CHAPTER I

A SMALL TOWN

    Put thousands together less bad,
    But the cage less gay.--_Hobbes_.

The little town of Verrieres can pass for one of the prettiest in
Franche-Comte. Its white houses with their pointed red-tiled roofs
stretch along the slope of a hill, whose slightest undulations are
marked by groups of vigorous chestnuts. The Doubs flows to within some
hundred feet above its fortifications, which were built long ago by the
Spaniards, and are now in ruins.

Verrieres is sheltered on the north by a high mountain which is one of
the branches of the Jura. The jagged peaks of the Verra are covered
with snow from the beginning of the October frosts. A torrent which
rushes down from the mountains traverses Verrieres before throwing
itself into the Doubs, and supplies the motive power for a great number
of saw mills. The industry is very simple, and secures a certain
prosperity to the majority of the inhabitants who are more peasant than
bourgeois. It is not, however, the wood saws which have enriched this
little town. It is the manufacture of painted tiles, called Mulhouse
tiles, that is responsible for that general affluence which has caused
the facades of nearly all the houses in Verrieres to be rebuilt since
the fall of Napoleon.

One has scarcely entered the town, before one is stunned by the din of
a strident machine of terrifying aspect. Twenty heavy hammers which
fall with a noise that makes the paved floor tremble, are lifted
up by a wheel set in motion by the torrent. Each of these hammers
manufactures every day I don't know how many thousands of nails. The
little pieces of iron which are rapidly transformed into nails by these
enormous hammers, are put in position by fresh pretty young girls. This
labour so rough at first sight is one of the industries which most
surprises the traveller who penetrates for the first time the mountains
which separate France and Helvetia. If when he enters Verrieres, the
traveller asks who owns this fine nail factory which deafens everybody
who goes up the Grande-Rue, he is answered in a drawling tone "Eh!
it belongs to M. the Mayor."

And if the traveller stops a few minutes in that Grande-Rue of
Verrieres which goes on an upward incline from the bank of the Doubs to
nearly as far as the summit of the hill, it is a hundred to one that he
will see a big man with a busy and important air.

When he comes in sight all hats are quickly taken off. His hair is
grizzled and he is dressed in grey. He is a Knight of several Orders,
has a large forehead and an aquiline nose, and if you take him all
round, his features are not devoid of certain regularity. One might
even think on the first inspection that it combines with the dignity
of the village mayor that particular kind of comfortableness which is
appropriate to the age of forty-eight or fifty. But soon the traveller
from Paris will be shocked by a certain air of self-satisfaction and
self-complacency mingled with an almost indefinable narrowness and lack
of inspiration. One realises at last that this man's talent is limited
to seeing that he is paid exactly what he is owed, and in paying his
own debts at the latest possible moment.

Such is M. de Renal, the mayor of Verrieres. After having crossed the
road with a solemn step, he enters the mayoral residence and disappears
from the eye of the traveller. But if the latter continues to walk
a hundred steps further up, he will perceive a house with a fairly
fine appearance, with some magnificent gardens behind an iron grill
belonging to the house. Beyond that is an horizon line formed by the
hills of Burgundy, which seem ideally made to delight the eyes. This
view causes the traveller to forget that pestilential atmosphere of
petty money-grubbing by which he is beginning to be suffocated.

He is told that this house belongs to M. de Renal. It is to the
profits which he has made out of his big nail factory that the mayor
of Verrieres owes this fine residence of hewn stone which he is just
finishing. His family is said to be Spanish and ancient, and is alleged
to have been established in the country well before the conquest of
Louis XIV.

Since 1815, he blushes at being a manufacturer: 1815 made him mayor
of Verrieres. The terraced walls of this magnificent garden which
descends to the Doubs, plateau by plateau, also represent the reward
of M. de Renal's proficiency in the iron-trade. Do not expect to find
in France those picturesque gardens which surround the manufacturing
towns of Germany, like Leipsic, Frankfurt and Nurenburgh, etc. The
more walls you build in Franche-Comte and the more you fortify your
estate with piles of stone, the more claim you will acquire on the
respect of your neighbours. Another reason for the admiration due to
M. de Renal's gardens and their numerous walls, is the fact that he
has purchased, through sheer power of the purse, certain small parcels
of the ground on which they stand. That saw-mill, for instance, whose
singular position on the banks of the Doubs struck you when you entered
Verrieres, and where you notice the name of SOREL written in gigantic
characters on the chief beam of the roof, used to occupy six years
ago that precise space on which is now reared the wall of the fourth
terrace in M. de Renal's gardens.

Proud man that he was, the mayor had none the less to negotiate with
that tough, stubborn peasant, old Sorel. He had to pay him in good
solid golden louis before he could induce him to transfer his workshop
elsewhere. As to the _public_ stream which supplied the motive power
for the saw-mill, M. de Renal obtained its diversion, thanks to the
influence which he enjoyed at Paris. This favour was accorded him after
the election of 182-.

He gave Sorel four acres for every one he had previously held, five
hundred yards lower down on the banks of the Doubs. Although this
position was much more advantageous for his pine-plank trade, father
Sorel (as he is called since he has become rich) knew how to exploit
the impatience and _mania for landed ownership_ which animated his
neighbour to the tune of six thousand francs.

It is true that this arrangement was criticised by the wiseacres of the
locality. One day, it was on a Sunday four years later, as M. de Renal
was coming back from church in his mayor's uniform, he saw old Sorel
smiling at him, as he stared at him some distance away surrounded by
his three sons. That smile threw a fatal flood of light into the soul
of the mayor. From that time on, he is of opinion that he could have
obtained the exchange at a cheaper rate.

In order to win the public esteem of Verrieres it is essential that,
though you should build as many walls as you can, you should not adopt
some plan imported from Italy by those masons who cross the passes
of the Jura in the spring on their way to Paris. Such an innovation
would bring down upon the head of the imprudent builder an eternal
reputation for _wrongheadedness_, and he will be lost for ever in the
sight of those wise, well-balanced people who dispense public esteem in
Franche-Comte.

As a matter of fact, these prudent people exercise in the place the
most offensive despotism. It is by reason of this awful word, that
anyone who has lived in that great republic which is called Paris,
finds living in little towns quite intolerable. The tyranny of public
opinion (and what public opinion!) is as _stupid_ in the little towns
of France as in the United States of America.

Welcome to Verrieres, a cute little town filled with white houses and chestnut trees. There are a lot of sawmills in the area . There's also a nail factory that belongs to the town's mayor, Monsieur de Renal. We get a description of Mr. Renal, who's a respectable-looking dude with a long, proud family history. We find out that Renal has a relationship with an old peasant named Sorel. He had to buy out the peasant's sawmill in order to expand his garden terrace and keep any ugly mills out of the way. Sorel agreed to move his business, but only after he got a bunch of money out of Renal. The narrator closes the opening chapter by saying that the town of Verrieres is totally tyrannized by public opinion. In other words, there's a lot of gossip and a lot of judgment in the town. If you have a good name, that's great. But if you have a bad name, no one will treat you well.


CHAPTER II

A MAYOR

        Importance! What is it, sir after all? The respect of
        fools, the wonder of children, the envy of the rich, the
        contempt of the wise man.--_Barnave_

Happily for the reputation of M. de Renal as an administrator an
immense wall of support was necessary for the public promenade which
goes along the hill, a hundred steps above the course of the Doubs.
This admirable position secures for the promenade one of the most
picturesque views in the whole of France. But the rain water used to
make furrows in the walk every spring, caused ditches to appear, and
rendered it generally impracticable. This nuisance, which was felt
by the whole town, put M. de Renal in the happy position of being
compelled to immortalise his administration by building a wall twenty
feet high and thirty to forty yards long.

