more miserable!—O Napoleon! It was good, in your day, to climb to fortune by fighting battles. But to accumulate like a coward, from the sorrows of the miserable!" I confess that the weakness that Julien demonstrates, in this monologue, gives me a poor opinion of him. He'd be worthy of joining ranks with those parlor liberals, in their yellow gloves,3 who convince themselves they're changing the whole way of life in a great country, but who can't possibly have on their consciences the tiniest, most harmless scratch. Julien wrenched himself, violently, back to what he was supposed to be doing. He hadn't been invited to dine in such excellent company just so he could dream and not eat a thing. A retired manufacturer of calico prints, a corresponding member of the Besançon Academy,4 and of that in Uzès, called out to him, from one end of the table to the other, to ask if it were true, as it was generally said to be, that he'd accomplished such astonishing things in the study of the New Testament. Immediately, a profound silence fell. A Latin New Testament appeared, as if by magic, in the hands of this scholarly member of two academies. After Julien replied, a half sentence of