The Red and the Black (22 page)

lover. With this fear removed Julien fell victim to all the follies of love, and all its deadly uncertainties.

'At any rate', she exclaimed on seeing his doubts about her love,
'let me make you truly happy for the short time we have to spend
together! Let's be quick about it; maybe tomorrow I won't be yours any
more. If heaven strikes me through my children, it'll be no use my
trying to live solely in order to love you, trying not to see that my
crime is what's killing them. I shouldn't be able to survive such a
blow. Even if I wanted to I wouldn't be able to; I'd go mad.

Ah! if only I could take your sin upon myself, just as you made me
such a generous offer of taking on Stanislas's burning fever!'

This great spiritual crisis changed the nature of the feeling which
bound Julien to his mistress. His love was no longer merely admiration
for her beauty and pride at possessing her.

Their happiness was henceforth of a far superior nature, the fire
which consumed them was more intense. They had moments of excitement
filled with madness. Their happiness would have seemed greater in the
eyes of society. But they never recovered the sweet serenity, the
cloudless bliss, the straightforward happiness of the early days of
their romance, when Mme de Rênal's only fear was of not being loved
enough by Julien. Their happiness sometimes took on the appearance
of crime.

In the happiest and seemingly most tranquil moments, M
^me
de Rênal would suddenly cry out: 'Ah! God Almighty! I can see
hell,' as she gripped Julien's hand convulsively. 'What horrible
tortures! I've richly deserved them.' She clasped him to her, clinging
to him like ivy to a wall.

Julien
would try in vain to calm this soul in turmoil. She took his hand and
smothered it with kisses. Then, relapsing into gloomy brooding:
'Hell,' she said, 'hell would be a mercy for me. I'd still have a few
days to spend with him on earth; but hell beginning on earth, the
death of my children... Yet perhaps for that price my crime would be
forgiven me... Ah! God Almighty! Do not grant me mercy at that price.
These poor children haven't trespassed against you; I'm the guilty
one, I alone: I love a man who isn't my husband.'

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Then Julien would see M
^me
de Rênal reach moments of apparent tranquillity. She tried to take
hold of herself, she wanted not to poison the very existence of the
one she loved. In the midst of these alternating bouts of love,
remorse and pleasure, the days sped by for them like a flash of
lightning. Julien lost the habit of reflection.

M
^lle
Elisa went off to Verrières to attend to a little lawsuit she had
there. She found M. Valenod in high dudgeon against Julien. She hated
the tutor, and often spoke of him to M. Valenod.

'You'd ruin me, sir, if I revealed the truth!...' she said to him one
day. 'Masters are all in cahoots when it comes to important things...
There are some revelations that don't get forgiven to poor
servants...'

After these ritual
preambles, which M. Valenod's impatient curiosity found a way of
curtailing, he learned the most mortifying things for his self-esteem.

This woman, the most distinguished
in the neighbourhood, on whom he had lavished such attentions for six
years, and unfortunately in full view and knowledge of everyone; this
proud woman, whose rebuttals had caused him to blush on so many
occasions, had just taken for a lover a little workman dressed up as
tutor. And as if that weren't enough to spite the master of the
workhouse, M
^me
de Rênal adored this lover.

'And', added the chambermaid with a sigh, 'Mr Julien didn't put
himself to any trouble to make this conquest, he didn't abandon his
usual coldness one bit for Madam.'

Elisa had not had any firm proof until they were in the country, but she thought the affair had started much earlier.

'That's no doubt the reason', she went on in pique, 'why some while
back he refused to marry me. And like a silly idiot, I went and asked M
^me
de Rênal's advice, and begged her to speak to the tutor.'

That very evening M. de Rênal received a long anonymous letter sent
from town with his newspaper, informing him in the minutest detail of
what was going on in his house. As he read this letter written on
blue-tinted paper, Julien saw him grow pale and cast hostile glances
in his direction. The mayor

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did not get over his discomfiture for the remainder of the evening,
and Julien achieved nothing when he tried to butter him up by asking
him to explain the genealogy of the best families in Burgundy.