The parapet of this wall, which occasioned M. de Renal three journeys
to Paris (for the last Minister of the Interior but one had declared
himself the mortal enemy of the promenade of Verrieres), is now raised
to a height of four feet above the ground, and as though to defy all
ministers whether past or present, it is at present adorned with tiles
of hewn stone.

How many times have my looks plunged into the valley of the Doubs, as I
thought of the Paris balls which I had abandoned on the previous night,
and leant my breast against the great blocks of stone, whose beautiful
grey almost verged on blue. Beyond the left bank, there wind five
or six valleys, at the bottom of which I could see quite distinctly
several small streams. There is a view of them falling into the Doubs,
after a series of cascades. The sun is very warm in these mountains.
When it beats straight down, the pensive traveller on the terrace
finds shelter under some magnificent plane trees. They owe their rapid
growth and their fine verdure with its almost bluish shade to the new
soil, which M. the mayor has had placed behind his immense wall of
support for (in spite of the opposition of the Municipal Council) he
has enlarged the promenade by more than six feet (and although he is an
Ultra and I am a Liberal, I praise him for it), and that is why both in
his opinion and in that of M. Valenod, the fortunate Director of the
workhouse of Verrieres, this terrace can brook comparison with that of
Saint-Germain en Laye.

I find personally only one thing at which to cavil in the COURS DE LA
FIDELITE, (this official name is to be read in fifteen to twenty places
on those immortal tiles which earned M. de Renal an extra cross.) The
grievance I find in the Cours de la Fidelite is the barbarous manner in
which the authorities have cut these vigorous plane trees and clipped
them to the quick. In fact they really resemble with their dwarfed,
rounded and flattened heads the most vulgar plants of the vegetable
garden, while they are really capable of attaining the magnificent
development of the English plane trees. But the wish of M. the mayor
is despotic, and all the trees belonging to the municipality are
ruthlessly pruned twice a year. The local Liberals suggest, but they
are probably exaggerating, that the hand of the official gardener
has become much more severe, since M. the Vicar Maslon started
appropriating the clippings. This young ecclesiastic was sent to
Besancon some years ago to keep watch on the abbe Chelan and some cures
in the neighbouring districts. An old Surgeon-Major of Napoleon's
Italian Army, who was living in retirement at Verrieres, and who had
been in his time described by M. the mayor as both a Jacobin and a
Bonapartiste, dared to complain to the mayor one day of the periodical
mutilation of these fine trees.

"I like the shade," answered M. de Renal, with just a tinge of that
hauteur which becomes a mayor when he is talking to a surgeon, who is
a member of the Legion of Honour. "I like the shade, I have _my_ trees
clipped in order to give shade, and I cannot conceive that a tree can
have any other purpose, provided of course _it is not bringing in any
profit_, like the useful walnut tree."

This is the great word which is all decisive at Verrieres. "BRINGING IN
PROFIT," this word alone sums up the habitual trend of thought of more
than three-quarters of the inhabitants.

_Bringing in profit_ is the consideration which decides everything in
this little town which you thought so pretty. The stranger who arrives
in the town is fascinated by the beauty of the fresh deep valleys which
surround it, and he imagines at first that the inhabitants have an
appreciation of the beautiful. They talk only too frequently of the
beauty of their country, and it cannot be denied that they lay great
stress on it, but the reason is that it attracts a number of strangers,
whose money enriches the inn-keepers, a process which _brings in
profit_ to the town, owing to the machinery of the octroi.

It was on a fine, autumn day that M. de Renal was taking a promenade
on the Cours de la Fidelite with his wife on his arm. While listening
to her husband (who was talking in a somewhat solemn manner) Madame de
Renal followed anxiously with her eyes the movements of three little
boys. The eldest, who might have been eleven years old, went too
frequently near the parapet and looked as though he was going to climb
up it. A sweet voice then pronounced the name of Adolphe and the child
gave up his ambitious project. Madame de Renal seemed a woman of thirty
years of age but still fairly pretty.

"He may be sorry for it, may this fine gentleman from Paris," said
M. de Renal, with an offended air and a face even paler than usual.
"I am not without a few friends at court!" But though I want to
talk to you about the provinces for two hundred pages, I lack the
requisite barbarity to make you undergo all the long-windedness and
circumlocutions of a provincial dialogue.

This fine gentleman from Paris, who was so odious to the mayor of
Verrieres, was no other than the M. Appert, who had two days previously
managed to find his way not only into the prison and workhouse of
Verrieres, but also into the hospital, which was gratuitously conducted
by the mayor and the principal proprietors of the district.

"But," said Madame de Renal timidly, "what harm can this Paris
gentleman do you, since you administer the poor fund with the utmost
scrupulous honesty?"

"He only comes to _throw_ blame and afterwards he will get some
articles into the Liberal press."

"You never read them, my dear."

"But they always talk to us about those Jacobin articles, all that
distracts us and prevents us from doing good.[1] Personally, I shall
never forgive the cure."

[1] Historically true.

We're not done with Monsieur de Renal yet. Now the narrator tells us about a retaining wall that the mayor had built in order to make sure one of the town's public paths gives a nice view of the countryside. We're starting to wonder when this book's plot is going to get going. Sometimes, people complain about the way the mayor has all the town trees shaved down, but he argues that they should look pretty and give shade, especially since they bring in no money. And here, the narrator tells us that one major problem with Verrieres is that its inhabitants tend to measure the value of everything with money. While walking along one day, Monsieur de Renal talks to his wife about how unhappy he is with certain people in the community criticizing him. He especially has a hate-on for one of the local priests.


CHAPTER III

THE POOR FUND

        A virtuous cure who does not intrigue is a providence
        for the village.--_Fleury_

It should be mentioned that the cure of Verrieres, an old man of
ninety, who owed to the bracing mountain air an iron constitution and
an iron character, had the right to visit the prison, the hospital and
the workhouse at any hour. It had been at precisely six o'clock in the
morning that M. Appert, who had a Paris recommendation to the cure,
had been shrewd enough to arrive at a little inquisitive town. He had
immediately gone on to the cure's house.

The cure Chelan became pensive as he read the letter written to him by
the M. le Marquis de La Mole, Peer of France, and the richest landed
proprietor of the province.

"I am old and beloved here," he said to himself in a whisper, "they
would not dare!" Then he suddenly turned to the gentleman from Paris,
with eyes, which in spite of his great age, shone with that sacred fire
which betokens the delight of doing a fine but slightly dangerous act.

"Come with me, sir," he said, "but please do not express any opinion of
the things which we shall see, in the presence of the jailer, and above
all not in the presence of the superintendents of the workhouse."

M. Appert realised that he had to do with a man of spirit. He followed
the venerable cure, visited the hospital and workhouse, put a lot of
questions, but in spite of somewhat extraordinary answers, did not
indulge in the slightest expression of censure.

This visit lasted several hours; the cure invited M. Appert to dine,
but the latter made the excuse of having some letters to write; as a
matter of fact, he did not wish to compromise his generous companion to
any further extent. About three o'clock these gentlemen went to finish
their inspection of the workhouse and then returned to the prison.
There they found the jailer by the gate, a kind of giant, six feet
high, with bow legs. His ignoble face had become hideous by reason of
his terror.

"Ah, monsieur," he said to the cure as soon as he saw him, "is not the
gentleman whom I see there, M. Appert?"

"What does that matter?" said the cure.

"The reason is that I received yesterday the most specific orders, and
M. the Prefect sent a message by a gendarme who must have galloped
during the whole of the night, that M. Appert was not to be allowed in
the prisons."

"I can tell you, M. Noiroud," said the cure, "that the traveller who is
with me is M. Appert, but do you or do you not admit that I have the
right to enter the prison at any hour of the day or night accompanied
by anybody I choose?"

