The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of the Nineteenth Century

by Stendhal

  One thing astonished Julien: the solitary weeks he had spent in Verrières in M. de Rênal's house had been a happy time for him. He had only experienced revulsion and gloomy thoughts during the dinners that had been put on for him; in this solitary house, was he not able to read, write and think without being disturbed? He wasn't dragged from his brilliant flights of fancy at every moment, first by the harsh necessity of studying the workings of a base mind, and then by the need to outwit it through hypocritical actions or words.

  Could happiness be so near at hand?... A life like this doesn't involve much by way of expenditure; I can choose whether to marry Mlle Elisa or become Fouqué's partner... But a traveller who has just climbed a steep mountain sits down at

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  the summit and finds perfect pleasure in resting. Would he be happy if forced to rest for ever?

  Mme de Rênal's mind had come to entertain dire thoughts. In spite of her resolve, she had told Julien about the whole business of the assignment. He'll make me forget all my oaths, so it seems! she thought.

  She would have sacrificed her own life without hesitating to save her husband's if she had seen him in danger. She was one of those noble, romantic creatures for whom seeing the possibility of a generous action and not carrying it out gives rise to almost as much remorse as does a crime actually committed. Nevertheless, there were black days when she could not banish the image of the surfeit of happiness that would overwhelm her if she were suddenly widowed and able to marry Julien.

  He loved her sons much more than their father did; despite his stern even-handedness, he was adored by them. She was well aware that in marrying Julien she would have to leave Vergy with its beloved shade. She pictured herself living in Paris, continuing to give her children the education that everyone admired. Her children, herself, Julien--all perfectly happy.

  Strange is the effect of marriage as it has been fashioned by the nineteenth century! The boredom of married life is sure to kill off love when love precedes marriage. And at the same time, as a philosopher would say, it soon induces in people rich enough not to work a profound sense of being bored with all quiet pleasures. And, among women, only the most unresponsive of natures are not predisposed by it towards love.

  Philosophic reflection makes me forgive Mme de Rênal, but she was not forgiven in Verrières, and without her suspecting it, the entire town thought of nothing else but the scandal of her passion. Because of this great affair, the inhabitants were far less bored that autumn than usual.

  Autumn and part of winter passed all too quickly. It was time to leave the woods of Vergy. High society in Verrières began to grow indignant that its anathemas were having so little effect on M. de Rênal. Within the space of a week, a number of solemn individuals, who make up for their habitual seriousness by the pleasure they derive from carrying out this

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  kind of mission, planted in him the most cruel of suspicions, couched, however, in the most moderate of terms.

  M. Valenod, who was playing things very cautiously, had secured Elisa a position with a highly regarded noble family in which there were five women. Fearing, as she said, that she wouldn't find a position during the winter, Elisa had only asked this family for about two-thirds of what she received at the mayor's. On her own initiative this girl had had the excellent idea of going to make her confession to the former priest Father Chélan and at the same time to the new one, with the aim of telling both of them all about Julien's amorous exploits.

  The day after his arrival, at six o'clock in the morning, Father Chélan summoned Julien.

  'I'm not asking you any questions,' he said to him; 'I beg you, and if need be I order you not to tell me anything; I demand that within three days you leave for the seminary in Besançon, or for your friend Fouqué's house, since he's still minded to offer you a magnificent future. I have fixed everything in advance, made all the arrangements, but you must go, and not return to Verrières before a year is up.'

  Julien did not reply; he was considering whether his honour should feel slighted at the concern shown on his behalf by Father Chélan, who was not after all his father.

  'Tomorrow at this same hour I shall have the honour of seeing you again,' he said at last to the priest.

  Father Chélan, who was counting on the full force of his authority to get the better of so young a man, spoke at great length. Adopting the most humble stance and countenance to cushion himself, Julien did not open his mouth.

  Eventually he left and ran off to warn Mme de Rênal, whom he found in despair. Her husband had just spoken to her with a certain degree of openness. The natural weakness of his character, backed by the prospect of the Besançon legacy, had swayed him to consider her perfectly innocent. He had just told her about the strange state in which he had found public opinion in Verrières. The public were wrong, they were led astray by envious tongues, but still, what was to be done?

  For a moment Mme de Rênal entertained the illusion that

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  Julien might accept M. Valenod's offer and remain in Verrières. But she was no longer the straightforward, shy woman she had been a year ago; her fateful passion and her remorse had enlightened her. She soon suffered the pain of convincing herself, as she listened to her husband, that a separation, at least for the time being, had become essential. Once he's away from me, Julien will revert to his ambitious schemes that come so naturally to someone who's penniless. And look at me, God Almighty! I'm so rich! and so pointlessly as far as my happiness is concerned! He'll forget me. Engaging as he is, he will be loved, and will love in return. Ah! how wretched I am... What have I got to complain of? Heaven is just; I didn't have the virtue to put a stop to the crime, and now heaven is depriving me of my judgement. All I had to do was to win Elisa over with a little money--nothing would have been easier for me. I didn't take the trouble to reflect for a moment, the wild fantasies of love took up all my time. I'm done for.

