The Red and the Black by Stendhal

you, you brute, I want to talk to you.' The noise of the
machine again prevented Julien from hearing this command. His father,
who had got down and did not want to go to the trouble of climbing
back onto the machine, fetched a long pole used for knocking down
walnuts and banged him on the shoulder with it. Julien was scarcely on
the ground before old Sorel pushed him roughly along in front of him
in the direction of the house. God knows what he's going to do to
me, the young man said to himself. As he passed, he looked sadly into
the stream where his book had fallen: it was the one he treasured more
than all the rest, the St Helena Chronicle . *
    His checks were flushed and he kept his eyes on the ground. He was a
small, frail-looking young man of eighteen or nineteen, with irregular
but delicate features, and a roman nose. His large dark eyes which in
moments of calm suggested a reflective streak and a fiery
temperament, shone at that
    -19-

instant with an expression of the most ferocious hatred. He had a low
forehead framed by dark chestnut hair, and when he was angry, this
gave him a fierce expression. Among the countless varieties of human
face, it would be difficult to imagine a more strikingly individual
one. His slim and shapely figure suggested nimbleness rather than
strength. Right from early childhood his deeply pensive air and his
pallor had convinced his father that he would not survive, or that if
he did he would be a burden on his family. The butt of everyone's
scorn at home, he hated his brothers and his father. He was always
beaten in the games played on Sundays in the town square.
    It was less than a year since his pretty face had begun to win him
allies among the girls. Despised by everyone for his frailty, Julien
had adored the old army surgeon who one day dared to speak to the
mayor about the plane trees.
    The
surgeon would sometimes pay old Mr Sorel a day's wages for his son,
and would teach him Latin and history, that is, all the history he
knew: the Italian campaigns of 1796. On his death he had bequeathed
him his Legion of Honour cross, the arrears on his half pay, and
thirty or forty books, the most precious of which had just landed in
the public stream that had been diverted at his worship's expense.
    As soon as he stepped inside the house, Julien was pulled to a halt
by the heavy hand of his father on his shoulder. He trembled in the
expectation of a beating.
    'Answer me
without lying,' bellowed the harsh voice of the old peasant in his
ear, while his hand turned him round like a child's hand turning a tin
soldier. Julien's big black eyes, welling with tears, were met by the
malicious little grey eyes of the old carpenter who looked as if he
wanted to read into the depths of his soul.
    -20-

CHAPTER 5
Striking a bargain
Cunctando restituit rem
    ENNIUS *
    'ANSWER me without lying if you're capable of it, you revolting bookworm! How do you know M me de Rênal? When have you spoken to her?'
    'I've never spoken to her,' replied Julien, 'I've only ever seen the lady at church.'
    'Then you must have looked at her, eh? you cheeky devil!'
    'Never! You know I only have eyes for God in church,' Julien added
with a hypocritical look on his face, specially designed, as he
thought, to ward off further blows.
    'There's something going on here, all the same,' retorted the 'wily
peasant, and he fell silent for a moment. 'But I won't get anything
out of you, you blasted hypocrite. As a matter of fact, I'm going to
be rid of you, and my saw will do all the better for it. You've won
over Father Chélan or his likes, and they've found you a fine
situation. Go and pack your bundle, and I'll take you off to M. de
Rênal's, where you're going to be tutor to the children.'
    'What'll I get for it?'
    'Your board and lodging, your clothing and three hundred francs in wages.'
    'I don't want to be a servant.'
    'No one's talking about being a servant, you dolt! Would I want my son to