"Yes, M. the cure," said the jailer in a low voice, lowering his head
like a bull-dog, induced to a grudging obedience by fear of the stick,
"only, M. the cure, I have a wife and children, and shall be turned out
if they inform against me. I only have my place to live on."

"I, too, should be sorry enough to lose mine," answered the good cure,
with increasing emotion in his voice.

"What a difference!" answered the jailer keenly. "As for you, M. le
cure, we all know that you have eight hundred francs a year, good solid
money."

Such were the facts which, commented upon and exaggerated in twenty
different ways, had been agitating for the last two days all the odious
passions of the little town of Verrieres.

At the present time they served as the text for the little discussion
which M. de Renal was having with his wife. He had visited the cure
earlier in the morning accompanied by M. Valenod, the director of the
workhouse, in order to convey their most emphatic displeasure. M.
Chelan had no protector, and felt all the weight of their words.

"Well, gentlemen, I shall be the third cure of eighty years of age who
has been turned out in this district. I have been here for fifty-six
years. I have baptized nearly all the inhabitants of the town, which
was only a hamlet when I came to it. Every day I marry young people
whose grandparents I have married in days gone by. Verrieres is my
family, but I said to myself when I saw the stranger, 'This man from
Paris may as a matter of fact be a Liberal, there are only too many of
them about, but what harm can he do to our poor and to our prisoners?'"

The reproaches of M. de Renal, and above all, those of M. Valenod, the
director of the workhouse, became more and more animated.

"Well, gentlemen, turn me out then," the old cure exclaimed in a
trembling voice; "I shall still continue to live in the district. As
you know, I inherited forty-eight years ago a piece of land that brings
in eight hundred francs a year; I shall live on that income. I do not
save anything out of my living, gentlemen; and that is perhaps why,
when you talk to me about it, I am not particularly frightened."

M. de Renal always got on very well with his wife, but he did not know
what to answer when she timidly repeated the phrase of M. le cure,
"What harm can this Paris gentleman do the prisoners?" He was on the
point of quite losing his temper when she gave a cry. Her second son
had mounted the parapet of the terrace wall and was running along it,
although the wall was raised to a height of more than twenty feet above
the vineyard on the other side. The fear of frightening her son and
making him fall prevented Madame de Renal speaking to him. But at last
the child, who was smiling at his own pluck, looked at his mother, saw
her pallor, jumped down on to the walk and ran to her. He was well
scolded.

This little event changed the course of the conversation.

"I really mean to take Sorel, the son of the sawyer, into the house,"
said M. de Renal; "he will look after the children, who are getting too
naughty for us to manage. He is a young priest, or as good as one, a
good Latin scholar, and will make the children get on. According to the
cure, he has a steady character. I will give him three hundred francs a
year and his board. I have some doubts as to his morality, for he used
to be the favourite of that old Surgeon-Major, Member of the Legion of
Honour, who went to board with the Sorels, on the pretext that he was
their cousin. It is quite possible that that man was really simply a
secret agent of the Liberals. He said that the mountain air did his
asthma good, but that is something which has never been proved. He
has gone through all _Buonaparte's_ campaigns in Italy, and had even,
it was said, voted against the Empire in the plebiscite. This Liberal
taught the Sorel boy Latin, and left him a number of books which he had
brought with him. Of course, in the ordinary way, I should have never
thought of allowing a carpenter's son to come into contact with our
children, but the cure told me, the very day before the scene which
has just estranged us for ever, that Sorel has been studying theology
for three years with the intention of entering a seminary. He is,
consequently, not a Liberal, and he certainly is a good Latin scholar.

"This arrangement will be convenient in more than one way," continued
M. de Renal, looking at his wife with a diplomatic air. "That Valenod
is proud enough of his two fine Norman horses which he has just bought
for his carriage, but he hasn't a tutor for his children."

"He might take this one away from us."

"You approve of my plan, then?" said M. de Renal, thanking his wife
with a smile for the excellent idea which she had just had. "Well,
that's settled."

"Good gracious, my dear, how quickly you make up your mind!"

"It is because I'm a man of character, as the cure found out right
enough. Don't let us deceive ourselves; we are surrounded by Liberals
in this place. All those cloth merchants are jealous of me, I am
certain of it; two or three are becoming rich men. Well, I should
rather fancy it for them to see M. de Renal's children pass along the
street as they go out for their walk, escorted by _their tutor_. It
will impress people. My grandfather often used to tell us that he had
a tutor when he was young. It may run me into a hundred crowns, but
that ought to be looked upon as an expense necessary for keeping up our
position."

This sudden resolution left Madame de Renal quite pensive. She was
a big, well-made woman, who had been the beauty of the country, to
use the local expression. She had a certain air of simplicity and
youthfulness in her deportment. This naive grace, with its innocence
and its vivacity, might even have recalled to a Parisian some
suggestion of the sweets he had left behind him. If she had realised
this particular phase of her success, Madame de Renal would have been
quite ashamed of it. All coquetry, all affectation, were absolutely
alien to her temperament. M. Valenod, the rich director of the
workhouse, had the reputation of having paid her court, a fact which
had cast a singular glamour over her virtue; for this M. Valenod, a
big young man with a square, sturdy frame, florid face, and big, black
whiskers, was one of those coarse, blustering, and noisy people who
pass in the provinces for a "fine man."

Madame de Renal, who had a very shy, and apparently a very uneven
temperament, was particularly shocked by M. Valenod's lack of repose,
and by his boisterous loudness. Her aloofness from what, in the
Verrieres' jargon, was called "having a good time," had earned her the
reputation of being very proud of her birth. In fact, she never thought
about it, but she had been extremely glad to find the inhabitants of
the town visit her less frequently. We shall not deny that she passed
for a fool in the eyes of _their_ good ladies because she did not
wheedle her husband, and allowed herself to miss the most splendid
opportunities of getting fine hats from Paris or Besancon. Provided she
was allowed to wander in her beautiful garden, she never complained.
She was a naive soul, who had never educated herself up to the point
of judging her husband and confessing to herself that he bored her.
She supposed, without actually formulating the thought, that there was
no greater sweetness in the relationship between husband and wife than
she herself had experienced. She loved M. de Renal most when he talked
about his projects for their children. The elder he had destined for
the army, the second for the law, and the third for the Church. To sum
up, she found M. de Renal much less boring than all the other men of
her acquaintance.

This conjugal opinion was quite sound. The Mayor of Verrieres had a
reputation for wit, and above all, a reputation for good form, on
the strength of half-a-dozen "chestnuts" which he had inherited from
an uncle. Old Captain de Renal had served, before the Revolution, in
the infantry regiment of M. the Duke of Orleans, and was admitted
to the Prince's salons when he went to Paris. He had seen Madame de
Montesson, the famous Madame de Genlis, M. Ducret, the inventor, of the
Palais-Royal. These personages would crop up only too frequently in M.
de Renal's anecdotes. He found it, however, more and more of a strain
to remember stories which required such delicacy in the telling, and
for some time past it had only been on great occasions that he would
trot out his anecdotes concerning the House of Orleans. As, moreover,
he was extremely polite, except on money matters, he passed, and justly
so, for the most aristocratic personage in Verrieres.