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Do not give dalliance
Too much rein: the strongest oaths are straw
To the fire i' the blood.

TEMPEST

As they were leaving the drawing-room at about midnight, Julien had time to say to his mistress:

'We must avoid seeing each other this evening: your husband has his
suspicions; I'd swear that long letter he was reading with so many
sighs is an anonymous one.'

Fortunately, Julien was in the habit of locking himself into his room. M
^me
de Rênal had the mad idea that this warning was just an excuse for
not seeing her. She lost her head completely and came to his door at
the usual time. Hearing a noise in the corridor, Julien instantly blew
out his lamp. Someone was trying to open his door: was it M
^me
de Rênal? Was it a jealous husband?

Very early the next morning the cook, who was Julien's ally, brought
him a book: on the cover he read these words in Italian:
Guardate alla pagine 130
.
^*

Julien trembled at her rashness, looked for page 130 and found pinned
to it the following letter, written in haste, tearstained and full of
spelling mistakes.
^*

Normally M
^me
de Rênal was very careful over spelling: he was touched by this detail and temporarily forgot the terrible rashness.

So you didn't want me to come to you last night? There are moments
when I think I've never read into the depths of your soul. The look in
your eyes terrifies me. I'm afraid of you. God Almighty! Can it be
that you've never loved me? If so, let my husband find out about our
romance, let him shut me up in an eternal prison, in the country, away
from my children. Perhaps God wills it this way. I'll soon die. But
you'll be a monster.

Don't you love
me? Are you tired of my follies and my remorse, you ungodly creature?
Do you wish to ruin me? I'll give you an easy

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way to do it. Go on, show this letter to the whole of Verrières, or
rather, just to M. Valenod. Tell him I love you, no, don't utter such
blasphemy, tell him I adore you, that life only began for me the day I
set eyes on you; that in the wildest moments of my youth, I'd never
even dreamed of happiness like you've brought me; that you've had the
sacrifice of my life, and you're getting the sacrifice of my soul. You
know that the sacrifice is even greater than that.

But what does a man like that know about sacrifices, anyway? Tell
him, tell him to annoy him that I defy all ill-wishers, and that there's
only one misfortune left in the world for me--to see a change of
heart in the only man who makes my life worth clinging to. How glad I
shall be to lose it, to offer it up as a sacrifice and be rid of my
fears for my children!

Don't be in
any doubt about it, my dear, if there's an anonymous letter, it comes
from that hateful creature who pursued me for six years with his loud
voice, his accounts of his jumping feats on horseback, his brazen
smugness, and the endless enumeration of all his good points.

Is there an anonymous letter? You beast, that's what I wanted to
discuss with you; actually no, you did the right thing. Hugging you in
my arms, perhaps for the last time, I'd never have been able to discuss
things coolly, as I'm doing now on my own. From now on our
happiness won't be so straightforward any more. Will you be in the
least bit put out by it, Julien? Yes, on days when you haven't received
some entertaining book from M. Fouqué. The sacrifice is made:
tomorrow, whether or not there's an anonymous letter, I'm going to
tell my husband that I've received an anonymous letter too, and that
he's got to pay you to go elsewhere, he's got to find a decent excuse
and send you back to your family right away.

Alas! my dear, we shall be separated for a fortnight, maybe a month!
There now, I'll do you justice, you'll suffer as much as I shall. But
in the end this is the only way to counteract the effect of that
anonymous letter; it's not the first one that my husband has received,
and about me, what's more. Alas! how I used to laugh at them!

The whole aim of my conduct is to make my husband think that the
letter comes from M. Valenod; I have no doubt that he's the author of
it. If you leave the house, be sure to go and live in Verrières. I'll
see to it that my husband has the idea of spending a fortnight there,
to show fools that there's no coolness between him and me. Once you're
in Verrières, be friendly with everyone, even the liberals. I know
that all the good ladies will seek you out.

Don't go and quarrel with M. Valenod or cut his ears off, as you

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were saying one day; on the contrary, show him all your charm. The
main thing is that people in Verrières should believe that you are
going to enter Valenod's household, or anyone else's, to instruct their
children.

