The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of 1830
my husband if you are not constantly there to enjoin me to silence by
your looks. Every hour of this abominable life seems to last a day."
Finally heaven had pity on this unfortunate mother. Little by little
Stanislas got out of danger. But the ice was broken. Her reason had
realised the extent of her sin. She could not recover her equilibrium
again. Her pangs of remorse remained, and were what they ought to have
been in so sincere a heart. Her life was heaven and hell: hell when she
did not see Julien; heaven when she was at his feet.
"I do not deceive myself any more," she would say to him, even during
the moments when she dared to surrender herself to his full love. "I
am damned, irrevocably damned. You are young, heaven may forgive you,
but I, I am damned. I know it by a certain sign. I am afraid, who would
not be afraid at the sight of hell? but at the bottom of my heart I
do not repent at all. I would commit my sin over again if I had the
opportunity. If heaven will only forbear to punish me in this world and
through my children, I shall have more than I deserve. But you, at any
rate, my Julien," she would cry at other moments, "are you happy? Do
you think I love you enough?"
The suspiciousness and morbid pride of Julien, who needed, above all,
a self-sacrificing love, altogether vanished when he saw at every hour
of the day so great and indisputable a sacrifice. He adored Madame
de Rênal. "It makes no difference her being noble, and my being a
labourer's son. She loves me.... she does not regard me as a valet
charged with the functions of a lover." That fear once dismissed,
Julien fell into all the madness of love, into all its deadly
uncertainties.
"At any rate," she would cry, seeing his doubts of her love, "let me
feel quite happy during the three days we still have together. Let us
make haste; perhaps to-morrow will be too late. If heaven strikes me
through my children, it will be in vain that I shall try only to live
to love you, and to be blind to the fact that it is my crime which has
killed them. I could not survive that blow. Even if I wished I could
not; I should go mad."
"Ah, if only I could take your sin on myself as you so generously
offered to take Stanislas' burning fever!"
This great moral crisis changed the character of the sentiment
which united Julien and his mistress. His love was no longer simply
admiration for her beauty, and the pride of possessing her.
Henceforth their happiness was of a quite superior character. The flame
which consumed them was more intense. They had transports filled with
madness. Judged by the worldly standard their happiness would have
appeared intensified. But they no longer found that delicious serenity,
that cloudless happiness, that facile joy of the first period of their
love, when Madame de Rênal's only fear was that Julien did not love her
enough. Their happiness had at times the complexion of crime.
In their happiest and apparently their most tranquil moments, Madame
de Rênal would suddenly cry out, "Oh, great God, I see hell," as she
pressed Julien's hand with a convulsive grasp. "What horrible tortures!
I have well deserved them." She grasped him and hung on to him like ivy
onto a wall.
Julien would try in vain to calm that agitated soul. She would take his
hand, cover it with kisses. Then, relapsing into a gloomy reverie, she
would say, "Hell itself would be a blessing for me. I should still have
some days to pass with him on this earth, but hell on earth, the death
of my children. Still, perhaps my crime will be forgiven me at that
price. Oh, great God, do not grant me my pardon at so great a price.
These poor children have in no way transgressed against You. I, I am
the only culprit. I love a man who is not my husband."
Julien subsequently saw Madame de Rênal attain what were apparently
moments of tranquillity. She was endeavouring to control herself;
she did not wish to poison the life of the man she loved. They found
the days pass with the rapidity of lightning amid these alternating
moods of love, remorse, and voluptuousness. Julien lost the habit of
reflecting.
Mademoiselle Elisa went to attend to a little lawsuit which she had at
Verrières. She found Valenod very piqued against Julien. She hated the
tutor and would often speak about him.
"You will ruin me, Monsieur, if I tell the truth," she said one day to
Valenod. "All masters have an understanding amongst themselves with
regard to matters of importance. There are certain disclosures which
poor servants are never forgiven."
After these stereotyped phrases, which his curiosity managed to cut
short, Monsieur Valenod received some information extremely mortifying
to his self-conceit.
This woman, who was the most distinguished in the district, the woman
on whom he had lavished so much attention in the last six years, and
made no secret of it, more was the pity, this woman who was so proud,
whose disdain had put him to the blush times without number, had just
taken for her lover a little workman masquerading as a tutor. And to
fill the cup of his jealousy, Madame de Rênal adored that lover.
"And," added the housemaid with a sigh, "Julien did not put himself out
at all to make his conquest, his manner was as cold as ever, even with
Madame."
Elisa had only become certain in the country, but she believed that
this intrigue dated from much further back. "That is no doubt the
reason," she added spitefully, "why he refused to marry me. And to
think what a fool I was when I went to consult Madame de Rênal and
begged her to speak to the tutor."
