2 Short for "ultra royaliste"; the ultra party longed for a return to absolute monarchy, including the reinstatement of feudal laws and customs.
The Red and the Black
"He doesn't steal?" answered someone else. "No, it's the pigeons who steal, not the eagles. The whole thing goes into a big pot, and when the year's over, they all get their share. But that's little Sorel, right there. Let's go." Julien was in a foul mood when he got back. He found Madame de Rênal just as sorrowful. "You've been to the auction?" she asked him. "Yes, madame, where I had the honor to be considered a spy for His Honor the Mayor." "If he'd taken my advice, he'd have gone on a trip somewhere." Just then, Monsieur de Rênal appeared. He, too, seemed very grave. They dined in absolute silence. Monsieur de Rênal directed Julien to return to Vergy with the children. It was a sad trip. Madame de Rênal consoled her husband. "You need to get used to these things, my dear." That evening, they were sitting around the hearth, still silent. The only sound came from the burning beech log. It was one of those grieving times that every family experiences, even the most harmonious. One of the children called out, joyfully: "The doorbell! It rang!" "Good Lord! If that's Monsieur de Saint-Giraud, coming to throw this thing in my face, pretending to thank me for it," exclaimed the mayor, "I'll tell him the truth. This is simply too much. He owes it all to Valenod, but it's being charged to me. What can I say, if these cursed Jacobin newspapers decide to make hay with such a tale, and turn me into a strawman monster?" A very handsome man, with a thick black beard, came into the room, following one of the servants. "Your Honor, I'm Signor Géronimo. May I present you with a letter given me, just before I made my departure, by the Chevalier de Beauvoisis, attaché to your ambassador in Naples? It is addressed to you—and that was only nine days ago," Signor Géronimo added pleasantly, looking at Madame de Rênal. "Madame, the chevalier is both your relative and my very good friend: he tells me you speak Italian." The Neapolitan's high spirits changed a sad evening into a very happy one. Madame de Rênal decided that, without any question, he was to be asked to dine with them. She stirred up everyone in the house: at all costs, she did not want Julien thinking too much about being called a spy—for he had heard it twice that very day. Signor Géronimo was a famous singer, from good society and yet splendidly ebullient—qualities that, in France, are no longer entirely compatible. After they had dined, he sang a little duet with Madame de Rênal. He told charming stories. An hour after midnight, the children protested when Julien suggested they go to bed. "Tell that story just once more," said the oldest. "It's about me, young man," replied Signor Géronimo. "Eight years ago—at just your age, as I understand—I was a young student at the Naples Conservatory. Of course, I did not have the honor of being son to the illustrious mayor of so pretty a place as Verrières." These words made Monsieur de Rênal sigh; he glanced at his wife. "Signor Zingarelli," the young singer continued, exaggerating his Italian accent and making the children burst out laughing. "Signor Zingarelli, the director, was a terribly harsh teacher. He was not popular at the conservatory, but he wanted everyone to pretend he was. I got out as often as I could; I used to go to the little theater at San Carlino, where I heard music fit for the gods. But, oh Lord! How could I scrape up the price of a ticket in the back row? It was a lot of money," he said, making a face at the children, and the children laughed. "Signor
Chapter Twenty-Three: A Civil Servant's Sorrows
Giovannone, director of the theater, had heard me sing. I was sixteen. 'This youngster's a treasure,' he said. "'Would you like me to hire you, my dear boy?' he said, coming over to me. "'What will I be paid?' "'Forty ducats a month.' Gentlemen, that's a hundred and sixty francs. I felt as if heaven had suddenly opened. "'But how,' I said to Giovannone, 'how can I get a hard man like Zingarelli to let me go?' "'Lascia fare a me.'" "Leave it to me!" cried the oldest child. "Exactly, young man. Signor Giovannone said: 'My boy, we start with just a tiny engagement.' I signed a contract: he gave me three ducats. I'd never seen so much money. And then he told me what I had to do. "The next day, I requested an audience with terrifying Signor Zingarelli. His old servant showed me in. "'What do you want from me, you good-for-nothing?' said Zingarelli. "'Maestro,' I told him, 'I repent my sins. I won't sneak out of the conservatory anymore, climbing over the fence. I'm going to work twice as hard.' "'If I wasn't worried about ruining the best bass voice I've ever heard, I'd lock you up for two weeks, on bread and water—rascal!' "'Maestro,' I answered, 'I'm going to be a model student, believe me. But I have to ask you a favor: if anyone comes to you, asking to let me sing anywhere else, don't say yes. Please, just say you can't do it.' "'And who the devil would come looking for a rascal like you? Do you think I'll ever let you leave the conservatory? Are you making fun of me? Clear out, clear out!' he said, trying to kick me on the rear end. 'Or else it's dry bread and a lock on the door.' "An hour later, Signor Giovannone came to the conservatory office. "'I'd like you to make me a rich man,' he said to Signor Zingarelli. 'Let me have Géronimo. If he sings in my theater, next winter I'll be able to marry off my daughter.' "'Why would you want that good-for-nothing,' Zingarelli said. 'I won't let you; you're not going to get him; and besides, even if I agreed, he wouldn't leave the conservatory—he just finished swearing that.' "'If it's only a question of what he wants,' Giovannone said with a straight face, pulling out the contract I'd signed, 'here it is, in black and white! See his signature?' "Absolutely furious, Zingarelli rang the school bell: 'Get that Géronimo out of the conservatory!' he shouted, boiling with anger. So they threw me out, and I laughed the whole way. That very same night, I sang 'The Multiplication Song.' Pulcinella3 was thinking of getting married, so he was counting—on his fingers—just what he'd need to buy for his house, and getting angrier and angrier the higher he counted." "Oh please!" said Madame de Rênal, "please sing the song for us." Géronimo sang the song, and everyone laughed so hard that they cried. Signor Géronimo didn't get to sleep until two, leaving the family enchanted by his fine manners, his agreeability, and his jolliness. The next day, both Monsieur and Madame de Rênal gave him the letters he would need at the French court. "So: Falsity is everywhere," Julien said to himself. "Here's Signor Géronimo going to London with sixty thousand francs guaranteed. Without the calm worldliness of the San