We look in on a guy named Monsieur Appert, who has been sent from Paris to meet with a local priest named Father Chelan. It sounds like the two of them need to visit the prison on some mysterious business. The Father seems especially annoyed about something that's going on. Monsieur Appert visits the prisons with Chelan. He never says a word the whole time. When the two of them visit the prison a second time that day, the guard says he's received orders not to let them in. Father Chelan scolds him until he lets them pass. Meanwhile, we find out that the mayor, Monsieur de Renal, and another man named Valenod want to get Chelan removed from the district because he doesn't play ball with them politically. When the two tell Chelan the news, he answers that he'll never leave the community. He'll live there even in retirement just to shame de Renal and Valenod about what they've done. For crying out loud, the guy is 80 years old. Later on, the mayor's wife asks him what harm it could do to let Chelan keep his job. But the conversation quickly turns to the fact that the mayor wants a special tutor to teach their children. It's a matter of pride, since having a private tutor is a symbol of wealth just like owning a Porsche or a big house. The mayor is eager to have the town talking about how well off he is. The person the mayor wants to hire is the son of the sawmill owner, Sorel. The narrator gives us a short description of Madame de Renal, telling us that she's a beautiful woman who can't admit to herself that she finds her husband boring. She has never known anything other than obedience and shyness, so she can't even imagine what love is supposed to look like.


CHAPTER IV

A FATHER AND A SON

    E sara mia colpa
    Se cosi e?
                  --_Machiavelli_.

"My wife really has a head on her shoulders," said the mayor of
Verrieres at six o'clock the following morning, as he went down to the
saw-mill of Father Sorel. "It had never occurred to me that if I do not
take little Abbe Sorel, who, they say, knows Latin like an angel, that
restless spirit, the director of the workhouse, might have the same
idea and snatch him away from me, though of course I told her that it
had, in order to preserve my proper superiority. And how smugly, to be
sure, would he talk about his children's tutor!... The question is,
once the tutor's mine, shall he wear the cassock?"

M. de Renal was absorbed in this problem when he saw a peasant in the
distance, a man nearly six feet tall, who since dawn had apparently
been occupied in measuring some pieces of wood which had been put
down alongside the Doubs on the towing-path. The peasant did not look
particularly pleased when he saw M. the Mayor approach, as these pieces
of wood obstructed the road, and had been placed there in breach of the
rules.

Father Sorel (for it was he) was very surprised, and even more pleased
at the singular offer which M. de Renal made him for his son Julien.
None the less, he listened to it with that air of sulky discontent and
apathy which the subtle inhabitants of these mountains know so well
how to assume. Slaves as they have been since the time of the Spanish
Conquest, they still preserve this feature, which is also found in the
character of the Egyptian fellah.

Sorel's answer was at first simply a long-winded recitation of
all the formulas of respect which he knew by heart. While he was
repeating these empty words with an uneasy smile, which accentuated
all the natural disingenuousness, if not, indeed, knavishness of his
physiognomy, the active mind of the old peasant tried to discover what
reason could induce so important a man to take into his house his
good-for-nothing of a son. He was very dissatisfied with Julien, and
it was for Julien that M. de Renal offered the undreamt-of salary of
300 fcs. a year, with board and even clothing. This latter claim, which
Father Sorel had had the genius to spring upon the mayor, had been
granted with equal suddenness by M. de Renal.

This demand made an impression on the mayor. It is clear, he said to
himself, that since Sorel is not beside himself with delight over my
proposal, as in the ordinary way he ought to be, he must have had
offers made to him elsewhere, and whom could they have come from, if
not from Valenod. It was in vain that M. de Renal pressed Sorel to
clinch the matter then and there. The old peasant, astute man that
he was, stubbornly refused to do so. He wanted, he said, to consult
his son, as if in the provinces, forsooth, a rich father consulted a
penniless son for any other reason than as a mere matter of form.

A water saw-mill consists of a shed by the side of a stream. The roof
is supported by a framework resting on four large timber pillars. A
saw can be seen going up and down at a height of eight to ten feet in
the middle of the shed, while a piece of wood is propelled against
this saw by a very simple mechanism. It is a wheel whose motive-power
is supplied by the stream, which sets in motion this double piece of
mechanism, the mechanism of the saw which goes up and down, and the
mechanism which gently pushes the piece of wood towards the saw, which
cuts it up into planks.

Approaching his workshop, Father Sorel called Julien in his stentorian
voice; nobody answered. He only saw his giant elder sons, who, armed
with heavy axes, were cutting up the pine planks which they had to
carry to the saw. They were engrossed in following exactly the black
mark traced on each piece of wood, from which every blow of their axes
threw off enormous shavings. They did not hear their father's voice.
The latter made his way towards the shed. He entered it and looked in
vain for Julien in the place where he ought to have been by the side of
the saw. He saw him five or six feet higher up, sitting astride one of
the rafters of the roof. Instead of watching attentively the action of
the machinery, Julien was reading. Nothing was more anti-pathetic to
old Sorel. He might possibly have forgiven Julien his puny physique,
ill adapted as it was to manual labour, and different as it was from
that of his elder brothers; but he hated this reading mania. He could
not read himself.

It was in vain that he called Julien two or three times. It was the
young man's concentration on his book, rather than the din made by the
saw, which prevented him from hearing his father's terrible voice. At
last the latter, in spite of his age, jumped nimbly on to the tree
that was undergoing the action of the saw, and from there on to the
cross-bar that supported the roof. A violent blow made the book which
Julien held, go flying into the stream; a second blow on the head,
equally violent, which took the form of a box on the ears, made him
lose his balance. He was on the point of falling twelve or fifteen feet
lower down into the middle of the levers of the running machinery which
would have cut him to pieces, but his father caught him as he fell, in
his left hand.

"So that's it, is it, lazy bones! always going to read your damned
books are you, when you're keeping watch on the saw? You read them in
the evening if you want to, when you go to play the fool at the cure's,
that's the proper time."

Although stunned by the force of the blow and bleeding profusely,
Julien went back to his official post by the side of the saw. He had
tears in his eyes, less by reason of the physical pain than on account
of the loss of his beloved book.

"Get down, you beast, when I am talking to you," the noise of the
machinery prevented Julien from hearing this order. His father, who had
gone down did not wish to give himself the trouble of climbing up on to
the machinery again, and went to fetch a long fork used for bringing
down nuts, with which he struck him on the shoulder. Julien had
scarcely reached the ground, when old Sorel chased him roughly in front
of him and pushed him roughly towards the house. "God knows what he is
going to do with me," said the young man to himself. As he passed, he
looked sorrowfully into the stream into which his book had fallen, it
was the one that he held dearest of all, the _Memorial of St. Helena_.

He had purple cheeks and downcast eyes. He was a young man of eighteen
to nineteen years old, and of puny appearance, with irregular but
delicate features, and an aquiline nose. The big black eyes which
betokened in their tranquil moments a temperament at once fiery and
reflective were at the present moment animated by an expression of
the most ferocious hate. Dark chestnut hair, which came low down over
his brow, made his forehead appear small and gave him a sinister look
during his angry moods. It is doubtful if any face out of all the
innumerable varieties of the human physiognomy was ever distinguished
by a more arresting individuality.

A supple well-knit figure, indicated agility rather than strength. His
air of extreme pensiveness and his great pallor had given his father
the idea that he would not live, or that if he did, it would only be to
be a burden to his family. The butt of the whole house, he hated his
brothers and his father. He was regularly beaten in the Sunday sports
in the public square.

A little less than a year ago his pretty face had begun to win him some
sympathy among the young girls. Universally despised as a weakling,
Julien had adored that old Surgeon-Major, who had one day dared to talk
to the mayor on the subject of the plane trees.

This Surgeon had sometimes paid Father Sorel for taking his son for
a day, and had taught him Latin and History, that is to say the 1796
Campaign in Italy which was all the history he knew. When he died, he
had bequeathed his Cross of the Legion of Honour, his arrears of half
pay, and thirty or forty volumes, of which the most precious had just
fallen into the public stream, which had been diverted owing to the
influence of M. the Mayor.

Scarcely had he entered the house, when Julien felt his shoulder
gripped by his father's powerful hand; he trembled, expecting some
blows.