That's what my husband
will never be able to stand. Were he to resign himself to it, well, at
least you'll be living in Verrières, and I shall see you from time to
time. My children who love you so much will go and visit you. Oh God!
I feel as if I love my children the more because they love you. What
remorse! How will all this end... My mind is wandering... Anyway, you
understand how to behave; be gentle, polite, not supercilious with
these coarse individuals, I entreat you on my knees: they will decide
our fate. Don't doubt for a moment that in dealing with you my husband
will follow the dictates of
public opinion.

It's up to you to provide me with the anonymous letter; arm yourself
with patience and a pair of scissors. Cut out from a book the words
you'll find below; then stick them with gum on to the sheet of
blue-tinted paper I enclose; it came from M. Valenod. Be prepared for
your room to be searched; burn the pages of the book you have
mutilated. If you can't find the words ready made, have the patience
to compose them letter by letter. To spare you trouble, I've done the
anonymous letter a bit too short. Alas! If you no longer love me, as I
fear, how long you must be finding mine!

Dear Madam,

All your little goings-on are well-known; but the individuals who
have an interest in putting a stop to them are informed. As a last
vestige of friendship for you, I urge you to detach yourself completely
from the little peasant. If you have the sense to do it, your husband
will believe that the communication he has received is false, and he
will be allowed to remain in error. Consider that I know your secret;
tremble, unfortunate woman; as from now, I want to see you
keep to the straight and narrow.

As soon as you have finished sticking together the words which make
up this letter (did you recognize the Master's way of talking?), come
out into the house, I'll meet you.

I'll go into the village and come back looking upset, and indeed I
really will be. God Almighty! what am I risking, and all because you
thought you detected
an anonymous letter. Anyway, with my face distraught I shall give my husband this letter which a stranger has

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handed to me. What
you
must do is go for a walk along the forest track with the children, and don't come back till dinner time.

From the top of the rocks you can see the dovecot tower. If our
affairs are going well, I'll put a white handkerchief there; if not,
there'll be nothing.

You unfeeling
creature! won't your heart show you a way to tell me that you love me
before you set off for this walk? Whatever may happen, you can be sure
of one thing: I shan't go on living for a single day after our final
separation. Ah! unworthy mother! These last two words I've just
written are completely empty, dear Julien. They don't affect me at
all; I can only think of you at this moment, I only wrote them so as
not to be blamed by you. Now that I see myself on the brink of losing
you, what's the point of hiding anything? Yes, let my soul appear
black as hell to you, but let me not lie to the man I adore! I've been
only too guilty of deception already in my life. There now, I forgive
you if you don't love me any more. I haven't any time to reread my
letter. It seems to me a small price to pay with my life for the days
of happiness I've just spent in your arms. You know they will cost me
more than that.

-128-

Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we: For such as we are made of, such we be.

TWELFTH NIGHT

JULIEN derived a childish pleasure from piecing words together for an
hour on end. As he was leaving his room he ran into his pupils and
their mother; she took the letter so straightforwardly and
courageously that he was terrified by her calm.

'Has the gum dried enough?' she asked him.

Is this the woman who was driven so wild by remorse? he thought. What
are her plans at this moment? He was too proud to ask her; but she
struck him as more attractive than perhaps ever before.

'If this goes wrong,' she added with the same composure, 'everything
will be taken away from me. Bury this cache somewhere in the
mountains; it may be my only resource one day.'

She handed him a small red morocco case,
^*
filled with gold and a few diamonds.

'Off you go now,' she said to him.

She kissed the children, the youngest one twice. Julien stood there
motionless. She walked away from him swiftly and without looking at
him.

From the moment he had opened
the anonymous letter, M. de Rênal's life had been quite ghastly. He
had not been so agitated since a duel he had almost fought in 1816,
and, to do him justice, at that time the prospect of being shot had
made him less wretched. He examined the letter from all angles:
Isn't this a woman's handwriting? he said to himself. In that case,
what woman wrote it? He ran through all the women he knew in Verrières
without being able to fix his suspicions on any one of them. Might a
man have dictated the letter? What man? The same uncertainty again; he
was envied and no doubt

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