The Red and the Black by Stendhal Page B

Sorel in drawling tones, 'there only remains one thing for us to agree on--the money you'll give him.'
    'What!' exclaimed M. de Rênal indignantly. 'We agreed on that
yesterday: I'm giving him three hundred francs. I think that's a lot,
maybe too much.'
    'That was your
offer, I don't deny it,' said old Sorel, speaking even more slowly;
and, with a stroke of genius which will only surprise those unfamiliar
with peasants from the Franche-Comté, he added, looking straight at
M. de Rênal, 'We've had a better offer.'
    A look of consternation came over the mayor when he heard this. But
he pulled himself together, and after a masterly dialogue lasting over
two hours, in which no word was said at random, the peasant's
shrewdness got the better of the rich man's, the latter not having to
rely on shrewdness for his livelihood. All the detailed arrangements
which were to govern Julien's new existence were hammered out: not
only were his
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wages fixed at four hundred francs a year, but they had to be paid in advance, on the first of each month.
    'Right then! I'll give him thirty-five francs,' said the mayor.
    'To make a round number,' said the peasant ingratiatingly, 'a man as rich and generous as your worship will surely go up to thirty-six francs.' *
    'All right,' said the mayor, 'but that's the end of the matter.'
    This time, anger made him sound resolute. The peasant saw that he
must stop there. It was then M. de Rênal's turn to score some points.
He was adamant that he would not hand over the first month's pay of
thirty-six francs to old Sorel, who was most anxious to receive it on
his son's behalf. It occurred to M. de Rênal that he would be obliged
to describe to his wife the role he had played in all this bargaining.
    'Hand back the hundred francs I gave
you,' he said in annoyance. 'M. Durand owes me something. I shall go
with your son to have the black cloth cut.'
    After this display of strength, Sorel wisely reverted to his
expressions of respect: a good quarter of an hour was taken up in
flowery phrases. Eventually, seeing that there really was nothing more
to be gained, he took his leave. He ended his last bow with these
words:
'I shall send my son up to the château.'
    This was what the mayor's subordinates called his house when they wanted to please him.
    Once back at his sawmill, Sorel looked in vain for his son. Wary of
what might happen, Julien had gone out in the middle of the night. He
wanted to take his books and his Legion of Honour cross to a place of
safety. He had carted everything off to the house of a friend of his, a
young timber merchant called Fouqué who lived up in the mountains
behind Verrières.
    When he reappeared,
his father greeted him with: 'God only knows, you damned idler, if
you'll ever have enough decency to repay me the cost of your food
which I've been advancing you all these years! Get your rags together
and be off with you to his worship's house.'
    Julien was astonished not to be beaten, and left in haste. But as soon as he was out of sight of his dreaded father, he
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slackened his pace. He thought it would be in the interests of his hypocrisy to make a Station * in the church.
    Does the word hypocrisy surprise you? Before being able to apply this terrible term to
himself, the young peasant had already advanced some way along the
path of his spiritual development.
    In early childhood Julien had seen some dragoons from the sixth
regiment on their way back from Italy, tying their horses to the
barred windows of his father's house; they wore long white coats and
had helmets with long black plumes, and the sight of them made him
crazy about the army. Later, he would listen enthralled while the old
army surgeon recounted the battles of Lodi bridge, Arcola and Rivoli. * He noticed how the old man's eyes lit up as he glanced at his Legion of Honour cross.
    But when Julien was fourteen, they began to build a church in
Verrières that may well be