"Answer me without lying," cried the harsh voice of the old peasant in
his ears, while his hand turned him round and round, like a child's
hand turns round a lead soldier. The big black eyes of Julien filled
with tears, and were confronted by the small grey eyes of the old
carpenter, who looked as if he meant to read to the very bottom of his
soul.

Monsieur de Renal approaches Mr. Sorel about getting his son to work in the Renal house as a tutor. Sorel is happy about the news, but he doesn't show it because he's a stone cold bargainer and he wants to take Renal for as much money as he can. When he gets back to the sawmill, Monsieur Sorel see his son Julien reading a book instead of doing his job and looking after the machinery. He whaps his son on the head and calls him lazy. We can tell that Mr. Sorel is about to tell his son about the arrangements with the mayor, but Julien trembles as if his dad is going to kill him for some reason.


CHAPTER V

A NEGOTIATION

    Cunctando restituit rem.--_Ennius_.

"Answer me without lies, if you can, you damned dog, how did you get to
know Madame de Renal? When did you speak to her?"

"I have never spoken to her," answered Julien, "I have only seen that
lady in church."

"You must have looked at her, you impudent rascal."

"Not once! you know, I only see God in church," answered Julien, with
a little hypocritical air, well suited, so he thought, to keep off the
parental claws.

"None the less there's something that does not meet the eye," answered
the cunning peasant. He was then silent for a moment. "But I shall
never get anything out of you, you damned hypocrite," he went on. "As a
matter of fact, I am going to get rid of you, and my saw-mill will go
all the better for it. You have nobbled the curate, or somebody else,
who has got you a good place. Run along and pack your traps, and I
will take you to M. de Renal's, where you are going to be tutor to his
children."

"What shall I get for that?"

"Board, clothing, and three hundred francs salary."

"I do not want to be a servant."

"Who's talking of being a servant, you brute, do you think I want my
son to be a servant?"

"But with whom shall I have my meals?"

This question discomforted old Sorel, who felt he might possibly commit
some imprudence if he went on talking. He burst out against Julien,
flung insult after insult at him, accused him of gluttony, and left him
to go and consult his other sons.

Julien saw them afterwards, each one leaning on his axe and holding
counsel. Having looked at them for a long time, Julien saw that he
could find out nothing, and went and stationed himself on the other
side of the saw in order to avoid being surprised. He wanted to think
over this unexpected piece of news, which changed his whole life,
but he felt himself unable to consider the matter prudently, his
imagination being concentrated in wondering what he would see in M. de
Renal's fine mansion.

"I must give all that up," he said to himself, "rather than let myself
be reduced to eating with the servants. My father would like to force
me to it. I would rather die. I have fifteen francs and eight sous of
savings. I will run away to-night; I will go across country by paths
where there are no gendarmes to be feared, and in two days I shall be
at Besancon. I will enlist as a soldier there, and, if necessary, I
will cross into Switzerland. But in that case, no more advancement, it
will be all up with my being a priest, that fine career which may lead
to anything."

This abhorrence of eating with the servants was not really natural to
Julien; he would have done things quite, if not more, disagreeable in
order to get on. He derived this repugnance from the _Confessions_
of Rousseau. It was the only book by whose help his imagination
endeavoured to construct the world. The collection of the Bulletins of
the Grand Army, and the _Memorial of St. Helena_ completed his Koran.
He would have died for these three works. He never believed in any
other. To use a phrase of the old Surgeon-Major, he regarded all the
other books in the world as packs of lies, written by rogues in order
to get on.

Julien possessed both a fiery soul and one of those astonishing
memories which are so often combined with stupidity.

In order to win over the old cure Chelan, on whose good grace he
realized that his future prospects depended, he had learnt by heart the
New Testament in Latin. He also knew M. de Maistre's book on The Pope,
and believed in one as little as he did in the other.

Sorel and his son avoided talking to each other to-day as though by
mutual consent. In the evening Julien went to take his theology lesson
at the cure's, but he did not consider that it was prudent to say
anything to him about the strange proposal which had been made to his
father. "It is possibly a trap," he said to himself, "I must pretend
that I have forgotten all about it."

Early next morning, M. de Renal had old Sorel summoned to him.
He eventually arrived, after keeping M. de Renal waiting for an
hour-and-a-half, and made, as he entered the room, a hundred apologies
interspersed with as many bows. After having run the gauntlet of all
kinds of objections, Sorel was given to understand that his son would
have his meals with the master and mistress of the house, and that
he would eat alone in a room with the children on the days when they
had company. The more clearly Sorel realized the genuine eagerness of
M. the Mayor, the more difficulties he felt inclined to raise. Being
moreover full of mistrust and astonishment, he asked to see the room
where his son would sleep. It was a big room, quite decently furnished,
into which the servants were already engaged in carrying the beds of
the three children.

This circumstance explained a lot to the old peasant. He asked
immediately, with quite an air of assurance, to see the suit which
would be given to his son. M. de Renal opened his desk and took out one
hundred francs.

"Your son will go to M. Durand, the draper, with this money and will
get a complete black suit."

"And even supposing I take him away from you," said the peasant, who
had suddenly forgotten all his respectful formalities, "will he still
keep this black suit?"

"Certainly!"

"Well," said Sorel, in a drawling voice, "all that remains to do is to
agree on just one thing, the money which you will give him."

"What!" exclaimed M. de Renal, indignantly, "we agreed on that
yesterday. I shall give him three hundred francs, I think that is a
lot, and probably too much."

"That is your offer and I do not deny it," said old Sorel, speaking
still very slowly; and by a stroke of genius which will only astonish
those who do not know the Franche-Comte peasants, he fixed his eyes on
M. de Renal and added, "We shall get better terms elsewhere."

The Mayor's face exhibited the utmost consternation at these words. He
pulled himself together however and after a cunning conversation of
two hours' length, where every single word on both sides was carefully
weighed, the subtlety of the peasant scored a victory over the subtlety
of the rich man, whose livelihood was not so dependent on his faculty
of cunning. All the numerous stipulations which were to regulate
Julien's new existence were duly formulated. Not only was his salary
fixed at four hundred francs, but they were to be paid in advance on
the first of each month.

"Very well, I will give him thirty-five francs," said M. de Renal.

"I am quite sure," said the peasant, in a fawning voice, "that a rich,
generous man like the M. mayor would go as far as thirty-six francs, to
make up a good round sum."

"Agreed!" said M. de Renal, "but let this be final." For the moment his
temper gave him a tone of genuine firmness. The peasant saw that it
would not do to go any further.

Then, on his side, M. de Renal managed to score. He absolutely refused
to give old Sorel, who was very anxious to receive it on behalf of his
son, the thirty-six francs for the first month. It had occurred to M.
de Renal that he would have to tell his wife the figure which he had
cut throughout these negotiations.

"Hand me back the hundred francs which I gave you," he said sharply.
"M. Durand owes me something, I will go with your son to see about a
black cloth suit."

After this manifestation of firmness, Sorel had the prudence to return
to his respectful formulas; they took a good quarter of an hour.
Finally, seeing that there was nothing more to be gained, he took his
leave. He finished his last bow with these words:

"I will send my son to the Chateau." The Mayor's officials called his
house by this designation when they wanted to humour him.

When he got back to his workshop, it was in vain that Sorel sought his
son. Suspicious of what might happen, Julien had gone out in the middle
of the night. He wished to place his Cross of the Legion of Honour and
his books in a place of safety. He had taken everything to a young
wood-merchant named Fouque, who was a friend of his, and who lived in
the high mountain which commands Verrieres.

"God knows, you damned lazy bones," said his father to him when he
re-appeared, "if you will ever be sufficiently honourable to pay me
back the price of your board which I have been advancing to you for so
many years. Take your rags and clear out to M. the Mayor's."

