The Red and the Black: A Chronicle of 1830
to him in vain. The new anonymous letter had decided him. Finally she
succeeded in transforming the courage which had decided him to box
Valenod's ears, into the courage of offering six hundred francs to
Julien, which would keep him for one year in a seminary.
M. de Rênal cursed a thousand times the day that he had had the
ill-starred idea of taking a tutor into his house, and forgot the
anonymous letter.
He consoled himself a little by an idea which he did not tell his
wife. With the exercise of some skill, and by exploiting the romantic
ideas of the young man, he hoped to be able to induce him to refuse M.
Valenod's offer at a cheaper price.
Madame de Rênal had much more trouble in proving to Julien that
inasmuch as he was sacrificing the post of six hundred francs a year
in order to enable her husband to keep up appearances, he need have no
shame about accepting the compensation. But Julien would say each time,
"I have never thought for a moment of accepting that offer. You have
made me so used to a refined life that the coarseness of those people
would kill me."
Cruel necessity bent Julien's will with its iron hand. His pride gave
him the illusion that he only accepted the sum offered by M. de Rênal
as a loan, and induced him to give him a promissory note, repayable in
five years with interest.
Madame de Rênal had, of course, many thousands of francs which had been
concealed in the little mountain cave.
She offered them to him all a tremble, feeling only too keenly that
they would be angrily refused.
"Do you wish," said Julien to her, "to make the memory of our love
loathsome?"
Finally Julien left Verrières. M. de Rênal was very happy, but when
the fatal moment came to accept money from him the sacrifice proved
beyond Julien's strength. He refused point blank. M. de Rênal embraced
him around the neck with tears in his eyes. Julien had asked him for
a testimonial of good conduct, and his enthusiasm could find no terms
magnificent enough in which to extol his conduct.
Our hero had five louis of savings and he reckoned on asking Fouqué for
an equal sum.
He was very moved. But one league from Verrières, where he left so much
that was dear to him, he only thought of the happiness of seeing the
capital of a great military town like Besançon.
During the short absence of three days, Madame de Rênal was the victim
of one of the cruellest deceptions to which love is liable. Her life
was tolerable, because between her and extreme unhappiness there was
still that last interview which she was to have with Julien.
Finally during the night of the third day, she heard from a distance
the preconcerted signal. Julien, having passed through a thousand
dangers, appeared before her. In this moment she only had one
thought--"I see him for the last time." Instead of answering the
endearments of her lover, she seemed more dead than alive. If she
forced herself to tell him that she loved him, she said it with an
embarrassed air which almost proved the contrary. Nothing could rid her
of the cruel idea of eternal separation. The suspicious Julien thought
for the moment that he was already forgotten. His pointed remarks to
this effect were only answered by great tears which flowed down in
silence, and by some hysterical pressings of the hand.
"But," Julien would answer his mistress's cold protestations, "Great
Heavens! How can you expect me to believe you? You would show one
hundred times more sincere affection to Madame Derville to a mere
acquaintance."
Madame de Rênal was petrified, and at a loss for an answer.
"It is impossible to be more unhappy. I hope I am going to die. I feel
my heart turn to ice."
Those were the longest answers which he could obtain.
When the approach of day rendered it necessary for him to leave Madame
de Rênal, her tears completely ceased. She saw him tie a knotted rope
to the window without saying a word, and without returning her kisses.
It was in vain that Julien said to her.
"So now we have reached the state of affairs which you wished for
so much. Henceforward you will live without remorse. The slightest
indisposition of your children will no longer make you see them in the
tomb."
"I am sorry that you cannot kiss Stanislas," she said coldly.
Julien finished by being profoundly impressed by the cold embraces of
this living corpse. He could think of nothing else for several leagues.
His soul was overwhelmed, and before passing the mountain, and while
he could still see the church tower of Verrières he turned round
frequently.
[1] C'est pigeon qui vole. A reference to a contemporary animal game
with a pun on the word "vole."
CHAPTER XXIV
A CAPITAL
What a noise, what busy people! What ideas for the
future in a brain of twenty! What distraction offered by
love.--_Barnave_.
Finally he saw some black walls near a distant mountain. It was the
citadel of Besançon. "How different it would be for me," he said
with a sigh, "if I were arriving at this noble military town to be
sub-lieutenant in one of the regiments entrusted with its defence."
Besançon is not only one of the prettiest towns in France, it abounds
in people of spirit and brains. But Julien was only a little peasant,
and had no means of approaching distinguished people.
He had taken a civilian suit at Fouqué's, and it was in this dress that
he passed the drawbridge. Steeped as he was in the history of the siege
of 1674, he wished to see the ramparts of the citadel before shutting
himself up in the seminary. He was within an ace two or three times
of getting himself arrested by the sentinel. He was penetrating into
places which military genius forbids the public to enter, in order to
sell twelve or fifteen francs worth of corn every year.