The very same evening, M. de Rênal received from the town, together
with his paper, a long anonymous letter which apprised him in the
greatest detail of what was taking place in his house. Julien saw him
pale as he read this letter written on blue paper, and look at him
with a malicious expression. During all that evening the mayor failed
to throw off his trouble. It was in vain that Julien paid him court by
asking for explanations about the genealogy of the best families in
Burgundy.
CHAPTER XX
ANONYMOUS LETTERS
Do not give dalliance
Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw
To the fire i' the blood.--_Tempest_.
As they left the drawing-room about midnight, Julien had time to say to
his love,
"Don't let us see each other to-night. Your husband has suspicions. I
would swear that that big letter he read with a sigh was an anonymous
letter."
Fortunately, Julien locked himself into his room. Madame de Rênal had
the mad idea that this warning was only a pretext for not seeing her.
She absolutely lost her head, and came to his door at the accustomed
hour. Julien, who had heard the noise in the corridor, immediately blew
out his lamp. Someone was trying to open the door. Was it Madame de
Rênal? Was it a jealous husband?
Very early next morning the cook, who liked Julien, brought him a book,
on the cover of which he read these words written in Italian: _Guardate
alla pagina_ 130.
Julien shuddered at the imprudence, looked for page 130, and found
pinned to it the following letter hastily written, bathed with tears,
and full of spelling mistakes. Madame de Rênal was usually very
correct. He was touched by this circumstance, and somewhat forgot the
awfulness of the indiscretion.
"So you did not want to receive me to-night? There are
moments when I think that I have never read down to the
depths of your soul. Your looks frighten me. I am afraid
of you. Great God! perhaps you have never loved me? In
that case let my husband discover my love, and shut me
up in a prison in the country far away from my children.
Perhaps God wills it so. I shall die soon, but you will
have proved yourself a monster.
"Do you not love me? Are you tired of my fits of folly
and of remorse, you wicked man? Do you wish to ruin me?
I will show you an easy way. Go and show this letter to
all Verrières, or rather show it to M. Valenod. Tell him
that I love you, nay, do not utter such a blasphemy,
tell him I adore you, that it was only on the day I saw
you that my life commenced; that even in the maddest
moments of my youth I never even dreamt of the happiness
that I owe to you, that I have sacrificed my life to
you and that I am sacrificing my soul. You know that
I am sacrificing much more. But does that man know
the meaning of sacrifice? Tell him, I say, simply to
irritate him, that I will defy all evil tongues, that
the only misfortune for me in the whole world would
be to witness any change in the only man who holds me
to life. What a happiness it would be to me to lose
my life, to offer it up as a sacrifice and to have no
longer any fear for my children.
"Have no doubt about it, dear one, if it is an
anonymous letter, it comes from that odious being who
has persecuted me for the last six years with his loud
voice, his stories about his jumps on horseback, his
fatuity, and the never ending catalogue of all his
advantages.
"Is there an anonymous letter? I should like to discuss
that question with you, you wicked man; but no, you
acted rightly. Clasping you in my arms perhaps for the
last time, I should never have been able to argue as
coldly as I do, now that I am alone. From this moment
our happiness will no longer be so easy. Will that be a
vexation for you? Yes, on those days when you haven't
received some amusing book from M. Fouqué. The sacrifice
is made; to-morrow, whether there is or whether there is
not any anonymous letter, I myself will tell my husband
I have received an anonymous letter and that it is
necessary to give you a golden bridge at once, find some
honourable excuse, and send you back to your parents
without delay.
"Alas, dear one, we are going to be separated for a
fortnight, perhaps a month! Go, I will do you justice,
you will suffer as much as I, but anyway, this is the
only means of disposing of this anonymous letter. It is
not the first that my husband has received, and on my
score too. Alas! how I used to laugh over them!
"My one aim is to make my husband think that the letter
comes from M. Valenod; I have no doubt that he is
its author. If you leave the house, make a point of
establishing yourself at Verrières; I will manage that
my husband should think of passing a fortnight there
in order to prove to the fools there was no coldness
between him and me. Once at Verrières, establish ties of
friendship with everyone, even with the Liberals. I am
sure that all their ladies will seek you out.
"Do not quarrel with M. Valenod, or cut off his ears,
as you said you would one day. Try, on the contrary, to
ingratiate yourself with him. The essential point is
that it should be notorious in Verrières that you are
going to enter the household either of Valenod or of
someone else to take charge of the children's education.
"That is what my husband will never put up with. If he
does feel bound to resign himself to it, well, at any
rate, you will be living in Verrières and I shall be
seeing you sometimes. My children, who love you so much,
will go and see you. Great God! I feel that I love my
children all the more because they love you. How is