Julien was astonished at not being beaten and hastened to leave. He
had scarcely got out of sight of his terrible father when he slackened
his pace. He considered that it would assist the role played by his
hypocrisy to go and say a prayer in the church.

The word hypocrisy surprises you? The soul of the peasant had had to go
through a great deal before arriving at this horrible word.

Julien had seen in the days of his early childhood certain Dragoons
of the 6th[1] with long white cloaks and hats covered with long black
plumed helmets who were returning from Italy, and tied up their horses
to the grilled window of his father's house. The sight had made him mad
on the military profession. Later on he had listened with ecstasy to
the narrations of the battles of Lodi, Arcola and Rivoli with which the
old surgeon-major had regaled him. He observed the ardent gaze which
the old man used to direct towards his cross.

But when Julien was fourteen years of age they commenced to build a
church at Verrieres which, in view of the smallness of the town, has
some claim to be called magnificent. There were four marble columns in
particular, the sight of which impressed Julien. They became celebrated
in the district owing to the mortal hate which they raised between
the Justice of the Peace and the young vicar who had been sent from
Besancon and who passed for a spy of the congregation. The Justice of
the Peace was on the point of losing his place, so said the public
opinion at any rate. Had he not dared to have a difference with the
priest who went every fortnight to Besancon; where he saw, so they
said, my Lord the Bishop.

In the meanwhile the Justice of the Peace, who was the father of a
numerous family, gave several sentences which seemed unjust: all these
sentences were inflicted on those of the inhabitants who read the
"_Constitutionnel_." The right party triumphed. It is true it was only a
question of sums of three or five francs, but one of these little fines
had to be paid by a nail-maker, who was god-father to Julien. This man
exclaimed in his anger "What a change! and to think that for more than
twenty years the Justice of the Peace has passed for an honest man."

The Surgeon-Major, Julien's friend, died. Suddenly Julien left off
talking about Napoleon. He announced his intention of becoming a
priest, and was always to be seen in his father's workshop occupied
in learning by heart the Latin Bible which the cure had lent him. The
good old man was astonished at his progress, and passed whole evenings
in teaching him theology. In his society Julien did not manifest other
than pious sentiments. Who could not possibly guess that beneath this
girlish face, so pale and so sweet, lurked the unbreakable resolution
to risk a thousand deaths rather than fail to make his fortune. Making
his fortune primarily meant to Julien getting out of Verrieres: he
abhorred his native country; everything that he saw there froze his
imagination.

He had had moments of exultation since his earliest childhood. He would
then dream with gusto of being presented one day to the pretty women
of Paris. He would manage to attract their attention by some dazzling
feat: why should he not be loved by one of them just as Buonaparte,
when still poor, had been loved by the brilliant Madame de Beauharnais.
For many years past Julien had scarcely passed a single year of his
life without reminding himself that Buonaparte, the obscure and
penniless lieutenant, had made himself master of the whole world by the
power of his sword. This idea consoled him for his misfortune, which
he considered to be great, and rendered such joyful moments as he had
doubly intense.

The building of the church and the sentences pronounced by the Justice
of the Peace suddenly enlightened him. An idea came to him which made
him almost mad for some weeks, and finally took complete possession of
him with all the magic that a first idea possesses for a passionate
soul which believes that it is original.

"At the time when Buonaparte got himself talked about, France was
frightened of being invaded; military distinction was necessary and
fashionable. Nowadays, one sees priests of forty with salaries of
100,000 francs, that is to say, three times as much as Napoleon's
famous generals of a division. They need persons to assist them. Look
at that Justice of the Peace, such a good sort and such an honest man
up to the present and so old too; he sacrifices his honour through the
fear of incurring the displeasure of a young vicar of thirty. I must be
a priest."

On one occasion, in the middle of his new-found piety (he had already
been studying theology for two years), he was betrayed by a sudden
burst of fire which consumed his soul. It was at M. Chelan's. The
good cure had invited him to a dinner of priests, and he actually let
himself praise Napoleon with enthusiasm. He bound his right arm over
his breast, pretending that he had dislocated it in moving a trunk of a
pine-tree and carried it for two months in that painful position. After
this painful penance, he forgave himself. This is the young man of
eighteen with a puny physique, and scarcely looking more than seventeen
at the outside, who entered the magnificent church of Verrieres
carrying a little parcel under his arm.

He found it gloomy and deserted. All the transepts in the building had
been covered with crimson cloth in celebration of a feast. The result
was that the sun's rays produced an effect of dazzling light of the
most impressive and religious character. Julien shuddered. Finding
himself alone in the church, he established himself in the pew which
had the most magnificent appearance. It bore the arms of M. de Renal.

Julien noticed a piece of printed paper spread out on the stool, which
was apparently intended to be read, he cast his eyes over it and
saw:--"_Details of the execution and the last moments of Louis Jenrel,
executed at Besancon the...._" The paper was torn. The two first words
of a line were legible on the back, they were, "_The First Step_."

"Who could have put this paper there?" said Julien. "Poor fellow!" he
added with a sigh, "the last syllable of his name is the same as mine,"
and he crumpled up the paper. As he left, Julien thought he saw blood
near the Host, it was holy water which the priests had been sprinkling
on it, the reflection of the red curtains which covered the windows
made it look like blood.

Finally, Julien felt ashamed of his secret terror. "Am I going to play
the coward," he said to himself: "_To Arms!_" This phrase, repeated so
often in the old Surgeon-Major's battle stories, symbolized heroism to
Julien. He got up rapidly and walked to M. de Renal's house. As soon
as he saw it twenty yards in front of him he was seized, in spite of
his fine resolution, with an overwhelming timidity. The iron grill was
open. He thought it was magnificent. He had to go inside.

Julien was not the only person whose heart was troubled by his arrival
in the house. The extreme timidity of Madame de Renal was fluttered
when she thought of this stranger whose functions would necessitate
his coming between her and her children. She was accustomed to seeing
her sons sleep in her own room. She had shed many tears that morning,
when she had seen their beds carried into the apartment intended for
the tutor. It was in vain that she asked her husband to have the bed of
Stanislas-Xavier, the youngest, carried back into her room.

Womanly delicacy was carried in Madame de Renal to the point of excess.
She conjured up in her imagination the most disagreeable personage, who
was coarse, badly groomed and encharged with the duty of scolding her
children simply because he happened to know Latin, and only too ready
to flog her sons for their ignorance of that barbarous language.

[1] The author was sub-lieutenant in the 6th Dragoons in 1800.

Mr. Sorel tells Julien the details of his new job with the de Renals. Julien says he doesn't want to be a servant though, and if he lives in the de Renals' house, he must eat supper at their table with them. When Sorel goes to discuss things with Julien's older brothers, Julien thinks about running away. We learn that Julien has an incredible memory, and that he has memorized the entire New Testament of the Bible by heart. Monsieur Sorel goes back to the mayor and makes all kinds of new demands for his son, not because he wants what's best for Julien, but because he likes to make the mayor pay as much as possible. All of these demands just confirm the mayor's belief that other rich men in town have offered Julien a position. He's determined not to be outbid. When he gets home, Mr. Sorel can't find Julien. Julien has gone to visit a friend named Fouqe in order to leave his books with him for safekeeping. When he gets back, his father orders him to go to the mayor's house immediately. Julien thinks that he should stop at the Verrieres church on his way to the mayor's house. This isn't because he's religious, but because he likes to keep up appearances. You see, Julien is a really ambitious young man. He used to have dreams of becoming a great soldier, but then he realizes just how much power and influence that priests and bishops actually had in France. So he decided to put himself on the road to becoming a priest. That's how he first started hanging out with Father Chelan, learning theology, and memorizing the Bible. When he kneels inside the church, Julien realizes that he might be taking the coward's way out by giving up on his life as a soldier. Then again, he's too scared to take all the risks involved. Meanwhile, Madame de Renal worries herself sick about her children's new tutor. She can only imagine an ugly, cruel man who will beat her kids for messing up their grammar.