The height of the walls, the depth of the ditches, the terrible aspect
of the cannons had been engrossing him for several hours when he passed
before the great café on the boulevard. He was motionless with wonder;
it was in vain that he read the word _café_, written in big characters
above the two immense doors. He could not believe his eyes. He made an
effort to overcome his timidity. He dared to enter, and found himself
in a hall twenty or thirty yards long, and with a ceiling at least
twenty feet high. To-day, everything had a fascination for him.
Two games of billiards were in progress. The waiters were crying out
the scores. The players ran round the tables encumbered by spectators.
Clouds of tobacco smoke came from everybody's mouth, and enveloped them
in a blue haze. The high stature of these men, their rounded shoulders,
their heavy gait, their enormous whiskers, the long tailed coats which
covered them, everything combined to attract Julien's attention. These
noble children of the antique Bisontium only spoke at the top of their
voice. They gave themselves terrible martial airs. Julien stood still
and admired them. He kept thinking of the immensity and magnificence
of a great capital like Besançon. He felt absolutely devoid of the
requisite courage to ask one of those haughty looking gentlemen, who
were crying out the billiard scores, for a cup of coffee.
But the young lady at the bar had noticed the charming face of this
young civilian from the country, who had stopped three feet from
the stove with his little parcel under his arm, and was looking at
the fine white plaster bust of the king. This young lady, a big
_Franc-comtoise_, very well made, and dressed with the elegance
suitable to the prestige of the café, had already said two or three
times in a little voice not intended to be heard by any one except
Julien, "Monsieur, Monsieur." Julien's eyes encountered big blue eyes
full of tenderness, and saw that he was the person who was being spoken
to.
He sharply approached the bar and the pretty girl, as though he had
been marching towards the enemy. In this great manœuvre the parcel fell.
What pity will not our provincial inspire in the young lycée scholars
of Paris, who, at the early age of fifteen, know already how to enter
a café with so distinguished an air? But these children who have such
style at fifteen turn commonplace at eighteen. The impassioned timidity
which is met with in the provinces, sometimes manages to master its own
nervousness, and thus trains the will. "I must tell her the truth,"
thought Julien, who was becoming courageous by dint of conquering his
timidity as he approached this pretty girl, who deigned to address him.
"Madame, this is the first time in my life that I have come to
Besançon. I should like to have some bread and a cup of coffee in
return for payment."
The young lady smiled a little, and then blushed. She feared the ironic
attention and the jests of the billiard players might be turned against
this pretty young man. He would be frightened and would not appear
there again.
"Sit here near me," she said to him, showing him a marble table almost
completely hidden by the enormous mahogany counter which extended into
the hall.
The young lady leant over the counter, and had thus an opportunity of
displaying a superb figure. Julien noticed it. All his ideas changed.
The pretty young lady had just placed before him a cup, some sugar, and
a little roll. She hesitated to call a waiter for the coffee, as she
realised that his arrival would put an end to her _tête-à-tête_ with
Julien.
Julien was pensively comparing this blonde and merry beauty with
certain memories which would often thrill him. The thought of the
passion of which he had been the object, nearly freed him from all
his timidity. The pretty young woman had only one moment to save the
situation. She read it in Julien's looks.
"This pipe smoke makes you cough; come and have breakfast to-morrow
before eight o'clock in the morning. I am practically alone then."
"What is your name?" said Julien, with the caressing smile of happy
timidity.
"Amanda Binet."
"Will you allow me to send you within an hour's time a little parcel
about as big as this?"
The beautiful Amanda reflected a little.
"I am watched. What you ask may compromise me. All the same, I will
write my address on a card, which you will put on your parcel. Send it
boldly to me."
"My name is Julien Sorel," said the young man. "I have neither
relatives nor acquaintances at Besançon."
"Ah, I understand," she said joyfully. "You come to study law."
"Alas, no," answered Julien, "I am being sent to the Seminary."
The most complete discouragement damped Amanda's features. She called
a waiter. She had courage now. The waiter poured out some coffee for
Julien without looking at him.
Amanda was receiving money at the counter. Julien was proud of having
dared to speak: a dispute was going on at one of the billiard tables.
The cries and the protests of the players resounded over the immense
hall, and made a din which astonished Julien. Amanda was dreamy, and
kept her eyes lowered.
"If you like, Mademoiselle," he said to her suddenly with assurance, "I
will say that I am your cousin."
This little air of authority pleased Amanda. "He's not a mere nobody,"
she thought. She spoke to him very quickly, without looking at him,
because her eye was occupied in seeing if anybody was coming near the
counter.
"I come from Genlis, near Dijon. Say that you are also from Genlis and
are my mother's cousin."
"I shall not fail to do so."
"All the gentlemen who go to the Seminary pass here before the café
every Thursday in the summer at five o'clock."
"If you think of me when I am passing, have a bunch of violets in your
hand."
Amanda looked at him with an astonished air. This look changed Julien's
courage into audacity. Nevertheless, he reddened considerably, as he