  Julien was struck by one thing as he gave Mme de Rênal the terrible news of his departure: he did not meet with any selfish objections. She was obviously making efforts not to cry.

  'We must be steadfast, my dearest.'

  She cut off a lock of her hair.

  'I don't know what I shall do,' she said, 'but if I die, promise me you'll never forget my children. Whether you're far away or close by, strive to make gentlemen of them. If there's another revolution, all the gentry will be slaughtered, their father may emigrate on account of that peasant who was killed on a rooftop. Watch over the family... Give me your hand. Farewell, my dear one! These are our last moments. Once this great sacrifice is made, I hope that in public I shall have the courage to think about my reputation.'

  Julien was expecting signs of despair. The simplicity of this farewell touched him.

  'No, this isn't the way I shall accept your farewells. I shall leave; they wish me to; you do yourself. But three days after my departure I shall come back to visit you during the night.'

  Mme de Rênal's existence was transformed. So Julien did care for her, since he had thought up the idea of seeing her again himself! Her terrible sorrow was transformed into one of

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  the most intense pangs of joy she had experienced in her whole life. Everything became easy for her. The certainty of seeing her lover again rid these last moments of all their heartrending qualities. From that instant on, Mme de Rênal's conduct, like her countenance, was noble, firm and perfectly appropriate.

  M. de Rênal soon returned home; he was beside himself. He finally told his wife about the anonymous letter he had received two months previously.

  'I intend to take it to the Casino, show everyone that it comes from that despicable Valenod whom I raised from nothing and made into one of the richest members of the bourgeoisie in Verrières. I'll shame him with it in public, and then I'll fight a duel with him. This is more than I can take.'

  I might be a widow, God Almighty! thought Mme de Rênal. But at virtually the same instant she
said to herself: If I don't prevent this duel, as I undoubtedly can, I shall be my husband's murderer.

  Never had she handled his vanity with such skill. In less than two hours she brought him round to the view, using arguments that he himself produced, that it was essential to show more friendliness than ever to M. Valenod, and even to take Elisa back into the house. Mme de Rênal needed courage to make up her mind to see this girl again, as she had been the cause of all her misfortunes. But the idea came from Julien.

  At last, having been put on the right track three or four times, M. de Rênal managed, unaided, to hit upon the idea-a very onerous one financially--that what would be most disagreeable for him would be if Julien, in the midst of all the hubbub and tittle-tattle in Verrières, were to remain there as tutor to M. Valenod's children. It was obviously in Julien's interest to accept the master of the workhouse's offer. What was vital for M. de Rênal's reputation, on the contrary, was that Julien should leave Verrières and enter the seminary in Besançon or Dijon. But how could he be persuaded, and then, what would he live on?

  Seeing that a financial sacrifice was imminent, M. de Rênal was in greater despair than his wife. For her part, after this conversation she was in the position of a generous-hearted who, weary of life, has just taken a dose of stramonium: all his

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  actions are now pure clockwork, as it were, and he has no further interest in anything. Thus it was that Louis XIV found himself saying as he lay dying: When I was king. An admirable phrase!

  The next day, as soon as it was broad daylight, M. de Rênal received an anonymous letter. This one was in the most insulting style. The most vulgar terms applicable to his situation stood out on every line. It was the work of some envious person of subordinate station. This letter brought him back to the idea of fighting a duel with M. Valenod. Soon his courage extended to ideas of executing it immediately. He went out alone and called at the armourer's for some pistols which he ordered to be loaded.

  In fact, he said to himself, even supposing the strict administration of the Emperor Napoleon were to make a comeback, I personally don't have a jot of shady business to reproach myself with. At the very most I turned a blind eye, but I have solid letters in my desk authorizing me to do so.

  Mme de Rênal was terrified by her husband's cold anger; it revived the dire thought of widowhood which she found so hard to banish. She closeted herself with him. For several hours on end she talked to him in vain: the new anonymous letter made him adamant. She finally managed to transform a courageous determination to deliver a slap in the face to M. Valenod into the courage to offer six hundred francs to Julien for a year's board and lodging in a seminary. With a thousand curses on the day he had had the ill-fated idea of taking on a tutor, M. de Rênal forgot the anonymous letter.

  He consoled himself a little with an idea which he did not impart to his wife: with a bit of skill, and exploiting the romantic ideas in the young man's head, he hoped to get him to agree, for a lesser sum, to refuse M. Valenod's offer.

  Mme de Rênal had far greater difficulty in proving to Julien that since, to suit her husband, he was sacrificing a position worth eight hundred francs that was being publicly offered him by the master of the workhouse, he need have no scruples in accepting a sum in compensation.

  'But', Julien kept on saying, 'I've never, not even for a moment, had any intention of accepting that offer. You've got

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  me too accustomed to an elegant life-style; the vulgarity of those people would finish me off.'

  The iron hand of cruel necessity broke Julien's will. His pride offered him the illusion that he could accept the sum offered by the mayor of Verrières as a mere loan, and make out a note to him specifying repayment in five years with interest.

  Mme de Rênal still had several thousand francs hidden in the little grotto in the mountains.