CHAPTER VI

ENNUI

    Non so piu cosa son
    Cosa facio.
                     MOZART (_Figaro_).

Madame de Renal was going out of the salon by the folding window which
opened on to the garden with that vivacity and grace which was natural
to her when she was free from human observation, when she noticed a
young peasant near the entrance gate. He was still almost a child,
extremely pale, and looked as though he had been crying. He was in a
white shirt and had under his arm a perfectly new suit of violet frieze.

The little peasant's complexion was so white and his eyes were so soft,
that Madame de Renal's somewhat romantic spirit thought at first that
it might be a young girl in disguise, who had come to ask some favour
of the M. the Mayor. She took pity on this poor creature, who had
stopped at the entrance of the door, and who apparently did not dare
to raise its hand to the bell. Madame de Renal approached, forgetting
for the moment the bitter chagrin occasioned by the tutor's arrival.
Julien, who was turned towards the gate, did not see her advance. He
trembled when a soft voice said quite close to his ear:

"What do you want here, my child."

Julien turned round sharply and was so struck by Madame de Renal's
look, full of graciousness as it was, that up to a certain point he
forgot to be nervous. Overcome by her beauty he soon forgot everything,
even what he had come for. Madame de Renal repeated her question.

"I have come here to be tutor, Madame," he said at last, quite ashamed
of his tears which he was drying as best as he could.

Madame de Renal remained silent. They had a view of each other at close
range. Julien had never seen a human being so well-dressed, and above
all he had never seen a woman with so dazzling a complexion speak to
him at all softly. Madame de Renal observed the big tears which had
lingered on the cheeks of the young peasant, those cheeks which had
been so pale and were now so pink. Soon she began to laugh with all the
mad gaiety of a young girl, she made fun of herself, and was unable to
realise the extent of her happiness. So this was that tutor whom she
had imagined a dirty, badly dressed priest, who was coming to scold and
flog her children.

"What! Monsieur," she said to him at last, "you know Latin?"

The word "Monsieur" astonished Julien so much that he reflected for a
moment.

"Yes, Madame," he said timidly.

Madame de Renal was so happy that she plucked up the courage to say to
Julien, "You will not scold the poor children too much?"

"I scold them!" said Julien in astonishment; "why should I?"

"You won't, will you, Monsieur," she added after a little silence, in
a soft voice whose emotion became more and more intense. "You will be
nice to them, you promise me?"

To hear himself called "Monsieur" again in all seriousness by so well
dressed a lady was beyond all Julien's expectations. He had always said
to himself in all the castles of Spain that he had built in his youth,
that no real lady would ever condescend to talk to him except when he
had a fine uniform. Madame de Renal, on her side, was completely taken
in by Julien's beautiful complexion, his big black eyes, and his pretty
hair, which was more than usually curly, because he had just plunged
his head into the basin of the public fountain in order to refresh
himself. She was over-joyed to find that this sinister tutor, whom
she had feared to find so harsh and severe to her children, had, as a
matter of fact, the timid manner of a girl. The contrast between her
fears and what she now saw, proved a great event for Madame de Renal's
peaceful temperament. Finally, she recovered from her surprise. She
was astonished to find herself at the gate of her own house talking in
this way and at such close quarters to this young and somewhat scantily
dressed man.

"Let us go in, Monsieur," she said to him with a certain air of
embarrassment.

During Madame de Renal's whole life she had never been so deeply moved
by such a sense of pure pleasure. Never had so gracious a vision
followed in the wake of her disconcerting fears. So these pretty
children of whom she took such care were not after all to fall into
the hands of a dirty grumbling priest. She had scarcely entered the
vestibule when she turned round towards Julien, who was following her
trembling. His astonishment at the sight of so fine a house proved but
an additional charm in Madame de Renal's eyes. She could not believe
her own eyes. It seemed to her, above all, that the tutor ought to have
a black suit.

"But is it true, Monsieur," she said to him, stopping once again, and
in mortal fear that she had made a mistake, so happy had her discovery
made her. "Is it true that you know Latin?" These words offended
Julien's pride, and dissipated the charming atmosphere which he had
been enjoying for the last quarter of an hour.

"Yes, Madame," he said, trying to assume an air of coldness, "I know
Latin as well as the cure, who has been good enough to say sometimes
that I know it even better."

Madame de Renal thought that Julien looked extremely wicked. He had
stopped two paces from her. She approached and said to him in a whisper:

"You won't beat my children the first few days, will you, even if they
do not know their lessons?"

The softness and almost supplication of so beautiful a lady made Julien
suddenly forget what he owed to his reputation as a Latinist. Madame de
Renal's face was close to his own. He smelt the perfume of a woman's
summer clothing, a quite astonishing experience for a poor peasant.
Julien blushed extremely, and said with a sigh in a faltering voice:

"Fear nothing, Madame, I will obey you in everything."

It was only now, when her anxiety about her children had been relieved
once and for all, that Madame de Renal was struck by Julien's extreme
beauty. The comparative effeminancy of his features and his air of
extreme embarrassment did not seem in any way ridiculous to a woman who
was herself extremely timid. The male air, which is usually considered
essential to a man's beauty, would have terrified her.

"How old are you, sir," she said to Julien.

"Nearly nineteen."

"My elder son is eleven," went on Madame de Renal, who had completely
recovered her confidence. "He will be almost a chum for you. You will
talk sensibly to him. His father started beating him once. The child
was ill for a whole week, and yet it was only a little tap."

What a difference between him and me, thought Julien. Why, it was only
yesterday that my father beat me. How happy these rich people are.
Madame de Renal, who had already begun to observe the fine nuances of
the workings in the tutor's mind, took this fit of sadness for timidity
and tried to encourage him.

"What is your name, Monsieur?" she said to him, with an accent and
a graciousness whose charm Julien appreciated without being able to
explain.

"I am called Julien Sorel, Madame. I feel nervous of entering a strange
house for the first time in my life. I have need of your protection
and I want you to make many allowances for me during the first few
days. I have never been to the college, I was too poor. I have never
spoken to anyone else except my cousin who was Surgeon-Major, Member
of the Legion of Honour, and M. the cure Chelan. He will give you a
good account of me. My brothers always used to beat me, and you must
not believe them if they speak badly of me to you. You must forgive my
faults, Madame. I shall always mean everything for the best."

Julien had regained his confidence during this long speech. He was
examining Madame de Renal. Perfect grace works wonders when it is
natural to the character, and above all, when the person whom it
adorns never thinks of trying to affect it. Julien, who was quite a
connoisseur in feminine beauty, would have sworn at this particular
moment that she was not more than twenty. The rash idea of kissing her
hand immediately occurred to him. He soon became frightened of his
idea. A minute later he said to himself, it will be an act of cowardice
if I do not carry out an action which may be useful to me, and lessen
the contempt which this fine lady probably has for a poor workman just
taken away from the saw-mill. Possibly Julien was a little encouraged
through having heard some young girls repeat on Sundays during the last
six months the words "pretty boy."

During this internal debate, Madame de Renal was giving him two or
three hints on the way to commence handling the children. The strain
Julien was putting on himself made him once more very pale. He said
with an air of constraint.

"I will never beat your children, Madame. I swear it before God." In
saying this, he dared to take Madame de Renal's hand and carry it
to his lips. She was astonished at this act, and after reflecting,
became shocked. As the weather was very warm, her arm was quite bare
underneath the shawl, and Julien's movement in carrying her hand to his
lips entirely uncovered it. After a few moments she scolded herself. It
seemed to her that her anger had not been quick enough.

