10 Or Grand Vicaire, was a priest who served as auxiliary to a bishop. When many bishops were still aristocratic political appointees, a vicar-general could wield considerable influence within a diocese.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Patterns of behavior, In 1830
An account of these developments, very accurately puzzled out by Madame de Rênal, was passed along to Julien, as he lent her his arm and she went from shop to shop, until step by step they were brought to Loyalty Walkway, where they spent several hours almost as tranquilly as at Vergy. While they were proceeding on their way, Monsieur Valenod was considering how to avoid a decisive scene with his former supporter and patron, taking a bold stance toward him. His approach worked, that day, but it further irritated the mayor. Vanity, with the pincer grip given it by the petty worship of money, had never clutched more bitterly or more meanly, or thrown a man into a more wretched mood, than Monsieur de Rênal, as he walked into the café. But never, from the opposite perspective, had his children been happier and more joyful. The contrast annoyed him. "I'm out of place in my own family, as far as I can see!" he declared at once, in a tone he meant to sound impressive. His wife's only response was to take him aside and explain how badly they needed to send Julien away. The happy hours she'd just experienced lent her the confidence and steadiness required, so she could carry out the plan she'd been evolving for two weeks. At bottom, what most disturbed the poor mayor was knowing he'd become the butt of jokes all over town, because of his fondness for cash. Monsieur Valenod was as generous as a burglar, and the mayor had behaved with more prudence than brilliance in the last five or six fund drives for the Brotherhood of Saint Joseph, the Congregation of the Holy Virgin, the Congregation of the Holy Sacrament, etc., etc., etc. Among the squires of Verrières and its surrounding neighborhoods, whose gifts the fund- collecting friars neatly arranged in descending monetary order, Monsieur de Rênal's name had more than once been on the very bottom line. It was no use arguing, as he did, that he wasn't making any money. This is something the clergy cannot take lightly.
The Red and the Black
Chapter Twenty-Three: A Civil Servant's Sorrows The pleasure of carrying your head high, all year long, is more than paid for by having to endure certain fifteen-minute intervals. —Casti1 But let's leave this petty man and his petty fears: Why did he bring a man of spirit into his house, when what he needed was someone with a servant's heart? Why doesn't he know how to pick people? The usual procedure in the nineteenth century is that, meeting a man of spirit, a powerful nobleman promptly kills him, exiles him, throws him into prison, or so humiliates him that he commits stupid acts and, deep in sorrow, dies for them. Here, by accident, it's still not the man of spirit who's been suffering. The great misfortune of France's small towns, and of places governed by elections (like New York), is that they can't escape from people like Monsieur de Rênal. In a city of twenty thousand inhabitants, it's these men who shape public opinion, and public opinion is a frightful thing in a country that has a constitution. A noble- souled, generous man who ought to be your friend, but who lives five hundred miles away, judges you by the public opinion of your city, which is formulated by fools to whom chance has granted noble birth, making them rich and safely moderate. But woe to the man who stands out from the rest! After they had dined, the de Rênals went back to Vergy. But just two days later, Julien saw the whole family again in Verrières. They had not been there an hour when, to his great surprise, Julien learned that Madame de Rênal was keeping something secret from him. She broke off her conversations with her husband, whenever he appeared, and almost seemed anxious for him to go away. There was no need to give that warning twice, not to Julien. He became distant, reserved; though Madame de Rênal was aware of it, she made no attempt to explain. "Am I to have a successor?" Julien thought. "Just two days ago she was exceedingly friendly! But I've heard that's how these great ladies operate. They're like kings: a government minister, without any warning, comes home after seeing his lord, and his letter of dismissal is there waiting for him." Julien had noticed that the de Rênals' conversations, broken off so abruptly when he came near, were often about a mansion that the town owned, ancient but ample, and conveniently located, right across from the church, in the city's most commercial district. "What connection could there be," he asked himself, "between this house and her taking a new lover?" Morosely, he recalled François I's pretty lines, which to him were completely fresh, because only a month ago had Madame de Rênal taught them to him. And then, how many oaths, how many caresses, contradicted every single line! Women change their minds: Trust them, if you're blind. Monsieur de Rênal took the mail coach to Besançon. The trip had been decided on only two hours earlier: he seemed deeply troubled. When he returned, he threw a large package, covered in gray paper, onto the table. "There's that stupid business," he told his wife. An hour later, the bill poster came and carried off the large package. Julien hurriedly followed after him. "At the very first street corner, I'm going to know the secret."