  She offered them to him in fear and trembling, sensing only too clearly that she would meet with an angry refusal.

  'Do you wish', Julien said to her, 'to turn the memory of our love into something abominable?'

  Finally Julien left Verrières. M. de Rênal was extremely happy, for when the fateful moment came to accept money from him, the sacrifice proved too great for Julien. He refused point-blank. M. de Rênal flung his arms round his neck with tears in his eyes. Julien had asked him for a character reference, and in his enthusiasm he could not find terms sufficiently glowing to extol his conduct. Our hero had five louis in savings, and was counting on asking Fouqué for a similar sum.

  He was deeply moved. But a league away from Verrières, where he was leaving behind so much love, his only thoughts now were for the pleasure of seeing a capital, a big martial city like Besançon.

  During this brief three-day absence, Mme de Rênal was deceived by one of love's most cruel tricks. Her life was bearable, for between her and ultimate unhappiness there was this last meeting she was to have with Julien. She counted the hours and the minutes separating her from it. At last, during the night after the third day, she heard the agreed signal from afar. After braving countless dangers, Julien appeared before her.

  From that moment on she had but a single thought: I'm seeing him for the very last time. Far from responding to her lover's excitement, she was like a corpse virtually devoid of life. If she forced herself to tell him she loved him, it came out so unnaturally as almost to prove the contrary. Nothing could

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  take her mind off the cruel idea of eternal separation. Suspicious Julien believed for a moment that he was already forgotten. His hurt words to this effect were only greeted with large tears running down her cheeks in silence, and almost convulsive squeezes of the hand.

  'But great heavens! how do you expect me to believe you?' Julien replied to the cold protestations of his mistress; 'You'd show infinitely more signs of genuine friendship to Mme Derville, to a mere acquaintance.'

  Mme de Rênal was petrified and did not know what to answer:

  'It isn't possible to be more unhappy... I hope I'm going to die... I feel my heart growing chill...'

  These were the longest answers he could get out of her.

  When dawn made departure necessary, Mme de Rênal's tears stopped completely. She saw him fix a knotted rope to the window without uttering a word, without returning his kisses. It was in vain that Julien said to her:

  'We've now reached the situation you so ardently wished for. From now on you'll live without remorse. Whenever your children are the least bit ailing you won't any longer imagine them in their graves.'

  'I'm vexed that you can't kiss Stanislas,' she said to him coldly.

  Julien ended up being profoundly struck by the absence of any warmth in the embraces of this living corpse; he was unable to think of anything else for several leagues. His heart was wrung, and before he crossed over the mountain, as long as he could still see the church steeple in Verrières, many were the times he looked back.

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  CHAPTER 24

  A capital city

  So much noise, so many busy people! So many ideas for the future in the head of a twenty-year-old! What distractions for love!

  BARNAVE

  AT last, on a distant mountainside, he caught sight of the black walls of the citadel of Besançon. How different it would be for me, he said with a sigh, if I was coming to this noble martial city to be a sub-lieutenant in one of the regiments in charge of defending it!

  Besançon is not only one of the prettiest towns in France, it abounds in generous-hearted and intelligent people. But Julien was only a little peasant, and had no means of approaching any men of distinction.

  He had obtained a plain suit from Fouqué, and he was wearing this outfit when he crossed the drawbridge. With his head full of the history of the siege of 1674, * he was keen to see the ramparts and the citadel before shutting himself away in the seminary. On two or three occasions he was on the point of being arrested by the sentries; he was going into places to which the m
ilitary authorities refuse the public access, in order to be able to sell twelve or fifteen francs' worth of hay every year.

  The height of the walls, the depth of the moats, the fearsome look of the cannon had kept him occupied for several hours, when he passed in front of the big café on the boulevard. He stood stock still in admiration; in spite of reading the word café written in large letters above the two huge doors, he still couldn't believe his eyes. He struggled to overcome his nervousness; he plucked up the courage to go in, and found himself in a room thirty or forty paces long, with a ceiling at least twenty foot high. That day everything was magical for him.

  Two games of billiards were under way. The waiters were

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  calling out the scores; the players were running round the tables cluttered with spectators. Great whiffs of tobacco smoke streaming from every mouth enveloped all heads in a blue cloud. The tall stature of these men, their rounded shoulders, their heavy tread, their huge sidewhiskers, the long frock-coats draped round them--everything caught Julien's eye. These noble children of ancient Bisontium only spoke to shout; they assumed the poses of fearsome warriors. Julien was rooted to the spot in admiration; his thoughts were on the sheer size and the magnificence of a great capital like Besançon. He felt nothing like bold enough to request a cup of coffee from one of those haughty-looking gentlemen who were calling out the billiards score. But the girl behind the bar had noticed the attractive figure of this young bourgeois from the country who, standing three paces away from the stove with his little bundle under his arm, was contemplating the fine white plaster bust of the king. This barmaid, a tall Franche-Comté lass with a lovely figure, dressed just right to do honour to a café, had already said twice, in a quiet voice aiming not to be heard by anyone but Julien: 'Sir! Sir!' Julien looked into two big blue eyes filled with kindness, and saw that he was the person being addressed.