M. de Renal, who had heard voices, came out of his study, and assuming
the same air of paternal majesty with which he celebrated marriages at
the mayoral office, said to Julien:

"It is essential for me to have a few words with you before my children
see you." He made Julien enter a room and insisted on his wife being
present, although she wished to leave them alone. Having closed the
door M. Renal sat down.

"M. the cure has told me that you are a worthy person, and everybody
here will treat you with respect. If I am satisfied with you I will
later on help you in having a little establishment of your own. I do
not wish you to see either anything more of your relatives or your
friends. Their tone is bound to be prejudicial to my children. Here are
thirty-six francs for the first month, but I insist on your word not to
give a sou of this money to your father."

M. de Renal was piqued against the old man for having proved the
shrewder bargainer.

"Now, Monsieur, for I have given orders for everybody here to call you
Monsieur, and you will appreciate the advantage of having entered the
house of real gentle folk, now, Monsieur, it is not becoming for the
children to see you in a jacket." "Have the servants seen him?" said M.
de Renal to his wife.

"No, my dear," she answered, with an air of deep pensiveness.

"All the better. Put this on," he said to the surprised young man,
giving him a frock-coat of his own. "Let us now go to M. Durand's the
draper."

When M. de Renal came back with the new tutor in his black suit more
than an hour later, he found his wife still seated in the same place.
She felt calmed by Julien's presence. When she examined him she forgot
to be frightened of him. Julien was not thinking about her at all. In
spite of all his distrust of destiny and mankind, his soul at this
moment was as simple as that of a child. It seemed as though he had
lived through years since the moment, three hours ago, when he had been
all atremble in the church. He noticed Madame de Renal's frigid manner
and realised that she was very angry, because he had dared to kiss her
hand. But the proud consciousness which was given to him by the feel
of clothes so different from those which he usually wore, transported
him so violently and he had so great a desire to conceal his
exultation, that all his movements were marked by a certain spasmodic
irresponsibility. Madame de Renal looked at him with astonishment.

"Monsieur," said M. de Renal to him, "dignity above all is necessary if
you wish to be respected by my children."

"Sir," answered Julien, "I feel awkward in my new clothes. I am a poor
peasant and have never wore anything but jackets. If you allow it, I
will retire to my room."

"What do you think of this 'acquisition?'" said M. de Renal to his wife.

Madame de Renal concealed the truth from her husband, obeying an almost
instinctive impulse which she certainly did not own to herself.

"I am not as fascinated as you are by this little peasant. Your favours
will result in his not being able to keep his place, and you will have
to send him back before the month is out."

"Oh, well! we'll send him back then, he cannot run me into more than
a hundred francs, and Verrieres will have got used to seeing M. de
Renal's children with a tutor. That result would not have been achieved
if I had allowed Julien to wear a workman's clothes. If I do send him
back, I shall of course keep the complete black suit which I have just
ordered at the draper's. All he will keep is the ready-made suit which
I have just put him into at the the tailor's."

The hour that Julien spent in his room seemed only a minute to Madame
de Renal. The children who had been told about their new tutor began
to overwhelm their mother with questions. Eventually Julien appeared.
He was quite another man. It would be incorrect to say that he was
grave--he was the very incarnation of gravity. He was introduced to
the children and spoke to them in a manner that astonished M. de Renal
himself.

"I am here, gentlemen, he said, as he finished his speech, to teach
you Latin. You know what it means to recite a lesson. Here is the Holy
Bible, he said, showing them a small volume in thirty-two mo., bound in
black. It deals especially with the history of our Lord Jesus Christ
and is the part which is called the New Testament. I shall often make
you recite your lesson, but do you make me now recite mine."

Adolphe, the eldest of the children, had taken up the book. "Open it
anywhere you like," went on Julien and tell me the first word of any
verse, "I will then recite by heart that sacred book which governs our
conduct towards the whole world, until you stop me."

Adolphe opened the book and read a word, and Julien recited the whole
of the page as easily as though he had been talking French. M. de Renal
looked at his wife with an air of triumph The children, seeing the
astonishment of their parents, opened their eyes wide. A servant came
to the door of the drawing-room; Julien went on talking Latin. The
servant first remained motionless, and then disappeared. Soon Madame's
house-maid, together with the cook, arrived at the door. Adolphe had
already opened the book at eight different places, while Julien went
on reciting all the time with the same facility. "Great heavens!" said
the cook, a good and devout girl, quite aloud, "what a pretty little
priest!" M. de Renal's self-esteem became uneasy. Instead of thinking
of examining the tutor, his mind was concentrated in racking his memory
for some other Latin words. Eventually he managed to spout a phrase of
Horace. Julien knew no other Latin except his Bible. He answered with a
frown. "The holy ministry to which I destine myself has forbidden me to
read so profane a poet."

M. de Renal quoted quite a large number of alleged verses from Horace.
He explained to his children who Horace was, but the admiring children,
scarcely attended to what he was saying: they were looking at Julien.

The servants were still at the door. Julien thought that he ought to
prolong the test--"M. Stanislas-Xavier also," he said to the youngest
of the children, "must give me a passage from the holy book."

Little Stanislas, who was quite flattered, read indifferently the first
word of a verse, and Julien said the whole page.

To put the finishing touch on M. de Renal's triumph, M. Valenod, the
owner of the fine Norman horses, and M. Charcot de Maugiron, the
sub-prefect of the district came in when Julien was reciting. This
scene earned for Julien the title of Monsieur; even the servants did
not dare to refuse it to him.

That evening all Verrieres flocked to M. de Renal's to see the prodigy.
Julien answered everybody in a gloomy manner and kept his own distance.
His fame spread so rapidly in the town that a few hours afterwards
M. de Renal, fearing that he would be taken away by somebody else,
proposed to that he should sign an engagement for two years.

"No, Monsieur," Julien answered coldly, "if you wished to dismiss me, I
should have to go. An engagement which binds me without involving you
in any obligation is not an equal one and I refuse it."

Julien played his cards so well, that in less than a month of his
arrival at the house, M. de Renal himself respected him. As the cure
had quarrelled with both M. de Renal and M. Valenod, there was no one
who could betray Julien's old passion for Napoleon. He always spoke of
Napoleon with abhorrence.

When she's leaving her house, Madame de Renal notices a young man approaching her house. She asks him what he wants, and he tells her he's the new tutor. Madame is relieved to see that the tutor is nothing like she imagined. Nonetheless, Madame makes Julien promise that he won't be cruel to her children. He promises. While they talk, Madame de Renal becomes obsessed with Julien's beauty, which is almost kind of feminine to her. Julien apologizes in advance for anything he might do in the next few days to offend Madame. He admits that he has always been poor and isn't aware of rich people's customs. As he explains himself, Julien becomes aware of Madame's beauty. He thinks about kissing her hand out of respect . Then he does. Monsieur de Renal shows up and sits Julien down for orientation. He forbids him from having visitors and tells him that he'll have a decent future if he does a good job. The mayor takes Julien to the local tailor and has some good clothes made for him. By the time he's ready to meet the kids, he looks like a completely different person. He has even changed his attitude to seem more commanding and severe. He meets the kids and tells them that they'll need to know their lessons if they're going to please him. Julien gives the eldest child a copy of the Bible and asks the kid to pick any random passage. Julien then recites from memory every single passage that the kid picks. Pretty soon, all of the servants in the house have gathered at the door to witness Julien's talents. Everyone is astonished. The mayor is overjoyed when one of his rivals, Mr. Valenod, walks in during Julien's demonstration. He feels like he can rub his success in Valenod's face. All this time, Julien makes sure to hide the fact that he's a great admirer of Napoleon Bonaparte, a former dictator of France.